The Skinheads, Part 2
It was only a couple of days later that Max, Sam, David and I were again at the mall (we do hang there, though I am a little to old to be a mall rat). They never said anything about what really happened the last time we got together, so I was assuming amnesia, but they did all report that dream about being brothers with other groups—as a nightmare! It didn’t seem to faze them at all that they basically had the same nightmare the same night (classic trance logic). I guess I had forgotten to suggest that it would be a pleasant, positive dream.
Anyway, we were sitting around and shooting the breeze, and of course these guys obsess on the topics that interest that group, so to keep them off the icky subject of weapons, I talk about philosophy. They’re not dummies, and the subject drifts to Nietzsche, whom they completely misunderstand, of course. Nietzsche’s concept of Uebermensch (superman, or better, over-man) has nothing to do with ethnic superiority, and the man would have rolled over in his grave to know how that group that came to power 35 years after his death misused his thinking.
I just happen to be an expert on the real Nietzsche (heck, which of you can even spell it?), because I majored in philosophy. So I get a little lecture going. Not iconoclastic, but informative. And I guess I get a little pedantic. And without realizing it, I’ve rattled on at some length. Suddenly I realize that Max has “dozed off.” If takes me a moment to figure out that he’s gone under.
Hypnosis is learned behavior, and I had read about subjects who were triggered by their hypnotist’s voice in ordinary contexts and without any prior suggestions. I also knew that it had a social context and that, especially for people with a common bond, they could be influenced to go under just by seeing others do so.
I was rattling on with some double talk about man and superman, trying to subdue my voice, drawing David’s and Sam’s attention to Max with a meaningful glance, and sure enough, I now had three guys under again. Nothing like I ever expected. And once again, we had to get out of there or security would think they were drugged.
Another suggestion to sit up straight and open their eyes but not wake up (I wasn’t going to fail to take advantage of the situation). This time their looks were so spaced out that mentally they were on another planet. Good subjects automatically adjust the state of their “trance.” What can I say about this preposterous happening? These guys were happier under hypnosis than awake, and when they’re this deeply under, they really can’t resist a suggestion (it is a fallacy that they can’t be made to act against their normal code of conduct).
OK, on with it again, because their demeanor is so odd that they are going to attract attention even with their eyes open. Back to my car, back to my place.
Now what am I going to do with them? If I repeated the same scenario as before, it would happen as before. I could do a lot worse. And lovers often do make love the same way every time. But it was still new to me that these guys and I could have an erotic good time, so I wasn’t going to do the same thing twice. This time I was going to pay a little more attention to detail. And I wasn’t going to try to manage a foursome simultaneously.
I know the drill about “wake” and “sleep” and so forth, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t belabor the details and just go on with major suggestions and what we did. “Guys, you are going to want to smoke on the way home as usual. But when you take your box of Newports out of your pocket, you are going to find them totally disgusting and refuse to smoke them. Instead, you’ll be desperate for one of my Marlboro lites.” I had always hated that this stinky brand was the fashionable one. So on the trigger, all three of them take out their Newport boxes, and basically it’s a frantic chorus of “what’s this shit?” and they throw them out the window. Good thing no cop was in sight. Then the panicked Greek chorus goes, “John, give us one of yours.” Success.
Max is sitting next to me in front. I did my thing with David last time. He was in many ways the most attractive, but they all had something going for them. Max was a little smaller, compact, but they all worked out because it helped make them feel superior. Max had also gone under first and apparently most deeply. They were all, alas, pasty white and I couldn’t do anything about that. I thought of a body painting session, but it’s such a mess, and what’s the point if you can’t be in public and be stared at? But they were nice looking guys. Max had only shaved his head a couple of days ago and his barely re-fuzzed rusty colored pate was a gas. So he would be my squeeze this afternoon.
The guys in back seemed to be under for the short duration of the ride. You can’t keep them unoccupied for too long or they spontaneously come out of it. I don’t quite get how stage hypnotized guys manage the “down time” because I’ve never been under myself. I guess they just do.
“Max, you’re absolutely convinced that you can become one of the superior hunmans if I transmit it to you through physical contact. You will accept any physical contact with me because the more there is, the more you become like Nietzsche’s superman. The first thing I want you to do is hold my hand.” In case you haven’t got the picture, I’m into affection and maximum foreplay. So his left in my right while we finish our cigarettes with the other hand.
Just enough time before we get there for this: “Max, your hand wants to be on my leg. It wants to stroke my leg.” He’s in the eyes closed and slumped state now. I physically pick up the hand and put it inside my thigh. “Rub me for power.” I might as well start using direct and more explicit suggetions. I guide his hand a bit and it doesn’t take long for it to turn into a true fondle. I’m driving but reciprocate as best I can.
We get home and of course they need a suggestion just to get out of the car and into the house. “Guys, it’s hot in here. Take off your shirts.” Somehow or other, naked is not something even non-shy guys manage easily these days.
I’ve figured out what to do with David and Sam. “Guys, I’m going to show you an erotic video that you’re going to enjoy very much. This is a very sexy video and you don’t have to worry—you can jerk off to your heart’s content while you watch it. You’ll last as long as you can, but you’ll just keep going even if you have to cum multiple times.” This was not my normal way of talking to them, but every red-blooded American boy over 15 knows how to deal with such language. Oh yeah, the trick. “The girls in this movie are black, but they’re gorgeous. You’re going to find them irresistable. You’re going to want them.”
So I put in my copy of “The Nun’s Story” and get them started. In the meantime, Max is mine, all mine. He’s still convinced that he’ll become a superior person by physical contact with me. I had carefully avoided saying “touching” because you know that I was looking for a little more than that.
Nevertheless, after getting him buck naked,it started with touching. I love guys; what can I tell you? I want their close-shaven heads, or thick-haired ones if they have them. I want parts that are less erogenous, like the arms and the back, and parts that are more erogenous, like everything else. Max has to be given a suggestion that he is NOT ticklish, which is weird, because in the past it’s been fun to test a guy’s state of trance by suggesting he WAS ticklish on a site such as the palm of the hands. But I can’t have my squeeze for the day laughing his head off because my hand is around his midriff.
Because of his suggestions, Max reciprocates to, well, the max. It is a sensational feel-up session. He seems to get the gentleness, the slowness, by feel and example from me. I do have to give a little attention to the other two. If you’ve ever seen a pair of guys jerking off in front of a porn movie, even one they are only imagining is there, it is the gas of all time. If their faces were entranced before, they are in orbit beyond Pluto now. It does add to the fun.
I risk a kiss with Max. David had no problem with this—he is the oldest, the most experienced (please remember these are not children, just young guys who are a bit messed up). He accepts it, lightly. I’m not going to push anything major out of him. In fact, based on what I know about feedback in erotic situations, you have to judge whether to go the whole nine yards in a situation where you still have some conscience left.
So it was going to be a hand job with Max. Time for the mineral oil (there’s no substitute—baby oil contains a scent that can cause a rash around the genitals, and vaseline is just too hydrogenated, meaning dense). A young guy who is getting this on him for the first time, even if he has jerked off five times a day for eight years, finds it a sensation.
By this time the other two have already cum and seem a little confused. They’re still going at it, but I sense that we may have a little problem shortly. First, the “sleep” thing. “Guys, you know you’ve cum. You need to wash it off. Go and take a shower. You will believe that showering together enforces your brotherhood.” Notice I didn’t say “Aryan supremacy.” I really am trying to pull them around. It requires the greatest subtleties.
I wish the denouement of a hand job could go on for hours, but let’s face it, we get started slowly and then suddenly it’s over. That’s the way we’re wired. And of course, I had to finish myself as well as Max. I have hands of steel. Most guys can’t manage it for long when working on another guy.
I was starting really to love these guys (how can I help it?). A good lover may seek out his time and space, but he never just exploits. And he also knows the limits of the possible, even though he may have succeeded in stretching them a time or two.
Ending this session was even more complicated. I drew them together like a coach and gave them the suggestion to go way under. Max had to think that we were watching the Yankees game on tv all afternoon (the fact that they weren’t being broadcast would be irrelevant by the principles of implanted memory and trance logic). The other two could actually remember what they thought they were doing but would have to have no memory of Max being present. They could remember because dirty movies are normal. How they would feel about having been so turned on by black girls, I don’t know. They may think it’s ok because the girls were like slaves. I seem to keep getting these suggestions about universal brotherhood wrong.