The Hypnosis Files (complete)

The Hypnosis Files

© 2013 by the author

 

Every time I publish a story involving hypnosis, I receive at least one email from someone asking if I practice hypnosis in “real life.” I answer—quite truthfully—that I have been engaging in hypnosis since my teenage years. Some have a follow-up question—Am I a hypnotist or a subject? I tell them—again truthfully—that I have enjoyed being both, that I like all aspects of hypnosis. If the person is interested only in determining my qualifications to write about hypnosis, that ends their curiosity. For them, it is enough to know that the stories are based on experience and thus are presumably more realistic.

A few write back again. Would I hypnotize them? They never ask if they can hypnotize me. They always want to the subject. Interesting, isn’t it? Some people read a story (a fictional story it must be emphasized) about a man turned into a mindless, will-less, totally obedient puppet and their response is “I want to be that.” A study of such people would make an interesting paper. Why do some people fantasize about the prospect of losing their free will and becoming a zombie? What is the attraction? Why, when given a choice between being the controller and the controllee, do they always opt for being the hypnotized subject?

I always reply that I find long-distance hypnosis unsatisfactory, that my methods depend on intensive and frequent sessions, and immediate visual feedback is necessary to allow me to adjust the hypnotic patter in response to the physical clues exhibited by the subject. For these people, I recommend sites that have audio downloads and links to online hypnotists.

A few times each year the response comes: “I live in Boston. Is that near you?” or “I can take two weeks off from work. I’m willing to travel to you.” Perhaps once or twice a year the prospective subject does live near me and is proposing a goal for himself that intrigues me. I write back and arrange to meet with the subject.

The following accounts relate three such encounters. The names of all participants have been changed to protect their privacy.

Case 2012/C

Charles Simpson emailed me asking for help hypnotizing a “friend” of his, Zack. They were, he wrote, both interested in erotic hypnosis like that found in several of my “awesome” stories. Both of them were “big fans” of my fictions and hoped to duplicate some of the things I had written about, Charles had read up on the subject and tried to hypnotize Zack. But he had been able to induce only light, brief trances in Zack. He had concluded that he needed “expert help.” Was I available to install a trigger Charles could use to put Zack in a deep trance?  He understood that it might take several sessions. He volunteered the use of his home in Weston Woods Estates—that’s an upscale suburb not far from me. He even offered to reimburse me for my time and travel expenses. I was impressed by the realistic goals Charles and (I assumed) Zack has set for themselves and their practical approach. I estimated it would take two or three sessions on successive days to install a trigger. I called Charles, and we arranged to meet on a Thursday evening at 8:00, with follow-up sessions on Friday and Saturday.

Charles’s attempts to flatter me were amusing. In retrospect I should have read them as warning signs of his manipulative nature.

Charles’s home lived up to the reputation of the Weston Woods area for large, imposing houses on secluded grounds. A tall privet hedge hid the stone walls that surround the property, and an ornate steel gate with a sunburst panel in the middle closed the driveway to casual visitors. I had to buzz to gain entrance. As I parked beside the house, I could see a large swimming pool in the back yard. Charles opened the front door as I approached.

“Good. You are right on time. Unfortunately Zack has been lazy today and is behind on his duties. He won’t be joining us for several minutes.”

As an opening remark, it struck me as strange. The man made no effort to introduce himself. The reference to Zack led me to infer that it was Charles who was speaking to me.

“Charles Simpson? I’m . . .”

“Yes, of course.” A flash of annoyance crossed his face at my attempt to confirm his identity. He shook his head impatiently. “And I know who you are. Come this way.” He jerked his head to motion me into the house and then closed the door behind me. Simpson was wearing what I immediately labeled as a “country squire” outfit—a pale blue shirt open at the neck, a paisley cravat in complementary colors, gray slacks, and a navy blue blazer with brass buttons and a pocket handkerchief folded so that three points were on display. His cordovan loafers were so highly polished that they had to have been spit-shined.

Simpson led me down a broad central hallway that extended upward to the top of the house. A broad stairway leading up to the second and third floors circled the stairwell, and a large crystal chandelier secured to the ceiling of the third floor loomed overhead. (I always have to stifle an urge to cringe when I walk under it—it’s like this mammoth threat waiting to crush me. I have used self-hypnosis on myself so much that I can envision thoughts as realities very easily.)

A wide doorway to the left of the front door revealed an enormous living room, with several clumps of furniture dividing it into smaller areas. Birch logs, startlingly white against the shadows pervading the room, were stacked in a pyramid in the fireplace waiting to be lit. Every surface was covered with objects. The room appeared unused—it was almost as if there were a rope across the doorway allowing you to look in but not to enter. Opposite this room, on the right side of the hallway, was a smaller living room, whose furniture faced a large, wall-mounted TV screen. Behind this were a large, formal dining room and then the kitchen. 

Simpson crossed the kitchen and entered a small hallway. To one side were a well-stocked pantry and a laundry room. He opened a door on the other side of the hallway. “You can wait here. These are Zack’s rooms. I’ll go find him and bring him. He seems determined to be irritating today. He knows I don’t like to be kept waiting.”  My being kept waiting apparently was unimportant to Simpson.

Zack’s rooms were considerably less opulent than those in the front part of the house. The room in which I was standing contained a dusty-looking couch, an easy chair that had seen better days, and a small TV set so old that the company that manufactured it was no longer in business. An even smaller room to one side held a single bed covered neatly with a thin, faded quilt and a battered dresser. Zack’s quarters had no windows and contained no personal possessions that I could see. It could have been a monk’s cell—or a prisoner’s.

I had plenty of time to inspect the room I had been left in. Simpson did not return for a quarter of an hour.

“Zack will be here in just a minute. He’s getting a chair for me.” Simpson sneered at the couch and easy chair and wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something bad.  That message delivered, Simpson ignored me.

A minute later, a young man entered the room carrying a wicker chair. He was in his early twenties, thin almost to the point of emaciation. His hair had been shaved off, even his eyebrows. He was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a white T-shirt so tight that his ribs were visible through the fabric. His body was almost skeletal. It looked brittle—very little pressure would have been needed to snap a bone in two. If I had circled his wrists with my thumb and middle finger, they would have overlapped by two or three inches. The guy was more of a twig than a twink. He also had on a pair of thick, gray socks but no shoes. Around his neck was a chain formed of half-inch-long links and made of some cheap-looking metal. A padlock securing the ends of the chain hung down in front. It was so heavy that it pulled the chain down in front.

I instantly discarded the impression of the relationship between Simpson and Zack that I had gained from reading Simpson’s emails to me. Zack wasn’t an equal partner. I didn’t know the history of their association or how they conceived their relationship or whether Zack had entered into it willingly or been coerced into it, but he was either a victim or a slave.

Simpson pointed to the only open spot in the room and said, “Put it there for now.” Zack sat the chair down and then straightened up, with his hands clasped behind his back. His posture was that of a servant in some feudal drama. That tiny room had been crowded with furniture before. Now it held three people and an extra chair. Even so, Zack somehow managed to detach himself and make himself not fully present as he awaited further orders. It was almost as if he shrunk himself.

Since Simpson clearly intended not to introduce us, I extended my hand. “You must be Zack. I’m Mark Johnson.”

Zack looked at my hand and then glanced at Simpson. Simpson nodded impatiently and flapped a hand wearily. It was only after Simpson had granted permission that Zack shook my hand. He muttered something that could have been a greeting.

“Yes, yes.” Simpson interposed and spoke to me. “Let’s get started. I have other things to do. You will use that chair, and Zack will lie down on the couch.” He pointed to the easy chair. “Where do you want it? Zack will move it for you.”

In truth the position of the chair didn’t matter, but I was becoming so annoyed with Simpson and his imperiousness that I felt a need to assert some control over the situation. “This really isn’t the best set-up. It would be better for you—” I intentionally turned toward Zack and included him in the conversation as a decision-maker—“It would be better for you to lie flat. That couch is too short for you, and it doesn’t look all that comfortable. You could lie down on the bed, but that room is too small to hold both of us. Isn’t there some other room that we could use? Preferably one with a large bed or a couch and enough room so that I can sit in a chair where I can see you?”

“Zack isn’t permitted to use the furniture in the other rooms. He enters them only to clean them. This room is good enough. Zack, lie down on the couch.”

Zack nodded and then complied. Simpson threw himself down on the wicker chair and then gestured impatiently for me to sit. “Let’s get started. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

I was about to protest when I noticed Zack’s expression. For the first time since he had entered the room, he was looking at me. He didn’t say anything, but he was clearly begging me to acquiesce and do what Simpson was telling me to do. Any show of resistance would set Simpson off. I resolved to do the minimum and then get the hell out of there.

“I guess this will have to do then.” I sat down. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Simpson sneering again, this time in satisfaction at imposing his way.

“Oh, and I want you to install this trigger.” Simpson handed me a piece of paper with the words “good boy” written on it. “Make it so Zack goes into a trance as soon as he hears those words. I’ll take care of the rest of his programming.”

I was beginning to get an inkling of what sort of programming Simpson had in mind for Zack. I didn’t like it, and I wasn’t going to help him. From what Simpson had told me of his failed attempts to put Zack in a trance and from what I had seen of him in action, I suspected he was too impatient to put in the time necessary to gain the kind of control over Zack that he wanted. I decided to go through the motions and put Zack into a trance. I would mention the trigger but not expend the time needed to make it stick. Then I would leave and not return. Whatever was going on between the two of them wasn’t my business. They could work it out by themselves. I was confident that my trancing of Zack would not benefit Simpson.

I handed the piece of paper back to Simpson and cautioned him to be quiet and not move about. “It’s important that there be as few distractions as possible.” I went through the usual spiel I give first-time subjects about the nature of hypnosis and what it can and cannot do. I decided to use my favorite induction for subjects with a history of difficulty trancing or for those who appear nervous about what might happen—both of which applied to Zack.

I had him get as comfortable as he could on the couch and then close his eyes. “Imagine you are lying on a sandy beach. The sand beneath you is cool and damp. The sun is shining, and a light breeze is blowing across your body. In the distance, you can hear the sound of the waves, gentle waves, lapping the shore.” I described the sound of the waves, how they hiss as they foam up onto the beach and then recede. Gradually I shifted from describing the scene to having Zack sense it on his body. The sun feels warm and relaxing. So easy to relax. So warm. So comfortable. Listen to the waves. Just relax and sleep.

I never rush inductions, even when I have installed a trance trigger. I want subjects to be deep in a trance before I begin their programming. For twenty minutes, I spoke to Zack about relaxing in the sun. Toward the end of the induction, when I mentioned that a bird was drifting lazily overhead, I could see his eyes move beneath the lids as he tracked the flight of the bird.

In his emails Simpson had made much of the fact that Zack had proved a difficult subject. But his trance appeared to be real and deep. There are tests to determine that the subject is in a trance, and I decided to use one of them. For once I didn’t want to be successful with the subject, and I needed to know the depth of Zack’s trance. I asked him to imagine that a large bunch of helium-filled balloons was tied to his right wrist and was lifting his arm. As I finished planting the suggestion, the balloons tugged at his wrist and his right arm drifted into the air, swaying gently as the air currents on the beach pushed the balloons back and forth.

A motion off to my left side caught my eye. I turned to warn Simpson to sit still, but to my surprise I found his right arm held aloft by the balloons in his mind. His body had slumped forward in the chair, and his chin rested on his chest. Both Simpson and Zack were deeply hypnotized.

It was too good an opportunity to let pass. I took both of them deeper and deeper. I programmed them to find great pleasure in being hypnotized. Over and over I repeated the simple lesson: “You enjoy being hypnotized. You want to be hypnotized again. Next time you will quickly go into a deep trance. You feel great and you will continue to feel great when you wake up.”

I also implanted the certainty in Simpson’s mind that I had installed his trigger in Zack but told him that he was not to test it, that he knew that it would take many sessions for the trigger to work, that he was to be patient.

And that was it for the first session. Both men woke up, happy and enthusiastic about hypnosis. I arranged to return the next day.

*****

What to do? It was a quandary.

I didn’t like Charles Simpson. And as far as I could judge from this first meeting, his interest in hypnosis lay in dominating Zack. I’m not opposed to domination—far from it. I get off on dominating other men through hypnosis and reprogramming them to be submissive and obedient. But Simpson rubbed me the wrong way. He was an overbearing and arrogant prick. Perhaps Zack liked that or wanted it. I had no clues about his personality. Our brief interaction before I put him under left me with the impression that he was cowed by Simpson, maybe even fearful. He didn’t like the situation he was in but couldn’t get out of it. But those impressions might be totally wrong.

If I wanted to make the punishment fit the crime, I could work on the two of them and make Zack the dominant partner in the relationship. There was some justice in that. But in all likelihood, that would mean that Zack would become like Simpson, that he would prove as much of an asshole as Simpson—not an appealing prospect. The world already has too many assholes. And I wasn’t sure that Zack wanted to be in charge. For all I knew, their present relationship was what both men wanted.  

Neither of them attracted me, in terms of either their looks or their personalities. But the opportunity to control the two of them and mold their relationship was tempting. Both Simpson and Zack were promising subjects. Both tranced deeply. It would take only a few sessions before I could begin reprogramming them. But did I want to do that? I already had several such subjects. Did I have the time to create two more dependents?

I was already engaged to return the next day for a second session. I could use that session to make them forget the idea of hypnosis and not see them again. Or I could use it to develop their suggestibility and learn more about them. I still hadn’t decided what to do when I drove up Simpson’s driveway.

Both men were waiting when I arrived. Zack played butler and opened the door. He showed me into the small living room at the front of the house. Simpson was sitting there reading something on a tablet computer. He was in the process of turning it off when I entered. He rose to his feet and extended his hand to greet me. The two were obviously anxious to begin, but Simpson took the time to offer me a cup of coffee. I refused and suggested that we get started. “I think both of you will be more comfortable lying on these sofas rather than using Zack’s room.”

Simpson hesitated and looked around. Clearly he would be more comfortable on one of the sofas in this room, but his domineering personality baulked at allowing Zack to use one. His reluctance told me much about how much reprogramming he would need.

Zack solved the problem. “I can lie on the floor, Mr. Simpson.” He immediately took his own suggestion and stretched out on the floor. “I’ll be okay,” he assured me.

“Good. That will work.” I moved to take control of the situation. It wasn’t ideal, but we could work on Simpson’s attitude later. “Now if you both would make yourselves comfortable. If you don’t mind, I’m going to pull these curtains and turn off the lights. That will help you relax.” 

Simpson scowled. He didn’t like other people making decisions for him. But he also wanted to be hypnotized again. So he lay down on a couch.

I began with breathing exercises. I find those effective—both because the deep breaths mimic the breathing people associate with going to sleep and because by telling the subject when to breath in and out and how (for example, in through the nose and out through the mouth), I accustom them to following my suggestions. After a minute or two of breathing exercises, I moved on to a guided imagery session of lying in gently swaying hammocks that helped them drift off to sleep. As they had the day before, both Simpson and Zack went into deep trances.

I still didn’t know what to do with them. Simpson’s lack of respect for Zack was a problem, but it was part of their relationship. And then it hit me. Like many good ideas, it was simple. It also had the virtue of being minimally invasive. It would take a good many sessions, but it would leave the development of their interactions up to the two of them.

For the next six weeks, I met with them twice a week. Once I was confident that the change was now part of their psyches, I cut back on the sessions to monthly refresher trances. The change? I simply repeated over and over while they were in trances: “You respect and like each other.” That was it. And It was enough.

Simpson didn’t stop being Zack’s employer and (I suspect) master, but he treats Zack with consideration now. He has started Zack on a regimen of diet and exercise. Zack is never going to be Mr. Universe, but he looks a lot healthier. Simpson seems proud of the change in Zack. When I see them, he is always pointing out how Zack’s muscles are growing. Zack has moved upstairs and now has his own room next to Simpson’s bedroom. When I trance the two of them now, both men lie on Simpson’s bed.

Zack is still a servant—and still subservient. But now he’s more of a boyfriend who happens to be the subordinate partner in the relationship.

Of course, that isn’t the only change that I made. In the end, temptation got the better of me.

I have very sensitive nipples. They were always an erotic zone for me, but I used self-hypnosis to increase the pleasure I get from nipple play. I have a mental control button that allows me to increase their sensitivity, rather like a rheostat. At the top setting, even the movement of air across a nipple can give me an orgasm.

Charles and Zack have been such good boys that I decided to reward them by giving them the same capacity for nipple stimulation that I have. They are such deep trancers and obedient subjects now that it took only one session to create the desired outcome.

Of course, I tested them to make sure the programming had worked. I implanted the post-hypnotic suggestion that as soon as I woke them up, they would be overcome with a desire to play with each other’s nipples. The results were all I could have wished for.

I had barely finished saying “you will wake up feeling refreshed and full of energy” when they eyes popped open. Both of them leaped to their feet and began tearing off their clothes. Zack’s jeans were still around his ankles when he grabbed Charles and began sucking his nipples. Charles screamed with pleasure at the first touch and then pushed Zack away so that he could lick Zack’s nipples. The cocks immediately became erect and throbbing. The two of them fell back onto the bed, fighting to get at the other person’s nipples. Charles is bigger than Zack, and he soon had Zack pinned down so that he could work on Zack’s nipples. All Zack could do at first was to use his fingers on Charles, but he soon figured out that he could turn around and reach Charles’s nipples with his mouth. The two maneuvered themselves into a nipple 69. Moans, groans, pulsating cocks—eventually that resulted in a joint orgasm.

When I left, they were still joined together at the nipples. I should check back. It’s been two days now, and I hope they’ve taken a break.

Case 2012/J

(As in all case summaries, names and locations have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals discussed.)

A substantial (and lucrative) part of my mainstream hypnosis activities involves seminars for business clients who want to improve staff performance by increasing focus and concentration or to motivate employees by fostering identification with the company’s interests. The subject in Case 2012/J came to me through Michael B______, a businessman in Los Angeles who has hired me to work with his sales teams. He must feel the sessions are worth the money because he brings me back every few months to conduct refresher courses.

After one such seminar ended, Michael asked me back to his office. It is not a room for those with a fear of heights or a tendency to vertigo. Curtainless glass walls on three sides of the room reveal a wide swath of the Pacific Ocean and the sky over it. In entering Michael’s office, one steps suddenly from an enclosed corridor in a typical commercial office building onto a platform in the sky. It’s the architectural equivalent of an infinity pool. The floor of Michael’s office is so highly polished that it reflects the scene outside. Just as the far edge of the water in an infinity pool blends with the horizon, the floor of his office appears to join the sky outside. On some days, it’s difficult to tell where the floor ends and the sky begins.

I have been in the office several times, and I still respond instinctively with a shudder. Like others I have observed entering the room, I find it difficult to walk toward the windows. Michael seems to relish that. He likes the contrast between his nonchalant acceptance of the room and visitors’ wary reaction to it. It must be a useful ploy for putting others at a disadvantage. On this particular day, however, Michael was too distracted to notice my momentary hesitation. He motioned me to a chair in front of his desk. As I was sitting down, he said without preamble, “I’m hoping you can help with a problem.” He paused and swiveled his chair to look outside. Michael is a short but powerfully build man—rugged rather than handsome. He is formally polite but naturally dominant in his dealings with others. At least I have found him to be so. I haven’t had occasion to oppose him, but according to gossip he is ruthless until he gets his way. On all the previous occasions I had met him, he was full of confidence, but at the moment he was uneasy about something. He picked up a pen and began fiddling with it—clicking it repeatedly and jiggling it in his hand.

“If I can, I’d be happy to. Why don’t you tell me about it? If it’s something I can’t do, I’ll tell you. It wouldn’t be good for my business if I accepted a project and failed.”

Michael nodded—whether to acknowledge that I had spoken or to show that he agreed with my statement, I do not know. Perhaps both. He kept looking out the window, and his mouth moved as if he were chewing on something—both classic signs of avoidance and a reluctance to talk about something. Finally, he said, “Can you cure stage fright?”

“It depends. I would have to meet the person and talk with him—or her. Sometimes stage fright is easy to deal with. A few sessions can help the person gain the confidence to overcome it. It’s no more than a matter of giving them certain tools and teaching them a few tricks. In other cases the cause of the stage fright may be so deeply rooted in the psyche that attempts to cure it through hypnosis would trigger worse expressions of whatever anxieties are behind the stage fright. Those cases I couldn’t help you with. In such cases, the person would need to see a psychologist or psychiatrist to work through the problem.”

My first thought was that perhaps one of Michael’s children needed help. I moved to head that off. “How old is the person, if I might ask? I never work with minors.”

“Mid-twenties? He graduated college a couple years back. So he must be at least 23, 24?”

I assumed that Michael was speaking of an employee who was having trouble making presentations in public or speaking up in meetings. Whoever it was, it had to be someone whose services Michael wanted to retain and valued enough to hire me to help. “When does the stage fright occur?”

“I have to ask you to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I tell you more.” He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a contract.

Such agreements are not unknown in my line of work. Some clients gain a sense of security in knowing that I am legally bound not to discuss the services I provide them. The contract Michael handed me obliged me not to reveal the names of any of the companies or people involved. Michael knows that I write fictional stories based on my experiences. One clause of the contract required me to submit any story based on what he was about to tell me or what I might undertake to do in response to his lawyers for approval. If I signed the contract, I agreed not to publish the story without their permission and to make whatever changes they stipulated. (I am publishing this account with their permission. With one exception—which I explain below—the changes requested were quite minor and do not affect the substance of the following summary of events.)

By now I was intrigued. What sort of problem would require such an elaborate contract? The only thing I could think of was that a new invention or some sort of proprietary information was involved. Perhaps the subject was a shy scientist or a tongue-tied computer nerd who had trouble making a presentation to a group of people.

I signed and dated both copies of the contract and handed them back to Michael. Having my signature seemed to reassure him. He leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands in front of his face, and tapped his mouth with the tips of his index fingers a few times.

“I have many businesses. My involvement in most of them is open. My association with a few of them is kept secret.” He paused and examined the view from his office windows again. “Are you aware that Los Angeles is a center for the adult entertainment industry?”

I nodded. So that was the reason for the non-disclosure agreement. “Yes. I understand a great many porn films are made here.”

Michael grimaced when I used the word “porn.” It was not to his liking. “I own several companies in the adult entertainment industry. Among other services, they produce a great variety of videos catering to many different tastes and interests. In most cases my involvement goes no further than managing the holding company I set up to oversee all these businesses. As long as the businesses show a profit, I leave the day-to-day operations and the details of the product up to in-house managers and the creative teams. There are, however, one or two areas in which I exercise a more hands-on approach—areas that coincide with my own interests.”

Michael continued to be fascinated by the view. Since he had tilted his chair back and was gazing at the hazy sky, there was little worth the amount of attention he was devoting to it. He was trying to dissociate himself from what he was saying. His posture seemed to indicate that he would abandon the conversation at the first hint of unease or resistance on my part.

“That must be rewarding.” I floated the suggestion to gauge his reaction, even while trying to project a matter-of-fact competence, a business-like approach. In truth I was beginning to be fascinated. “Where does the stage fright come in?”

“The young man I mentioned earlier—when you asked about the age of person with stage fright—we recently put him under contract. As you will see when you meet him, he is very attractive. Sort of all-American boy looks with a stud’s body. Of course, those guys are a dime a dozen, but what sets him apart from the others is his endowment. He’s been spectacularly gifted by nature.”

“What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that he has a peculiar form of stage fright. He’s fine in private. I can attest to that. It’s just that whenever he gets in front of a camera and the film crew, he can’t get an erection.”

“Ah, rather like those guys who have a shy bladder and can’t use a public urinal.”

“Not quite. They can always go into a stall. Felipe just can’t get it up if there’s more than one person in the room. We tried him with one of our most skillful bottoms. We put the camera and crew behind a one-way mirror, but it still was no good. He’s a shrinker rather than a grower if he thinks anyone is watching.”

In the end, I promised to talk with Felipe. I had to reiterate my caution, however. “His problem may be more than a case of stage fright. It might just be that he doesn’t really want to do this, and, even if I were willing to reprogram him to want to be a porn actor—which I’m not—that would require so much time that it probably wouldn’t be worth the cost to you.”

Michael and I left it at that. I didn’t press him about the reasons behind his interest in Felipe. I agreed to speak with the young man, and Michael agreed to abide by my assessment of the situation.

*****

“I gotta have this job. I need the money.”

Once I met Felipe, I could understand Michael’s wish to cure Felipe of his stage fright. If ever a man was made to star in porn, excuse me, in adult entertainment films, it was Felipe. [My original text contained a description of Felipe. Michael’s lawyers insisted that this be deleted before I published this account. We agreed that I could state that Felipe was extremely masculine in appearance and generously favored by Nature. You will have to imagine the rest.]

Felipe and I had been discussing possible causes of his inability to perform on camera. Or, rather, I had been trying to raise the subject. He was obviously embarrassed about his on-camera ED and insisted that he never had had a problem before. He must have thought I was reluctant to help because he became very argumentative and insisted that I hypnotize him. He was unemployed, and he needed the work. “Ya gotta help me. If I make it in adult films, then I can begin earning money from club appearances and for other stuff.” We didn’t get into what the “other stuff” might be.

Felipe is one of those people with exaggerated notions of how quickly hypnosis works and what can be accomplished through it. Sometimes that works in the hypnotist’s favor. The subject believes so strongly in the powers of hypnosis that he lets down his guard and accepts it as inevitable that the hypnotist will be able to reprogram him readily. (Sometimes, especially when the hypnosis does not have the expected results immediately, the subject rejects hypnosis as thoroughly as he accepted it before.)

I agreed to hypnotize Felipe, mainly because I needed more information about the causes of his on-camera ED. My first goal was to get him to feel relaxed enough around me to be able discuss the problem openly. Michael’s people prepared a room for me to use. They were very cooperative and prompt in meeting my specifications. Given Felipe’s nervousness and performance anxiety, I tried to make the room as non-threatening an environment as possible. There was no bed, not even a couch. Both Felipe and I sat in overstuffed recliners. In the first session, I had him sit upright; he was trusting enough by the second session that he readily adopted my suggestion that he would be more comfortable if he pushed the recliner back so that he could lie in a more prone position. For the first session, I left all the lights on and the curtains open. Later I closed the curtains and reduced the amount of light to twilight levels. Unbeknownst to Felipe, the sessions were being taped by hidden cameras, and the room was miked so that Michael could listen in.

I took Felipe through an extra-long induction that avoided the traditional “your limbs feel heavy” and “you are getting sleepy” scripts for hypnosis. I knew that he was a baseball fan. I had him close his eyes, and then I asked him to imagine that he was watching a game on TV. I described it closely and had him follow the path of the ball from pitcher to catcher and back again, over and over. I made him see the catcher signaling the pitcher, the wind-up, the throw, the catch. I made him experience sitting in the stands. The sun was bright overhead and warm on his skin as he sat in the stands. It was a boring game. The crowd was yawning. He relaxed. He nodded off. He began to drift and float like one of the clouds over the stadium.

When I was satisfied that he was truly in a deep trance, I implanted the suggestions that he liked hypnosis, it made him feel good, and he wanted to repeat the experience. I told him that in future sessions he would slip easily in a trance. That was all.

In the next sessions, I introduced the subject of trust and suggested that he found it very easy to talk openly with me about any subject. It worked. At the end of the fourth session, he began discussing his stage fright.

“It’s not that I’m afraid of the cameras. It’s just that they’re asking me to do things I don’t want to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“They want me to be a top. I guess because of the way that I look. Everybody assumes I’m a top.”

“But you’re not?”

“No.”

“You should tell them that. There are lots of gay videos, and they need bottoms. There shouldn’t be a problem.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“We can deal with that in the next session. If you can tell me, you can tell them.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not embarrassed to be a bottom. It’s just that I only want to bottom to certain types of tops.”

“Tell me.”

“I only like tops who are much shorter than me. At least a foot shorter. Five feet five tops. Shorter is even better. And I like them to be small. Muscular but thin. And hairless. With small cocks.”

An image of a certain person came immediately to mind. I had never seen the man’s cock and can’t testify as to its size, but the rest of Felipe’s description fit him. And Felipe was more relaxed and cheerful in that person’s presence than he was in anyone else’s.

*****

“Nobody will accept that.” Michael paced back and forth. A director and someone from marketing were present in the room, and both nodded in agreement. “Even as a novelty, no one would want that. We couldn’t sell enough copies to cover our costs. Besides, Felipe’s ass is so developed and hard, a small cock can’t even penetrate him.” (Was he speaking from personal experience?)

“I have an idea.” Everyone turned to look at me.

*****

I adopted a two-pronged approach to curing Felipe’s problem. My first tactic was to develop Felipe’s outer top. (Perhaps it would be more accurate to say “to create” Felipe’s outer top.) In seeking to overcome stage fright and conditions like it, it’s essential to avoid approaching it as a problem of stage fright. It’s best not to use the term in working with the subject since the phrase itself reminds him of the existence of the condition and reinforces that it is a problem. I like to come at these things obliquely and use hypnosis to create the desired behavior rather than attempt to cure the “problem.”

Therefore, in this stage of Felipe’s reprogramming, I put him into a deep trance and spoke to him of how much he enjoyed performing and how much pleasure he received from pleasing Michael by carrying out the director’s orders. “You get so hard and aroused from doing what the director tells you to do. It makes Michael so happy when you perform for the director. You get so much pleasure from making Michael happy. You love to show off. You love it when your performance arouses the crew. You love it when your partners in the scene react by becoming aroused by you. All these things give you so much pleasure that you get very hard and very excited and very anxious to please and obey and perform as you are directed. Later when others watch the video, your performance will arouse them and the thought of all those people watching you arouses you even more.”  Over and over, the same thoughts—doing what he is told to do gives him so much pleasure; being watched and knowing that others are being aroused and will be aroused by his performance makes him perform all the harder.

*****

Two months later I received a copy of Felipe’s debut video. His stage fright was a thing of the past. He had no trouble topping four partners on camera.

If you watch the film, you will see Felipe and his four partners engaged in the usual variations of male oral and anal sex. The plot is minimal, and the dialogue consists largely of moans and groans. Each of the four bottoms worships Felipe’s body and begs Felipe to let him have “it.” Felipe’s impressive tool springs into view as the bottom pulls his jeans down. As the camera zooms, Felipe sways gently from side to side. Just enough to set his cock in motion back and forth. There are subjects who would easily become hypnotized by the motion. In the film the drooling and moaning bottom sucks Felipe off. The bottom then offers his ass to Felipe, and Felipe obliges. The bottom screams as Felipe enters him, and his face screws up in agony. Soon, however, the bottom pleads with Felipe to “fuck me harder,” “ram it into me,” etc., and his cries become moans of ecstasy and finally whimpers of pleasure. At the last moment, Felipe pulls out and shoots copiously over the bottom’s chest and face.

Pretty much the standard fare. What makes the film different, however, is Felipe. He really enjoys the sex, and he moans and groans as much as the bottom. When he comes, he roars with pleasure.

Above I explained the process of creating Felipe’s outer top. That’s what you see when you watch Felipe’s videos. What Felipe sees and experiences is quite different, however. The second tactic for curing his stage fright involved satisfying his inner bottom.

In Felipe’s mind, he is the bottom in each encounter. In reality, it may be his cock that is being sucked, but in Felipe’s mind, he is kneeling before a short, slender man—to him all of them are under five feet—and sucking that man’s cock. He is the one who begs to be fucked. He is the one who lies on his back and lifts his legs, exposing his ass. He is the one who screams as the other man’s cock entered him. He is the one crying out “harder, faster, more, more, more.” The deeper and more powerfully he thrusts into the bottom during his performance before the cameras, the deeper and more powerful the thrust he feels his imaginary top deliver inside himself. He is the one who groans turned to moans and then to whimpers. His are the chest and face splattered by the short, smooth, muscular, small-dicked top’s hot cum.

Felipe delivers everything the director asks him to, and his cock remains rigid throughout each scene. Problem solved. My client is happy. Felipe is happy.

And I left LA a happy man as well—naturally before announcing that I had cured Felipe’s stage fright, I had to test my reprogramming of him and make sure that this now energetic top believed he was in reality being the bottom in the encounter. I was thrilled (although a bit sore in certain areas) to learn that Felipe can now be counted on to deliver what is wanted of him. Felipe assured me that he had never received such a satisfying fuck. In his enthusiasm he offered to meet me whenever his booming career in the adult entertainment industry brings him to Boston.

I like to know that I can stand behind my work (well, to be more accurate, in this case I lay beneath it). Quality control backed by rigorous testing is just a sound business principle.

Case 2009/J

I’ve been working with Lincoln for over four years. In some respects, he’s been a very easy client. “I love being hypnotized,” he told me at our first meeting. “It arouses me to be controlled and manipulated. Even the thought of it makes me hard.”

His self-assessment is accurate. Lincoln is the type of subject who wants to be hypnotized. You can see that in the way that he comes bounding into my office and throws himself on the couch. He wants to be in a trance so much that he grows impatient at any attempt at small talk. He wants to submit and obey. He can’t wait to be taken down, down, down into a deep trance.

In other respects, it’s been a challenge dealing with him. He made his problem clear from the beginning. “I’ve never been sure that I’ve ever really been hypnotized. I sometimes wonder if I’m not just playing along and doing what I’m told to do because I want to be hypnotized so much. So what I want you to do is to make me do things that will prove to me that I’ve really been hypnotized and that I’m under your control.”

When I asked him what sorts of things would convince him that he had been hypnotized, he said, “That’s just it. We can’t discuss what you’re going to do. It has to be things you’ve thought up, and that I don’t know about. You can’t tell me what they are beforehand, or I may end up doing them out of my own free will. And I want to be sure that I’m doing them because I don’t have a choice.”

I told him that I would not do anything that put him in danger or hurt him physically. He wanted to argue about these restrictions, but I was adamant, and he finely agreed.

It was a challenge even to convince him that he had been hypnotized. Lincoln trances easily and so deeply that he has no memory of the sessions when he awakes, unless I instruct him to remember. But if I tell him that he will be able to remember what transpired during the trance, then he wonders if he was really hypnotized. If I let him have no memory of the trance, then he worries that maybe he dozed off and slept through the entire session. On several occasions, I videotaped a session and had him watch the tape afterwards. He grudgingly admitted that it “appeared” that he had “been hypnotized.” But he “would have to watch this several times” to make sure it was him on the tape.

He finally agreed that he had been hypnotized when he saw a video of himself frozen stiff. By that point, I had implanted a trigger to put into a deep trance immediately. I had the video recorder running when he walked into the office. As soon as he came through the door, I greeted him with his trigger. Between one step and the next, he went into a trance. He didn’t even register the presence of the third person in the room. I had enlisted another of my long-term trainees to videotape the session and assist me during it. (This person was also in a deep trance. Before I woke him up, I erased all memory of the session from his mind.)

I told Lincoln to undress, and he complied immediately. I then had him lie down across three wooden chairs, with his legs together and his arms pressed lengthwise along the sides of his body. When he was settled, I began. “Your body is frozen in place. It is stiff and rigid.” I repeated that several times until I was sure that he had become a statue. Then with the help of my assistant, I removed the middle chair. Lincoln’s body remained frozen in place. It did not sag. I moved the chair under Lincoln’s feet until only his heels rested on the chair. I did the same with the chair supporting the upper part of his body. In the end, only the back of his head was on the chair. I instructed him, “Absolutely frozen in place. No trembling. No movement.” I had positioned a clock so that it would be visible on the tape. I kept Lincoln suspended between the two chairs for five minutes. It was an impressive feat.

But I wasn’t through. My assistant and I moved Lincoln’s still rigid body to the couch. At this point, I stopped the videotape and dismissed the assistant. After he left, I turned my attention to Lincoln again and implanted a post-hypnotic suggestion. From the moment Lincoln entered until I brought him back to full waking consciousness, thirty-two minutes elapsed.

Lincoln awoke to find himself lying naked on my couch, facing a television screen. When his eyes opened, I started the video. Lincoln’s attention instantly riveted on the screen. He watched without blinking as he entered the room and I triggered him. His breathing became ragged as he saw himself grow rigid. When he saw himself supported on the two chairs, the post-hypnotic suggestion kicked in. His cock became as rigid as his body on the screen, and he ejaculated instantly, shooting cum all over his chest. The initial spurt left a trail of cum across his face.

Lincoln was elated and thrilled with the results of the session. I gave him the video to take home with him. He told me on his next visit that the post-hypnotic suggestion worked every time he viewed the tape.

Lincoln is such a good subject that I have tried many experiments with him. Following the session described above, he became almost addicted to being turned into a living statue. We occasionally paint his body a white that resembles the color of fine marble or a shiny bronze color to make him look like a cast metal statue. I put him in a trance and show him a picture of nude male statue. He arranges his body to mimic the pose of the statue as best he can, and then I freeze him. For these sessions, I have him be conscious of the fact that he is frozen in place and cannot move. His record for remaining frozen is four and a half hours. He tells me that he finds being posed and rendered immobile extremely satisfying and restful. “A conscious statue” is his term for the experience.

Lincoln has been so cooperative that I recently decided to reward him. The trick with rewards is not to make the subject dependent on them. If you give the subject a self-trigger that he can activate whenever he pleases, he is likely to go overboard and reward himself frequently. That can lessen the novelty of the experience for him. Some subjects quickly get bored with the reward but find themselves helpless to stop. They grow to hate the reward. Others trigger themselves so often that the reward begins to impact their daily life adversely. So a self-trigger is not the best option.

On the other hand, making the trigger activatable only by the hypnotist can be a nuisance. There are triggers that I want to work only when I say them and only when I want, such as triggers that instantly put the subject into a deep trance. But that would require me to activate Lincoln’s reward trigger myself. I wanted the trigger to be automatic but arbitrary and whimsical so that it would hit Lincoln when he wasn’t expecting it—the proverbial lightning bolt out of the blue. I would also program Lincoln so that he did not know that the trigger was a trigger. For him, the reward had to be inexplicable.

Of course, you don’t want triggers, especially one that precipitates an intense experience—to be activated at moments that would endanger the subject or put him in an embarrassing situation. (At least I don’t want the subject to be embarrassed or humiliated. There are some hypnotists—and some subjects—who relish that.) So you have to build in cautions against triggers working, for example, while the subject is driving or when others are around. I like to use a bit of programming called the “home alone requirement”; that is, the trigger is activated only when the subject is at home and alone.

So my criteria for Lincoln’s reward trigger were—

1. Automatic when Lincoln encounters the trigger.

2. Trigger activates only once a day.

3. Only activated when he was home and alone.

The question then became what to choose as the word(s) or event or sequence of events that served as the trigger. I wanted something that Lincoln would encounter at least once a day when he was by himself at home. So it had to be something in his daily life. A phrase such as “spaghetti with meatballs” wouldn’t work because it’s not part of daily life unless you work in an Italian restaurant. I also wanted it to be something that occurred randomly rather than at a set time, such as his first sip of coffee in the morning.

I think my solution is rather elegant and appropriate. Lincoln checks his personal email several times each day on his home computer. To my knowledge, he has at least five different email accounts—one totally innocent for family, bills, professional matters, and his straight friends, and several others for his more adventurous personae. He once jokingly told me that he spends at least fifteen minutes every day deleting spam because he has so many accounts. So I based the trigger on likely emails. Lincoln’s reward is triggered by the fourth email he receives each day whose subject line indicates it is sex-related, whether for the magic blue pills or porn or offers of dates with buxom women or big-dicked men or devices to increase your size. I figured four was a large enough number that he would not consistently activate the trigger the first time he logged on each day, yet not so high that there would be many days when he did not reach the required number.

Oh, and the reward? Well, that’s simple, too. As soon as Lincoln sees the fourth email, a hot, wet, muscular mouth begins deep-throating his cock. The mouth is talented, the tongue and lip action is vigorous, and the sucking is intense—vacuum cleaner intense. The sensation lasts for ten seconds and then stops. It’s driving him crazy.