So I think I’m going to fire up this blog again and begin importing my written stuff over from Tumblr.
If there’s anything particular you want to see or might have missed, please let me know.
So I think I’m going to fire up this blog again and begin importing my written stuff over from Tumblr.
If there’s anything particular you want to see or might have missed, please let me know.
Twenty-Two Short Stories About Deep Mind-Dark Wood.
By DJ Pynchon
Some of these stories happened as I described them.
Some of these stories are exaggerated.
Some of them are complete fabrications.
It would be unfair to say that I had never cooked before. It would be perfectly fair, however, to say that I had never cooked so much so quickly for so many people. My plane was a few minutes late, and I was thrust out into the pleasant New England night. For Lee and Jim, it was 11 pm. For me, it was still relatively early, being from a time zone significantly west of here. The trip to Lee’s house was short, and windy. There was precious little time for pleasantries. But I was cooking, and stressing about it.
Then I remembered that I was at a hypnotist’s house. I stood there in front of the stove and listened to Lee and Jim talk, and decided to push myself into a little trance.
Then Lee said something to me and I looked at the time. It was 1 am. All the chicken had been cooked and put away.
I had wondered flying across the country if I’d be ready for this weekend.
I was trying to figure out what I was.
Not who I was. That I had pretty much well in hand: nice enough, good looking enough for those I cared enough of to dwell on whether they thought I was attractive; smart, clever, polite, diplomatic. Those are all words that describe who I was. Or who I am.
But what was I?
Hopping into the hypno-scene as I had, I found myself drawn mostly to dominants. It made sense; all my fantasies prior to that had involved some kind of female hypnotist slowly taking over my will and giving me intense pleasure, inducing some level of amnesia and taking advantage of me without choice. You know, typical Catholic stuff.
And yet. And yet. Consider that a fair portion of the actual play I had concocted and put in motion involved me as the “top.” It involved me as the mover, the hypnotist, the one holding the whip (or, in my case, the sonic screwdriver).
Maybe… maybe I’m not, strictly speaking, a bottom after all.
And would that make a difference?
These were the questions going through my head in the lead up to Deep Mind Dark Wood. I thought it’d be a chance to explore aspects of myself that I hadn’t really had the chance to… at any point in my life, really.
And so I prepared myself to have the courage of my convictions. Wait. No, that’s not quite right. Because I wasn’t sure of my convictions. Not yet. Rather, I was going to gird myself to try on a new me. To one extent or another, I was hoping to break through and find out what I was. What I am.
And although I was trying to prepare myself, what preparation can one do right before you take that leap?
3. The Scene
The prevailing color is green. Not the newborn Springtime green of the urgent growth, but the last gasp green of late summer, when Autumn has barely thought about licking the leaves of the trees in the valley.
Helter-skelter in the middle of the woods are scattered clearings and chock-a-block buildings. One such building rises towards the middle of the camp– a massive modest mansion. It has multiple personalities: come at it from any new angle, and you’d think you were approaching a new structure. It also has multiple stories: one in one part; two in another; and three or even four, depending on which staircase one ascends (or descends… or ascends, then descends, then ascends).
The interior of the dormitory is a maze of rooms and hallways. One imagines Escher would get dizzy navigating its entrails.
There is one large gathering and dining room, a well-appointed kitchen, and all the bedrooms one would want.
There are private cabins here and there and several fields for lazing about.
Across a path and hidden from sight is a disused religious maze, and if one weren’t careful, one could even get lost between the maze of the house and the maze of the maze, such is the disorienting effect of the place.
This weekend, though, the lasting memory will, no doubt, be the hazy sticky heat that lay about the place and made every movement seem like swimming through a dream.
In short, for all one’s hypnotic needs, the place was perfect.
People from many different corners of the world gathered together to invoke whatever good spirits (or bad, I suppose) to lift them to whatever goals they felt confident enough to inflict upon this weekend.
We held hands. ZanyM led us through the ceremony.
One by one we sipped water from a bowl and spoke of our hopes and dreams for the weekend.
The cadence of voices from other climes and other countries.
The whisper of what might be.
The far off sound of thunder.
Ray Bradbury may have been tempted to call it “delicate.”
Far off I swore I heard a raven call, symbol of change and the oaths you’re glad were broken.
And then another rumble.
And then the words of us, one by one, detailing the signs and symbols we’d adopted.
Ripples in the air spreading out in all directions.
The wave of vibrations hitting the ears and then to the minds.
The oscillator could chart the slide up and down as those words flitted around the gathering.
Already the minds receding and acceding.
I could feel the comfort of trance just from following the bowl from person to person, round and round.
Each word and hope feeding my sense of anticipation.
And the hinted, unspoken promise of any opening circle, that there will be a closing circle. That who you are right there, in that moment, will be deposited at the close, unchanged in any appreciable way. However far one strays from the origin, the circle promises the return, and therefore returns a perfect promise.
Morgan closed the loop with the last drops from the cup and bid us all strap in for the bumpy ride of the weekend to come.
And with that, the circle broke.
5. Hypno-scenes from a hat.
They had put their nametags in a hat. DJ sat nervously. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the weekend. Frankly the promotional materials were rather circumspect on the question of what everyone would be doing to fill their time. But Mr. Dream, together with LeeAllure, as ringleaders of the event, had gathered everyone onto the side porch. Dream took the name-tags from everyone and threw them into a hat. He and Lee began by trading trances.
They described how, for the duration of the weekend, any filters that were preventing us from achieving our goals would be lifted, but only in such a way as to keep us safe and secure. But that, again, for the duration of the weekend, those filters would be placed somewhere else so that we would be open to the new experiences and to the experiences that we wanted. They spoke these words to each other.
Then, they picked names out of a hat, and each took that person to the side, and performed a hypnotic induction on them.
DJ was still a little nervous. He had met most of these people before, but he really only knew Lee. And, with some minor exceptions here and there, he had only worked with Lee.
One man with a slight accent picked DJ’s name. They wandered to the side.
They chatted nervously a little, in a way not entirely unlike a first date. The accented man asked for permission and began.
DJ dropped like a brick through water.
His mind had been ready, and he opened like a flower greeting the first rain of spring after the frost had faded away. As filters began being removed, DJ found himself nodding to the friendly suggestions.
DJ enjoyed the drifting.
Too soon, the accented voice woke him up.
DJ looked around, seeing various people in various states of trance.
The colors and lights looked brighter and, yet, gauzier.
He thanked the accented man.
Then DJ took a name out of the hat, and continued.
6. Where the weather goes.
I have often thought that climate makes the culture. New Englanders are hardy folk, because they bear the brunt of fierce Nor-easters then harsh and humid horrid summers.
Southerners are lazily lackadaisical because, perhaps, their progress is forever slowed by half-backed molasses in the air.
Northwesterners are quirky and fond of the weird- months in the rain leads to inventing new ways to entertain and distract.
I hail from near the Pacific, where dry desert sun kisses the skin every day and no air or weather is anything other than a friend. The Western sun loves us so much it will not let a drop of water fall, nor fill the air, lest water distract from the sun’s love of us.
So when I walk outside into the New England summer I wonder what sins I have committed to earn so great a betrayal of what I rely on. In New England late summers, the sun is not your friend. It and its humid allies seek to stifle the very sense of thought. In many ways the slow burn squeeze of thought and brain power is perfect for an enclave such as this.
John Adams’ children from the area open their arms and tell me it’s beautiful. Polite and suggestible, I tell them it is. They look at me insistently, for I have not the fervor of an acolyte.
“It IS beautiful here!” they say again. And look! So it is!
Thus does culture make the climate.
7. Air Superiority
The remit was simple and from the Wiccan-inspired people in our group: divide ourselves according to the ancient four elements of “Water, Fire, Earth and Air” and develop (within those groups) a group trance related to that element.
I found myself in the “Air” group. We tied some ropes onto a ring and each of us began to dance with each other through the ring, like a giant Ouija fetish, only with the ring holding air… as much as air can be held.
The other “elements” were doing it wrong, clearly.
Fire went down to the fire-pit and talked about themselves among the ashes, before flaming out with little trance accomplished.
Earth lay down sedentarily, contemplating the grass. In my field of vision, they never moved.
Water took forever to decide what state they were in- halfway through our dance, I don’t think they had even figured out a way to begin, or where that beginning would be. Finally Water decided that they wanted more of itself, and begged the sky for rain.
But we- we let the wind move us into whatever many positions we/it desired. Spinning ourselves around the ring. Tying us up in bunches. And when the wind was done with us, and we were done with the wind, the trance and the dance, we stopped.
8. Clean hands, clean heart, clean dishes, clean mind.
I stumbled out of the kitchen, blinking.
My hands were wet and the entire front of my clothes was damp.
I blinked some more and checked the time.
An hour had gone. I leaned back into the kitchen and saw a pile of clean dishes.
I think I had done them.
I fuzzy memory came back to me.
An hour ago, Lee had led me to the kitchen. “It’s your turn in the kitchen to clean. As you clean each dish, you will find yourself falling deeper and deeper into a trance. Each dish you wash will make you happier and more open. Each dish you wash will clean your mind and make you more open. The cleaner the dishes are, the cleaner your mind will be.”
The image came back in a flood.
My mind was clean.
Looking back now, I realize…. I was in that kitchen a lot.
9. Molecular Trance.
We are given a length of rope. Well… not really a rope. More like those thick sturdy lengths used to tie furniture. Everyone gets a choice of a color. Mine is blue.
We start with one volunteer in the middle. She stands there, with us surrounding her in a circle, in anticipation.
Three of us approach her, each placing our “rope” around her. Together we can stop her from falling over.
Together, however, we seek to induce her into trance.
We take her off balance, yet still connected to the ground.
I find myself whispering trancey words. The three of us with the fourth in the middle guide her into a glide into hypnosis.
In many ways this is a trust exercise; she trusts us to hold her to the ground. We trust her to fall and drift.
After a few minutes I feel the ropes around me. The same thing happens to the other two. Now we are floating on the ground, as people tug and shape us off balance. I feel like I am floating as I hold and guide the woman in the center. I can barely keep track of what I am saying, though I’m sure my whispers mean something.
I feel like I am floating up into the air and looking down, as ropes interlace between and among us spreading out in all directions. We are a molecule of 24, 25 people spreading hypnosis out from the center and then having it reverberate back in.
I feel it course around and through me. I feel like I am catalyzed and a catalyst. I feel full of words, ponderous and pretentious. Maybe that is who I am. And for once, I do not care.
We are a unit, and a molecule, and every molecule contains atoms, each of which contains positive and negative charge. Whatever charge I have in this molecule is important, and contributes to the sway. For what I am is who I am. Down the road Walt Whitman said that every part of you as sure’s a part of me.
For once, I understand what he meant (and all without benefit of drugs).
A breeze picks up, and, when we are done, we separate into our constituent parts.
10. What the Butler Became
Towards the beginning of the weekend we were randomly assigned groups and asked to come up with suggestions for “classes” or experiences we’d like to have. Someone suggested we experiment with “transformation” play. Transformation play involves a hypnotic suggestion that the subject have all the characteristics of….someone or something else.
A traditional motif in “mcstories” is when the subject is transformed into a doll or a robot. For the subject, being in a “doll space” means taking a break from thought and responsibility. For the hypnotist, having someone you can order around and who will obey without thought or delay can be quite the fantasy come true.
There are other types of transformation play, however. Some people will enjoy having their intelligence taken away, and this can be done through “bimbo” or “himbo” play. Others may like to experience being an animal, or a specific pet. For others it’s as simple as changing or augmenting a specific personality trait.
So a lot of people wanted to experience different aspects of it at DMDW. As a group, we discussed different aspects of it, and those with experience discussed how best to elicit it from the unconscious.
For the hypnotist, it can be quite a charge to see someone you’re working with adopt a whole new persona, to your specifications and commands.
We then split off into volunteers and hypnotists to run through some possible transformations.
Jim was really interested in exploring service, so had a hypnotist instill a “butler” trigger on him. The butler had his own personality, both supercilious and punctilious. We came to call him “Sebastian.”
Cynthia wanted to experience animal play, and so was hypnotized into believing she was a cat… well, that is to say, a kitten. She crawled around on all fours.
Roger was an effervescent sort. He had kind of a bubbly personality and a certain joie de vivre. He wanted to experience having his intelligence drained away a little.
And me. Well, Lee and I had been discussing how I needed some experience being “not nice.” I’ve always been a little leery about opening up the dark side of my personality to others’ gaze. Lee, for some reason, thought it’d be fun to do. So she turned to me and started whispering in my ear.
“In your mind is a control panel. And on that control panel is a section marked ‘filters.’ And on one of those filters is a dial marked ‘Snarkiness.’ It’s probably set to about a ‘6’ right now. For the next hour, I want to change it, just a little, to ‘8.’ Nod your head if this is ok.”
I, of course, nodded my head.
“Good. Now wake up! <snap!>”
I opened my eyes and I felt, frankly, lighter than I had before. I also felt slightly more predatory. For a while I saw most of the people there as some kind of prey.
I remember going up to “Sebastian,” and engaging him in conversation about how awful butlers were- that they are backstabbing, gossiping two-faced creatures—just to see how polite he could stand to be as I was crapping all over his chosen profession.
I noted with wry amusement how flustered he was becoming. I stopped just before he was about to blow his top. As I left I noted how his shoelaces were not equally well tied. Which flustered the poor bastard even more.
We interacted like this for a while as the group broke up into social discussions. I found my way next to Lee and whispered some of my observations into her ear. I was mimicking this person, or making fun of the ostentatious way one of them was conducting a trance.
At some point I was told that Roger was brought out of his “Himbo” trance, and I immediately responded, “How can anyone tell the difference?”
Before we went inside, Lee reset the dial; dinner was approaching, and I still had three full days with everyone.
11. Bang a Gong
I’m not sure why the gong was there.
It was large and looked like it came straight from the set of some Asian movie where monks at a Buddhist temple gather. It was slung from a stand at the side of the room.
Brigit and Sonia were there. Sonia was underneath the gong, lying still but looking around furtively as if something were sure to happen. I walked up and Brigit greeted me.
“Sonia’s a gong.”
“I said, Sonia’s a gong. Watch!”
And with that, Brigit took the gong’s mallet and drummed it on the gong. The effect on Sonia was immediate. Her whole body shook with each reverberation of the gong. As the sounds quieted down, Sonia’s own palpitations and shivers declined. Just as Sonia came to a rest, Brigit hit the gong again, sending Sonia into more and even greater convulsions.
“Oh, no. She’s completely mindless right now. All she is is a gong. Gong, gong, gong. She’s gone gong….” Brigit hit the gong in time with every time she said “gong” or “gone.”
She handed me the mallet.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. She said you could earlier.”
I slowly rapped the mallet against the gong, marveling at how responsive Sonia was.
After a while, I couldn’t help myself. I choked the mallet up and swung it hard and strong at the gong, sending a crashing, booming sound through the room unmatched by anything save for the shriek of ecstasy as Sonia spasmed underneath.
I was about to laugh, when I looked down the room and saw some people look at me sharply, as though I was disturbing something they were doing. Which we probably were.
I held my hand out to silence the gong, and Sonia stopped her thrashing immediately.
Brigit and I looked at each other for a moment
“Do you think…” I started.
“Yes?” she asked.
“What would happen if we hit her with the mallet?”
Brigit and I held each other’s eyes for a moment.
“Let’s find out” she said, eagerly.
Brigit took the mallet from me and started bouncing it off of Sonia’s prone body. Sonia re-started her convulsions. Like the gong, the quivers and quavers kept going even after each mallet’s strike was over.
Sonia looked like a woman in the throes of unseen passion as we took turns hitting her with various degrees of force.
At some point, I saw someone I had to talk to, so I left Brigit to continue poking and prodding.
As I hit the other side of the room, I heard another shriek as Brigit doubtless smacked Sonia as hard as she could. The same people who had been disturbed before glared at me again.
I looked at them and showed my bare, empty hands.
“Not my orchestra this time.”
They grimaced, and went back to their scene.
12. Mosquitos, a haiku.
Trance is hard enough
Blood sucking insects all ‘round
13. Rapport, Part 1: The Staring Contest
Breakfast at Camp Mindfuck is dangerous.
Mark was talking with Lee about plans for later that day.
Mary was over on the other side of the table, discussing some arcane
Mark absent-mindedly asked Mary to pass the water. Neither looked at the
other as Mary reached over to grab the pitcher. Neither really considered their actions as Mark reached across for the pitcher.
But each glanced up to make sure there would be no spill.
They made eye contact.
Each considered how funny it was to make eye contact at a hypnosis event.
Each decided to let the other look away first.
You know, for science.
Each saw the smirk in the other’s face.
Each knew this meant there was a double down.
Each knew that this was dangerous.
The other person’s eyes became the most important thing in the world.
Would they shift away from the other’s?
Would they lose focus first?
Would they trance out or keep focus?
Would they, could they, should they resist?
Each could barely hear the conversation fade away.
Each could barely hear as their hypnotists started whispering in their ears.
Each could barely imagine it, because maybe that wasn’t actually happening.
Each could barely contain themselves as they drifted away from the
breakfast table into a sweet sleepy space.
Each could barely stop themselves from imagining a million different ways to
Each could not contain their drop into that yawning sleepy open space
A shadow passed as someone else asked for some water.
And the spell was broken, and each was returned to the present tense.
Shaky, Mark managed to pour himself some water, and pass the pitcher on.
Each returned to their conversations.
Breakfast at Camp Mindfuck is so much dangerous.
But it is also dangerously fun.
14. Maze (a poem)
I am lost
I am following a person I barely know around a maze
Drawn and charted on a former church floor
I am following them, and then I’m not
I am following the lines on the floor
I am lost
I am drawn to the center like the maze
I am drawn to follow
I am meant to follow between the lines that draw me to the center
I follow between the lines
I chart the lines between trance and meditation
I place myself on one foot after another
I am lost
I am steps in a maze which have retraced themselves
I am lost in a loop in a maze which has turned upon itself
I was following and now I am lost and by myself
The line between trance and meditation is a line I cross
And so I cross myself and my path
I am meant to draw myself to the center, and so
I find myself crossing all kinds of lines
I am no longer drawn to another maze’s center.
Amazingly, I have found myself my own center.
I am found
I am no longer lost.
15. Rapport, Part 2—The Hypno-Egg Contest
He handed the egg to Mary. Mary held it carefully and protectively in her hands. She handed it back to Mark.
Likewise, Mark cradled it in his hands before handing it back.
Mary held it, slightly heavier than last time, before send it the other way.
“I wonder,” Mark said, “which color brings you into trance more? Is it the blue color or is it the red.”
“Wait,” Mary said, “isn’t that cheating?”
“You should answer my question before I answer yours.”
She handed the egg back. “No, seriously—can you do that?”
“Well,” he smirked, “I did help invent the game. So the rules are pretty much what I say they are.”
She smiled. “Well, then, Mark. Would you say that the colors are more effective when you inhale or when you exhale? But don’t answer.”
“W-what?” They continued handing the egg back and forth, but suddenly, Mark’s hands began to waver.
“Because I need you to think about that while you concentrate on handing this Hypno-Egg back and forth so very carefully. And while you worry about that, think about how much you want to win this game and how that desire keeps you going and then think about the feel of the egg in your hand and the weight that you must bear to keep going, and think about all the colors you’re ignoring because the changing rainbow of colors would be captivating if you thought of them too much and then…”
She might have kept talking; Mark wasn’t entirely sure, because he felt himself sinking. But then he realized, she had stopped speaking. She was staring at the egg in his hands.
All he had to do…
All he had to do was shift the egg from his hands to hers and he’d win.
He could feel his thumb twitch as he tried to make that move.
He could feel Mary’s eyes staring.
He could sense her outstretched hands waiting.
And yet, for some reason, he just couldn’t do it.
And so he “lost.”
Mary, of course, remembered it the other way around.
16. The Tough Nut (a haiku)
Repeating “I can’t”
Is its own kind of trance state
A sad, lonely one.
17. Rapport, Part 3 – Mirror Trance
Mark was walking down the hall when he heard Lee talking with Mort.
“Oh sure,” she said, “mutual trances are a lot of fun. I did one with Mark over at NEEHU last year.”
Mark’s ears perked up. It was a fantastic memory for him. NEEHU was the first hypnosis event he had ever been to and he recalled how nervous he was getting off the plane, driving to the hotel, and meeting the first few people at the event. He had met Lee at the pool and she had both assuaged his nerves and introduced him to his first live trance. The next day, she had somehow convinced him to do a live demo in front of the unconference. He remembered thinking to himself “zero to 60 in no time at all.”
At some point during the demo, Lee had Mark face Sarah, one of the other volunteers. Lee started whispering at them, telling them that they were going to go into a trance.
“I don’t know which of you is going to go into a trance first, you,” touching him on his shoulder, “or you,” now touching Sarah. “But you find you can’t take your eyes off of each other’s eyes, and, Mark, you’ll find that as you watch Sarah go deep, you’ll go just as deep as she looks, and then a little deeper. And Sarah, you’ll find that as you watch Mark go a little deeper, you’ll go just as deep as he looks, and then go a little deeper. And you’ll see the trance in each other’s eyes, and….”
And that’s where his memories got a little hazy.
Mark shook his head and looked around. He was here, at Deep Mind Dark Wood, and Lee was talking about mutual trances, again. It was just Lee and Mort lounging in the room. He stepped into the sitting room, and looked up to see Mary walk in from the other hallway at the same time. They made eye contact with each other, and stopped.
Lee laughed. “I was going to go get some volunteers, but I think we have some already. Mary… Mark… would you please come here and demonstrate something for Mort for me?”
Mark briefly considered saying “no,” just to be difficult. But he walked over and took up a position just opposite Mary, who, likewise, found herself standing across from Mark.
Lee kept talking to Mort, explaining what was about to happen. “So it’s really about establishing rapport between the two people. And I know this will be a little bit easier than usual because of how they had been working together earlier today. So I’ll just ask them to look at each other.”
At this point, Lee directed her voice at the pair staring at each other in the room.
“Look at each other’s faces and take a deep breath in and let it go.”
Mark and Mary did this in unison.
“Now just begin to breathe normally. And as you do that, just look at each other and see how relaxed and happy the other person is.” Mark nodded, noticed that Mary nodded at the same time, and both grinned.
“And as you see how relaxed the other person is, see if you can get as relaxed as they are. Notice how their eyes soften, even as they stay focused on you. Notice how their breathing slows, even as yours slows.”
Mark was noticing all these things. He noticed how her eyes softened but kept focus. He noticed how his breathing was suddenly matching her breathing. He noticed all these things and less. And less.
He had dim flashes of how beautiful Mary looked as she was obviously slipping into a trance, with Lee’s words sliding by his ears. Lee’s voice, however, was a music he could hear and even follow, but whose melody slipped by him.
And he thought that if Mary looked like that falling into trance, he must look the same. And- just as Lee was saying at that exact moment, though somehow he didn’t exactly hear her- that same thought made them both fall even deeper.
The whole world swallowed them up as consciousness fell around them both.
“And 1…2…3…4… wide awake on 5.”
His eyes blinked into consciousness staring directly at Mary. He watched her blink into wakefulness as well. They both giggled shyly. They stole a glance at each other.
“-and drop right back down twice as deep, Now!” as Lee snapped her fingers.
And the trance swallowed them both again.
There was nothing but darkness for a while, and then….
“And 1…2…3…4, wide awake again on 5.”
This time, waking up was even more of a chore.
They stole a shy glance around the room again, only to find that it had filled up with ten people watching them intensely.
They both looked down, bashfully.
“And that’s how you do it. They’ll feel like they’re in quite the state of rapport for a while-and they are-but it’s really easy, especially if you have such good subjects like this.”
Mary and Mark both sheepishly thanked Lee for the compliment. They were furtively trying not to make eye contact. Eye contact seemed… dangerous.
Lee kept talking to the newly arrived crowd as Mary and Mark pretended to pay attention. They were slowly and imperceptibly (to themselves anyway, though Lee noticed) moving closer to each other.
Finally, they “accidentally” touched, and made that eye contact…
They fell past the room’s laughter on their way down.
They fell past all sense of propriety, too. (Morgan, who arrived in the room halfway through, would say that the little bit of drool dripping from Mark’s mouth was the sexiest thing she had seen that weekend, to that point.)
At some point they never hit bottom. But they never broke eye contact, either. And at some point, somewhere in there, they knew they needed to come back up, or else they would drift in trancey blackness forever.
And so they led each other back to the waking world and to the applause of their friends.
18. Rapport, Part 4 – That Scene
They would refer to it ever after as that scene.
Periodically, someone would poke their head in to see what was occurring, but only the five people in the room could tell you.
I wouldn’t dare to tell you that I knew what exactly occurred; I was in another part of the complex entirely, staring at the sky and counting shooting stars. But this is what I’ve been able to piece together, after talking to each of them.
Vince had asked Lee and Morgan to do a scene with him. Vince and Morgan had been working on some transformation play involving turning Vince into a butler type named “Bartlesby” earlier in the day. But tonight, he wanted a different kind of vacation. Tonight he wanted some doll play. He wanted to be doll-like servant for Morgan and, by extension, Lee. Vince also wanted to experience what needles felt like, and Lee had brought a batch. Mark had listened to some of the negotiations during dinner and asked if he could watch. Lee, Morgan and Vince all agreed.
Mark ran into Mary on the way to the room where “that scene” was about to occur. The three had already begun, so Mark and Mary sat on a bed in the medium size bedroom. Vince was standing in the middle of the room, already with his shirt off. Lee and Morgan had begun with a dual induction, sending him so very, very, deep.
While down, the two hypnotists constructed a doll persona, filled with nothing but thoughtlessness and obedience. But periodically, one or the other would give the doll an imaginary treat. When the doll ate the treat, the doll would say a new mantra that would both express Vince’s deepest thoughts at that moment, and reinforce the obedience and subservience he was feeling.
As Mark and Mary came in, Morgan had just given Vince a treat. He placed it in his own mouth, and said, “An obedient doll is a happy doll.”
Mark and Mary sat on the bed facing the scene. That line had entirely captured their attention. It was one thing to read that line in a smutty and hot mind control story, but to see it playing out right in front of them? That was something else entirely. This, as they told me later, just didn’t happen.
Morgan and Lee stalked around Vince, like two very sexy sharks taunting their prey. Occasionally smacking his chest or running their nails lightly across his back.
Vince was so far gone into “doll-space” it was hard to tell if any of those feelings even registered in his brain.
Lee placed a treat in his hand. This time, he said, “I am a happy doll.”
Mark and Mary inhaled at the same time. Somehow, they wound up sitting even closer to each other. By the time the next treat was given, “I live to serve,” Mark and Mary found themselves clutching each other. Apparently this whole scene was turning them on. Because of the rapport they had been feeling throughout the whole day, however, this quickly became a closed circuit.
By which I mean, every time Lee or Morgan did something to Vince– the first needle; the second needle; “I live to obey”; “happy dolls obey”; Lee slapping the skin where the needles found themselves impaled in Vince’s skin; the moment Morgan let Vince feel the pleasure coursing through his body for 20 seconds of blissful moans and then silence; when Lee and Morgan took turns with the breath play; “I am yours to command”; etc., etc., etc.—Mark and Mary would find themselves turned on, and turning each other on.
First they were clutching each other’s arms. Then they had their arms around each other. Then they were sitting in each other’s laps. Then they were grabbing each other’s hair and forcing each other to watch. At some point, Mary told me, staring down at the ground, she was pretty sure they were dry humping.
Morgan said she wasn’t sure which was hotter, the scene she and Lee were running, or the heavy petting on the couch.
No one was sure how long the scene lasted. Mark said it felt like 20 minutes. Lee thought it was about two hours. Vince lost all track of time and didn’t even know what day this happened. All I know is that I didn’t see them for at least three hours. I saw that door closed and didn’t bother to poke my head in.
No one was sure how or why it ended. Maybe the sun came up. Maybe there’s only so long a doll can be played with.
No one was sure how Mark and Mary managed not to tear off each other’s clothes, given how much they were apparently pawing at each other.
But really, everyone was certain, that the heat from that room peeled the paint off the walls and seared certain moments into their brains.
As Mark Twain once observed about stars, sometimes, when you least expect it…. Moments just happen.
19. The Voices and the Bodies.
In the field in the afternoon, they gathered. They divided amongst themselves, an equal number of hypnotists and subjects. The subjects lay on the grass, soaking in the warm late summer sun. The hypnotists moved among them and around them. Their voices starting out as whispers.
They cajoled and urged the subjects to let their bodies stay behind in the warm ground and let loose their unconscious selves to dance around the tree.
Their voices collided and roamed the bodies supine before them.
On some unspoken signal, the voices, as one, raised in volume and intent.
This was not just going to be some simple sleepy trance.
As one, the several hypnotists wanted to hear their chorus sing.
Once cajoling voices became commanding voices, controlling voices, demanding voices. Voices that seeped into sleepy minds and pushed through whatever inhibitions still remained after a weekend of fractionation.
Together, the ten or so hypnotists acted as a conductor, pushing their words into the soon writhing bodies in front of them. The hypnotists had started in a circle, clockwise, but now were going every which way.
The bodies in the middle, some began to clutch each other thoughtlessly. Others had their eyes roll up into the backs of their heads as if possessed.
Which, of course, they were.
The words flooded over them like a flood across a desert of rocks, leaving no resistance in their wake. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen. The voices were insistent, were they not? The voices only asked for obedience for just as long as they kept talking.
And the obedience was for just one purpose, after all.
And these voices, without their own decision or thought, demanded that pleasure. They wanted to lure it out into the open. To magnify it. To have each body’s pleasure reverberate off the next. To multiply and focus it. Up into the air. And back onto their waiting, quivering, deliciously strewn bodies.
Together, these voices squeezed in on what remained of the bodies’ minds. As every thought squeezed out let more pleasure in.
Together, as one, the throng of bodies on the ground outside under the warm late-summer sun, moaned and shouted and groaned and pleaded and cast their yesses out into the canyon.
And as the echo flowed back upon them….
The voices grew silent.
For they were sated and proud of what they had done.
Each hash-mark is an orgasm.
One that I will forget.
The reverse of Doctor Who’s silence.
There each instance of terror is a mark to remind yourself of what you didn’t
want to see.
Here, each mark is a trigger for an orgasm you don’t want to forget.
Because each time you see it
You remember each time before.
And then you come.
They shared the game this time
And we got revenge on the other
Once we were allowed to remember
What’s this on my arm?
What’s that on yours?
Dozens of hash-marks
Dozens of orgasms
And shared alike
Until it was time to say good-bye.
Rolling up my sleeves
A friendly predatory glint in my eyes
“Give me a hug.”
Whenever you have been among your tribe
And you are returning to the grey, structured wilderness
Take a moment of quiet
To consider the questions unanswered
To reflect on who you are
And what you must take with you when you go.
22. Warping and Wrapping Up
We cleaned the place up, as good tenants do. Every bit of trash was retrieved. Every bit of unused food collected. We had all pitched in, every one. When someone wanted to feel a trance, or go for a walk, or just to talk about what they had experienced, there was always someone there to talk to. Each and every person there had something to share.
And they shared it.
You may well ask what I get out of writing these stories or blogs about my experiences (even when I fictionalize them or render them into tone poems).
It’s only when I reached this last one that I truly realized.
As I’ve said before, I am trying to pay this forward. I am trying to repay those whose stories led me to this point, whose words cast out into the fiery confines of the internet, found my mind and encouraged me to take that first step blinking into the sun and solar systems of the various hypnosis events.
And I hope that I may one day be a good enough writer to lead others to make that same first step.
But I also write because when I took that first step I found myself a home. And so I write to go back to that home, and relive it once again.
We take care of each other and ourselves.
We clean up after each other and ourselves.
It’s what you’re supposed to do, after all.
After all, we are a community.
And this is what communities do.
This is what happens when you start talking about human click-training fantasies around enscenic and I, someone suggests that we try our hands at stories based on the same titles, and then she and I feel compelled to write those stories. (Funny, there may have been some “clicking” sounds as people were telling us to do this. <shrug>.) Anyhow, people can find out about “click training” here. And I’ll post a link to enscenic‘s version here.
(WARNING-contains scenes of a suggestive nature, intended for mature audiences, viewer discretion advised. One or both of the stories may contain mind control, non-consentual situations, same gender sex, masturbation, graphic nudity, non-graphic nudity, mindfuckery, and jingles. Please do not operate heavy machinery after reading it.)
Also, please enjoy! <click>
I’d say that Michelle was a little out of my league. In fact, I’d say she was a lot out of my league. But when you’re a junior in college, life is short, the hormones are strong, and you just don’t second-guess it when a smoking hot girl lands in your lap at a party and tells you to take her home.
I would have figured it for a one-night stand, but she kept calling me and asking me to take her places. Again-who was I to second-guess my luck?
Now, don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t say I was a social outcast, but I wasn’t in a frat, I hated College Football, and was barely a back-up defensive midfielder for our Division II team. Michelle was a sophomore and well on her way to being a head cheerleader; she was peroxide blonde, tan, built like a teenage boy’s wet dream, and smart. She was going to be a doctor, she would say. And I believed her. She was bossy, and… I guess I kind of liked it.
My best friend didn’t.
“So that’s all it takes, huh?” Jennifer asked me right after Michelle had asked me… all right, she had really told me where and when I was meeting her… all right, taking her to dinner. “That’s all it takes for what?”
“To grab and tag you.” She replied.
“Oh… shut up, Jailbait.”
She shoved me good-naturedly. “Shut up, yourself, Beanpole.”
Jennifer (always “Jennifer” to everyone else and never “Jenni” or “Jen”) and I had met on the first day of college and became close friends, navigating our new experiences together. We helped each other in the classes we had deficits in; Jennifer was a psychology major, and helped me through all the Humanities. I was in engineering and helped her though the core math classes. Fresh out of high school I was tall-much taller than Jennifer—and skinny. She immediately started calling me “Beanpole.”
Jennifer, on the other hand, was super tiny, with dark hair and features and, when I met her, still with braces. She was in college a year early, having skipped her senior year. Even though she was just 17 when she started college, she looked 14. So, of course, I called her “Jailbait.” Nothing romantic ever happened between us… I don’t know… I just didn’t think there was any chemistry–any “click” between us–you know? I just didn’t think I was her type.
Other than a couple of times when she would go home to see her high school sweetheart and when I had a couple of weekends home, we were inseparable. So Michelle’s appearance on the scene caused some slight tension. Oddly, Michelle wasn’t actually jealous of Jailbait…. I mean, Jennifer. I think she didn’t consider her a threat.
For the most part, Jennifer seemed happy I was getting some, but there was always a little snarkiness after Jennifer would see me with Michelle. Early on I swore I heard her say something like “even with her resting bitchface.” But I let it go, since it seemed they eventually settled into a mutual acceptance of each other’s existence.
We walked to our next classes in silence.
Finally, after a thoughtful minute, she turned to me and asked, “You’ll still help me with that psychology experiment, right?”
“What? Oh sure. What do I have to do?”
“Well… I can’t tell you. Just know that I’ll be doing some strange things around you for the next week or so, and seeing how you react. But I promise I’ll tell you all about it when it’s all done.”
“Oh. OK. I trust you. As long as it isn’t like when you tried hypnosis on me and I slept through the fire alarm.”
She laughed. “No. This’ll be different. Much different.” She got another dreamy look on her face for a second.
“Sure. It’ll be fine.” I responded, and turned to leave.
She grabbed my arm suddenly and almost whispered, “No. I need you to say it very affirmatively. Do you, Jean-Paul, consent to me experimenting on you for the next two weeks? And that you’ll be open to whatever happens and won’t ask any questions until the experiment is over.”
I paused and looked down at her into her suddenly serious grey eyes. “Yes. I, Jean-Paul, consent to you, Jennifer Anderson, experimenting on me for the next two weeks. And I’ll be open to whatever happens and I won’t ask any questions until the experiment is over.”
As I was talking, she reached into her jeans pocket, and, right when I finished, I heard this weird clicking sound, just as she smiled. “Good. Thank you! I knew I could count on you. All right, I’ll see you later.”
I watched as she walked off, then shook my head as I ran to class.
The next couple days, I would hear that clicking noise over and over again whenever Jennifer was around. She had something in her pocket that she was constantly fiddling with and making those noises. I assumed it was part of the experiment.
On Monday, I was rummaging around in my bag on the ground, looking for a pen. It meant I had to take all of my things out and strew them around. Just as I got to my knees, and said I found it, she clicked.
Later that day, I was trying to decide which donut to have at the donut shop. I mentioned I was practically drooling, and she clicked.
On that first Tuesday she sat me down in a study room in the library and asked me about 50 or 60 questions all in a row, some of them personal. She didn’t click on all of them, but I think there were clicks any time I admitted I liked it when Michelle… well, actually, Jailbait never used her name. I guess it was whenever any woman took charge. Anyway, she seemed to click every time I answered in the affirmative. I kind of lost track of all the questions and it was like I was answering them on auto-pilot giving me the same floaty sensation I had from the time she hypnotized me. When we were done, she said, “good job,” and, as I smiled, she clicked.
Wednesday, she showed up to training, and stood on the touchline. I could barely hear the clicker throughout the game. I don’t think it made a difference, but still, I actually scored two goals.
The only time it was ever really annoying was when I was on the phone with Michelle planning a date for the weekend. Every time I said “yes” to one of Michelle’s suggestions, Jailbait would click. It was so annoying hearing that incessant click. I actually got on my knees to beg her to stop. Somehow this made her whole face light up, and she clicked even more.
Thursday night, I was getting ready to go to bed when she knocked on the door. She came in with her laptop, and sat it down in front of me.
“Don’t ask questions, remember?” was the first thing she said.
I nodded as she clicked.
She pressed a button on the laptop and a video started playing. It was porn.
“Really?” I glanced at her. But her eyes were glued to the screen.
“Shut up, Beanpole, and watch.”
As I turned back, she clicked again. It was a montage of many different scenes. I remembered it from an earlier psych class experiment she had had me sit in on. It was supposed to be a wide array of porn to test people’s subconscious reactions through an EKG. I didn’t have one connected; we just thought it’d be a hoot to watch one drunken night.
I couldn’t figure out the pattern to her clicks, but after a while, I didn’t care. In fact, I thought the video was about 30 minutes long, but it seemed to only take a couple of minutes.
When the video ended, she closed the laptop and walked out of the room without another word.
The weekend date night with Michelle didn’t seem particularly memorable. Jennifer met us at the pub. I couldn’t believe she brought the clicker there. I was sure Michelle would say something, but she somehow ignored it. When Michelle was out of earshot, I gave Jennifer a quizzical look. Without me saying a word, Jennifer whispered in my ear, “I told her about the experiment.” That pretty much satisfied me.
The next week went by in a blur. Periodically, she’d come over to my room, or I’d go over to her room, and she’d have me read a book out loud, or watch some terrible French movie, and all the time-at random intervals- she’d click her weird little clicker.
The next Friday, I had a really hot date with Michelle planned. She had told me she had something special cooked up for me, and asked me to wear the special silk boxers I had bought at the lingerie store the same day I had bought her this amazing corset and stocking set.
I eagerly knocked on the door to her dorm apartment, and Jennifer answered. I was shocked.
First, because she wasn’t supposed to be here.
Second, because of what she was wearing. The first thing I noticed was the heels. She never wore heels. Second, as I moved up, was the stockings and the leather pencil skirt. A pressed white shirt followed that, and then, above that, there was a face full of serious intent and covered in tasteful make up. Jailbai- I mean- Jennifer–never wore make up. I could have died right there.
“Wha-“ I almost said.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
“John-Paul. Come in.”
I walked in in a daze.
I stared at her.
She stared at me.
“What?” I finally said.
“Shhh. Don’t worry. I knew I could count on you.”
When she said those words, something clicked inside my head.
I started taking off my clothes.
When I was done, she said, “good job.”
I blinked, and found myself on my knees. I was also, suddenly, incredibly hard.
I started to ask something.
“Shhh. Don’t ask questions.” Again, something clicked inside of me and I stayed on my knees in front of her.
“Thank you…” and she looked at my crotch, “Beanpole. I’m sure I’ll find a use for that. But that wasn’t what I was after exactly. Oh, Bitchface!”
I glanced past Jennifer and saw… Michelle! She was naked except for a collar around her neck. Her eyes looked at me pleadingly.
“You see, Michelle just had to ask about the clicking she kept hearing on the phone. And she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Michelle crawled right up to Jennifer, and Jennifer lightly patted Michelle’s head. “So I showed her.” Jennifer bent over, pulling my girlfriend’s chin up to look her in the eyes. “Just like I planned.”
“Bitchface.” Michelle stared back with a ton of fury and anger. Somehow I could tell she wanted to say something but, like me, couldn’t. From my vantage point, I could also see how amazingly wet she was. “Bitchface… ‘Prove how much you care for him.’” I could tell it was some kind of trigger phrase, because a glassy look passed over her face and Michelle… just wasn’t there any more.
Michelle quickly, yet deliberately, crawled in front of Jennifer and slowly puled up Jennifer’s skirt.
“I am so glad I took that class.”
As Michelle went to work, Jennifer kept eye contact with me, and I could read every second of mounting pleasure written in her suddenly captivating grey eyes.
“Thanks for being bait, Beanpole…. Oh. Good. You’re getting so good at that, Bitchface.” She closed her eyes briefly. I think I let out a moan. “Shut up, Beanpole, and watch.” Once again, something inside of me shifted, and I found myself on the brink of an unexpected orgasm.
I could tell when she came–the whole complex probably could—but I knew because I could hear that sound.
She clicked her device.
And the next- and last– thing I remembered was the sound of my voice and Bitchface’s voice, coming together.
* * * * * * *
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Sabrina sat on her couch in her living room with the device in her hands, and the brochure she had just read on the table in front of her. It was silver with a black display “face.” Her friend Sarah wouldn’t stop nattering on about the Wrist500, and how it had “changed her life.” Sabrina was usually extremely skeptical about such claims, but even she was impressed with how disciplined Sarah had been about her workouts and eating habits since she purchased it. Sabrina had gotten a nice bonus from her job at the accountancy firm, and had put on a few pounds in ice-cream and Netflix binging since Paul and Drake had dumped her to go off on their own. (She still couldn’t believe the bastards had the nerve to invite her to their wedding.)
It was after the New Year and it was time for a change. She had ordered the Wrist1000™ (“Enhancing You for the Holidays™”) after hearing their stupid radio commercial one too many times. The commercial had this ostentatious voice that suddenly broke into song and promised that “Enhancement is only a click…a….waaaayyyyy,” followed by a stupid sounding chime and then a clicking sound.
Whatever, Sabrina now sat there wondering whether to put it on. She didn’t like that there was a penalty for early withdrawal (so to speak), but, again, Sarah’s results were undeniable.
After a bit longer than she realized, she thought, “what the hell” and put it over her wrist and latched it shut. The state-of-the-art ClickFitSilver™ didn’t even show a seam. She picked up the brochure to see how it was supposed to work.
…II. Booting up. Once you’ve placed the Wrist1000™ on your wrist and used the patented ClickBitSilver™ to seamlessly add it to your wardrobe, turn on your computer. The Wrist1000™’s Bluetooth™-enabled software will find your computer. Once it has identified it, press “OK” on the watch. A wizard will pop on your computer to connect between it, your Wrist1000™ and the Panopt-U-Can™ cloud-based monitoring system. This whole process should only take about 10 minutes.
She put the brochure down and grabbed her laptop, opening it up and placing it on the table next to the brochure. She hit “OK” on the Wrist1000™ and waited. She minimized the window, and saw what she was looking at last night. Sabrina blushed. It was a “PornView” page opened to one of her favorite porn scenes. In it, a woman was commanding two men to…. Service her. What she liked most about the scene was that the woman wasn’t actually dressed in any dominatrix outfit; rather, the woman was in a business suit and was ordering her personal assistant and secretary—the two men—to do… things to her.
She checked the time on the Wizard and saw that it had about 15 more minutes to go. She grabbed her vibrator from her purse and decided to blow of some steam.
“Your performance review hasn’t been up to snuff, Malcolm. You know what that means?”
“You’re going to need a thorough, personal, oral evaluation.” The woman reached over to the intercom button. “James, please come in.”
A taller, darker man with impossibly broad shoulders came into the room.
“Malcolm, your review says that your ‘Team Player’ scores were far below a 69. That’s practically a fail rating. Please show James how you can improve this.”
Oh, yes. This was the best part. Sabrina’s hands were moving much more quickly now and she was nearing orgasm. She came for the first time just as Malcolm’s succulent lips touched James’ impossibly huge cock. She came for the second as the executive ordered Malcolm to lick her greedy pussy as James took poor Malcolm’s really tight ass. The third time she came was when the men made out with each other in between taking turns going down on the executive. The scene closed with a single shot of the executive catching her breath as the two men, tired from their exertions, fell asleep.
Somehow, in all of her own exertions, Sabrina failed to consciously register the Wrist1000™ give off a “click” each time she hit an orgasm, as well as one weird sounding chime. She wiped herself off and put the vibrator aside. She took a sip of some Chardonnay while she maximized the Wizard. It said “Set Up Complete. You are now ready to ‘Enhance Your Life, Today™.’ Press [Return] to continue.” She did.
The screen said, “You are ready to enter the world of ClickFit™. Tomorrow, at 6 am, the Wrist1000™’s alarm will sound which will be your notice that you will have 30 minutes to begin your workout. We’ve collected all the data we need to inform you-by the ClickFit™’s patented ClickClick™ sound- when you’ve hit the proper workout and intensity parameters. Rest well, and be ready bright and early tomorrow to Enhance Your Life, Today.™”
As she finished reading this, a bell chimed from the device. Sabrina smirked. That didn’t even make sense.
Anyhow, the set up for the Wrist1000™ must have been streamlined, Sarah had told her about having to be at the gym for an hour before the Wrist500™ was ready, and then it had to have all sorts of weird diagnostics run. She examined it closely. She liked how smooth and refined looking it was.
She downed the rest of her wine and headed to bed. The moment her head hit her pillow, a tiny bell sound went off from the Wrist1000™. She barely had any time to register it before she felt really, really, tired, and went straight to sleep.
The Wrist1000™ woke her up with a series of bells, clicks and noises that sounded like some strange dolphin and whale duet. She went to press anything on the Wrist1000™ that looked like a snooze button, but the device just kept making all the weird sounds. She decided she’d have to look at the brochure, so she got up out of bed, and… just like that, the sounds stopped. She looked at the Wrist1000™ and saw a counter counting down the 24 minutes left to when she was “supposed” to be working out.
“Jeez. I slept hard.” She yawned and found herself going to her dresser to put on clothes, grab her iPhone and head down to her gym, located just next door. Every time she completed one of these tasks, the Wrist1000™ would click. This was fine, and in keeping with what she had read about it, but she kept on getting distracted by how turned on she was suddenly feeling. She made her way to the gym anyway, but suddenly saw how good looking all the boys were in the place. She had never appreciated spandex until she saw Todd, one of the trainers, bend over in front of her. She nearly ran into a water cooler.
“What is wrong with me?” Sabrina shook her head.
She reached her elliptical just as the Wrist1000™’s countdown ended. The device chimed and then “clicked” and…. “Dear god.” She said out loud.
A wave of tension suddenly coursed through her body. She took some tentative steps on the elliptical, but the only thing she was accomplishing was feeling how good it felt when her panties rubbed against her clit. And normally, that wasn’t that great, thank you very much. She shuddered.
Todd looked up from where he was helping Mike. Todd was bent over behind Mike, showing him the proper way to do a squat. The fantasy from last night went right through her mind. She had to have an orgasm. Now. She found herself running to the bathroom, closing the door, and, with great haste and no dignity, plunging her fingers down her sweatpants. She came quickly, but… there was absolutely no relief. It was like some weird fever was overtaking her, and she had to have another one. Now. Her brain sent her fantasies of being in the gym office, ordering Todd and Mike to work their way through the Gay Karma Sutra Manuel she kept in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. She came again. Still, no relief. Now she was riding Todd, while Todd, in turn, was impaled on Mike’s cock. Yes! That! There! She came, hard, and couldn’t quite keep silent. As she came, the Wrist1000™ “clicked,” and she felt the orgasm tear away her terrible, visceral need. She tried to catch her breath as the sweat poured down her face.
“What the fuck just happened?” She said out loud.
“I don’t know, but I think you just had the best workout ever.” Came a voice from the next stall. Sabrina started. She felt her already red face flush even harder—this time from embarrassment. She got up quickly and ran out of the bathroom, not daring to turn when she heard the other stall door open. As she left the bathroom, she nearly ran over Todd coming out of the bathroom.
“Oh. Hey, Sabrina! Are you ok?”
She was about to say something, when she saw Mike right next to him doing push-ups. “F-fine. I’m not feeling well. I’ll see you later.” She ran back to her building and into her apartment.
She thought about screaming when she looked down at the Wrist1000™ and saw a 12-hour countdown “until your next workout.”
She called in sick.
She read the brochure cover to cover and realized what had gone horribly wrong. The set-up wizard had obviously taken much less time than it had indicated and had automatically started the initial set up. While she was supposed to be going through a standard workout she, instead, had been masturbating to some really hot porn. So instead of the default being set to a brisk run in the woods, the default was set to a hot and horny Sabrina.
She stared off into space for hours, wondering what to do, but exhausted from so many orgasms that morning. She fell into a fitful sleep, the brochure in her hands.
She was woken by the same weird dolphin-whale music that had woken her up that morning. She looked at the clock-only 6 hours had passed. She looked down at the Wrist1000™. The Legend “Delta Schedule 42” flashed on the screen. What did that mean?
She looked at the brochure, “Delta Schedule 42” meant “Based on your metabolic processes, the Panopt-U-Can™ has determined that you are not at work, and, moreover, you are not sick, nor does your online diary indicate that you have a travel day scheduled. Therefore, the work-out schedule has been brought forward a number of hours, to keep your regime on course.” No! She started to reach for the phone, when the chime, and then a “click” went off.
Once again, Sabrina went off like a firework. She clasped her legs together as she fell to the floor. She had never felt this horny in all of her life. She felt like she could just die. She crawled, quivering, over to her vibrator. She reached for it like a thirsty woman in the desert, and placed it between her legs.
“Three orgasms,” she told herself. “I just need three orgasms.” But nothing happened for a very long time. Sure, it felt good, but she wasn’t getting anywhere.
“Fuuuuuck,” she whined.
She thought, while keeping the vibe between her legs, and, out of desperation, she flipped open her lap top and raced for the PornView scene. She stabbed with at her pad and started playing a video on the front page. A scene with a man fucking a “cheerleader” started playing. Still, no progress. She started a different one, an amateur scene where two women were giving a guy a blowjob. Still nothing. Finally, she hit one with a woman ordering a man around a dungeon. Her clit throbbed and she felt the orgasm start to build. Ten minutes later, though, she was still nowhere close. Finally, she went to her playlist, and played the next scene in the “Executive Dominatrix” series. Now the exec (the name in the show was “Carli”) was ordering a man and a woman to fuck each other for her enjoyment.
Figurative fireworks started shooting from Sabrina’s pussy. God, yes! The first orgasm rolled though quickly. It was great, and Sabrina was ready for the need to still be there. The second took a little bit longer, but it rolled through Sabrina like a wave onto a beach. The third one took longer still, and Sabrina made it all the way to the scene where Carli is taking turns fucking each person in the couple with her enormous strap-on before Sabrina felt it.
But this time, there was no relief, no “click.”
“Fuuuuck!” She yelled. “What the actual fuck!?” And then some part of her dimly remembered something about a progression, and the “workouts” getting increasingly more difficult.
She watched Carli fuck the man in the couple while he fucked the other woman. Then forced him to watch while his girlfriend ate Carli out, telling the boy how she was going to steal her from him because he couldn’t satisfy her. Finally, as Carli was getting out the paddle and the needles, she came.
As she came, she heard, very loudly, the “click” from the Wrist1000™
She screamed for thirty seconds as her voice went incredibly, deliciously hoarse. She hadn’t even realized the vibrator’s batteries had run out. The only sound in the room was her own panting and sobbing.
After 20 minutes of recovering, Sabrina dropped the vibrator next to her. She had knocked the laptop over, along with a glass of water and most of the books on her coffee table. The laptop was a smoking wreck- the water from the glass had spilled and shorted it out. Sabrina barely registered this. She crawled to the phone and dialed.
She waited and counted the rings. Four rings.
“ClickFit™, Inc., how may we Enhance Your Life, Today™?”
“I…. I need to pay the Farewell Fee™.”
“I’m sorry, Ms….. Cantwell. But you’ll have to talk to our Customer Retention Department.”
“OK…. Patch me through to them… Now!”
“I’m sorry Ms. Cantwell, but Customer Retention has left for the day.”
Sabrina started to cry.
“You can pay online however.”
“My c-computer is gone.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help-“
“P-please. I need to talk to someone in charge.”
There was a pause. “Very well, I will transfer you to my manager. This may take a minute. You’ll have to listen to a little looped advertising while you wait, for which I apologize in advance.”
“OK. Just…. Hurry!”
She heard the line change, and then a voice: “Thank you for choosing ClickFit™. Your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line, and one of our Customer Enhancers™ will return to show you-“
And then there was that stupid jaunty little jingle as the overly ostentatious voice began to sing, “-how Enhancement is only a cliiiick…. Aaaaaa……waaaay!”
And then she heard it.
And then the “click.”
Sabrina closed her eyes, covered her forehead, and said the only thing she could, before she lost control again.
NEEHU6: Part Two: The Wrath of Uncon
We drove out from near Manchester, New Hampshire to Hartford in what felt like record time. I had a class that I was co-teaching with Mephki, founder and commander of the NEEHU Empire, but I may have misread the schedule (and by “may have” I mean, I did) so we wound up arriving well in advance of the class.
It was good to be back in the Society.
The playground was pretty much how I remembered it. The main difference seemed to be that, instead of the pale undecorated walls there had been last year, the walls had been painted red and orange, and it gave it a bit of pleasant, sultry ambience. But in any event, the feeling that surrounded me as I entered was the feeling that I was coming home; I saw so many people I had spent time with last year and at the various –ehus as I walked in. I felt immediately comfortable and in my own element. It was fantastic and heartwarming.
Being early at least allowed me to attend a class on “Overcoming Resistance,” which was a fun demo class taught by the erudite LeadPrism and the clever and gorgeous SashasTrance. Largely they focused on when the subjects “pretend” to resist, and ways to circumvent or have fun with that kind of resistance play. Part of it was to feed into the fantasy so many of us share of having our will overcome by a skilled hypnotist. Some of it is (and I think I’m actually giving away secrets, so my Subjects Card may get revoked) that we subjects like the attention hypnotists give us, and resisting means that the hypnotist will be paying that much more attention to us. It’s a little bit like the “brat” paradigm in some BDSM relationships.
[The “brat” paradigm occurs where certain submissives will “act up”– perhaps by deliberately disobeying a command, perhaps just by deliberately making the dominant work harder for something, or perhaps by something else—in order to get punished by the dominant. Essentially, the brat is goading the dominant. Some people love the dynamic, because it injects a certain level of fun and change into the relationship. On the other hand, some people can’t stand it, in part because on a certain level, the power exchange originates with the brat—the brat acts out to initiate the punishment, the punishment isn’t devised at the behest or whim of the dominant.]
In any event, resistance play can be a tool by subjects to draw more attention from the hypnotist. Other times it can serve as a tool for a role-play scene. LeadPrism and SashasTrance enjoy doing interrogation scenes, particularly mad scientist scenes. So practicing and playing with “resistance” is central to that kind of play.
The demos were fun and hot, and the questions and discussions were likewise on point and informative. I felt like the weekend was already off to a great start.
Right after that was the first of three classes that I was helping to present that day.
The first class of the day for me was “Intro to NEEHU 101.” For this class, Mephki and I went over the history of NEEHU and gave first-timers an overview of what to expect from the weekend and how to get the most out of their experiences. Part of the point of the class is also to emphasize the need for all the participants to take care of themselves. We try to remind them to get enough sleep, drink plenty of fluids, and watch themselves if or when they might suffer from “con drop” after the weekend. We also reinforced general ethical criteria, emphasizing the need for consent from subjects and hypnotists alike. We answered questions and led a general discussion. I was very gratified that people seemed engaged and enthusiastic about the event and the outline that Mephki and I provided.
The second class for me was Hypnotic Amnesia with LeeAllure. This was a repeat of a class we had done at MEEHU and WEEHU, and is based on the book the two of us have been working on. I’d like to say I can remember most of it, but I, frankly and not at all ironically, have dim recollections of what we did. (It worked!) I know we spoke about some of the techniques we used, as well as demonstrating a few of the games we’ve played with amnesia.
I’m pretty sure she had me demonstrate our “special water” game. This is a variant on the Merovingian scene from the Matrix: Reloaded, where a chocolate is given to a woman which produces an orgasmic effect on the woman who immediately forgets about it. For my part, Lee has given me a post-hypnotic trigger that, when she calls whatever I’m drinking the “Special Water,” I have a feeling of an orgasm with every sip…. And then I forget that I had the orgasm. The lingering effect, however, is that I feel thirsty… which of course makes me drink more water. I am told that it can be very entertaining to watch. People again seemed engaged and fascinated by the overall topic.
The third class was the Ethics Roundtable, which was billed as a panel discussion with HypnoMaestro, Sleepingirl and myself. I say that we were billed as a panel discussion because there was apparently some miscommunication wherein HypnoMaestro was under the impression that he was the moderator of the discussion. This turned out to be fine, just not what I expected. In any event, the class had a robust and frank exchange of views, with HypnoMaestro giving what he described as the “State of the Union of Hypnotic Ethics for NEEHU.” He recounted a progression from the first time ethics was discussed at NEEHU where the central question was actually “Do we need ethics?” to today, where-by the end of the class- the question seemed to be “What Sort of Ethics Should We Have?” Which leads me to the following tangent, which might be boring to some of you, so please feel free to skip ahead where there will be some sexy bits.
Tangent: Pynchon Pontificates on Hypno-Ethics…. Again.
One of the suggestions I made at the class was that the –ehu’s should individually impose as close to a mandatory orientation/ethics class for new attendees as reasonably possible.
What surprised me more than any other thing I witnessed was that several people were adamant that this was a bad idea. Why? The only reason I heard (or remember being given) was that it was because people don’t learn when it’s mandatory.
Let me state for the record (he said, pounding on the podium) that I think it’s a terrible, terrible idea not to have “mandatory” ethics/orientation classes.
[I put “mandatory” in quotes because a small, privately-operated convention would simply not have the resources to investigate whether someone was attending an –ehu for the first time. Therefore, there would really be no way to strictly enforce a “mandatory” ethics/orientation class requirement. So when I say “mandatory,” what I mean to say is that the –ehu has a statement that says something to the effect of “New attendees are strongly encouraged to attend this class for their own safety, knowledge and enjoyment.”]
If, in fact, it is the case that a clueless hypnotist or subject can cause damage whether through neglect or ignorance, then it seems a no-brainer (if you’ll pardon the pun) to have such a mandatory class. I’m led to believe that every state in the US (and most countries around the world) requires people to attend classes before earning a driver’s license. Is the idea that such classes are boring a reason to jettison the notion of requiring such classes?
To the retort that “such classes create the illusion of safety, which cannot be guaranteed” (which I have heard as a partial justification for not having such classes) I would counter that driver’s-ed classes are likewise no “guarantee” of safety, yet few would deny that, on balance, the existence of such classes makes the world and the highways safer.
And finally, to the retort that “mandatory classes are boring,” I suppose that just makes it a challenge to those who would teach it to make it more interesting and fascinating to the class. As I pointed out in the discussion, my “Subjects 102” class is really 2/3 about ethics and setting boundaries. It’s merely incumbent on discussion facilitators to be more enticing, and to fold ethics discussions into their standard classes.
I’d also point out that it’s not unheard of for kink-related organizations to require people to attend one or more munches and/or orientation classes before being allowed to attend play-parties, so there is a track-record of such requirements.
And with that, I get to hop down from my soap-box.
The rest of the discussion was, for me, really interesting, because it felt like everyone was taking the topic seriously, had strong views, and was respecting everyone else’s opinion. More importantly, it did not devolve into a shouting match, nor did I get the sense that anyone’s feelings were hurt. If only all of life’s important dilemmas could be conversed about so easily. The conversation continued onto Fetlife, and took on its own life (as one would imagine). Many conversations centered on the question of what ethics in hypnosis should look like, why or whether EH should have an ethical code separate and/or distinct from any other kink-related activity, and what enforcement should (or shouldn’t) look like.
Directly afterwards, a group of our friends had a meeting to discuss our “Consensual-Non-Consent (“CNC”)” game. The methodology behind the game was that anyone involved was given a gold or a red-colored necklace. The red-color meant that you were a “bottom,” while the gold meant you were a top. (Switches would wear both necklaces.) Each of us wrote down our limits on a post-it we stuck to the back of our name-tag. Otherwise, anyone with a red necklace could do anything to a person with a gold necklace as long as each was wearing the necklace (and within the parameters of the limits). This essentially meant that there were shenanigans throughout the weekend with our extended troupe of marauders.
After that class, and our little meeting, I admit, I was a little beat. We made our way back to the hotel where HYS, Lee’s slave, had put our luggage away. We rested for a bit, got changed and then headed back to the Society for play-time.
The first order of business once we got back was for me to find WildNutmeg and tackle her…. Wait. No. Actually, it was to bring her into the back room, where we had volunteered to help out with dual inductions. Wiseguy and Mrs. Wiseguy were the ostensible coordinators, but I gather from his blog that Mrs. Wiseguy was busy all day and the two of them did not reach the Society until quite late, so Nutmeg and I were on our own at first.
We did a couple of inductions, including a beautiful one with Unidragon in which we had her envisioning herself flying and soaring into the air and into a trance and in an out of several hypnotic orgasms. It was great to see how Nutmeg and I worked together doing something that we hadn’t actually practiced. We had established an incredible rapport at Deep Mind Dark Wood (for reasons which I’m working on explaining in a separate blog) and it was wonderful to see that rapport continue. We fell into sync very easily. We did a few more, and then Lee volunteered to sit between us.
We did our darndest to take her into a trance. But apparently at some point I happened on the phrase “it’s such a good feeling.” It turns out that when I happen on a phrase I like, I repeat it. Which was unfortunate, because Lee flashed back to Mister Rogers singing “It’s a good feeling,” which was decidedly unsexy.
Nevertheless, Lee forgave me, because she immediately turned the tables on us, and did a very quick double trance on Nutmeg and I. I…actually don’t remember everything she told us. Shortly thereafter, she was off to do a scheduled group trance and Nutmeg was asked by Wiseguy to do some dual trances with him and Mrs. Wiseguy.
Before too long, it was time for Lee and I to do a demo. We had decided on a hypno-interrogation scene, much like the one she and I had done at MEEHU. This time Nutmeg was invited to join us. Nutmeg and I conferred, and chose a “secret code,” which is what Lee would attempt to get out of us. We decided on the first 6 numbers of the Fibonacci sequence: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8. Where I had the first three numbers (1,1,2) and Nutmeg got the last three (3,5,8). Almost immediately I realized my mistake: Nutmeg, having the second group, would almost certainly wait for me to break, before she did. So I wouldn’t have the joy of watching her break first.
Lee went after us using a variety of hypnotic, NLP, and other techniques. It should be noted that I can be a little mouthy in these situations. So I might say things like, “If I confess will you stop boring us?” “You really are a bitch, aren’t you?”, and the classic, “Fuck off!” There was slapping, some hair pulling, and one point where she stood on my thigh in her high heel shoes. Surprisingly, this did not lead to a bruise. (This will be important later.)
She played us off against each other beautifully, playing to our sympathies for each other (Though when Lee told Nutmeg she’d torture me in front of her, Nutmeg offered to help a little too eagerly, thank you very much.). She also “injected” us with a drug that made us susceptible and suggestible. She played on our rapport, telling us that each would feel what the other was feeling, as she pressed down on the place on my thigh where her heel had been.
Between the language, the physicality and the atmosphere, I was definitely soon in the mind space that I would give her what she wanted. I tried to hide breaking, by telling her that it was “First a matter of telling the truth, First a matter of not lying, and Second something to pay attention to.” But before long I told her. And then Nutmeg “broke,” as well. The shame of it was that Lee (like me) does not have a “loud” voice. And much of the interrogation was more intense than boisterous, so a lot of our scene was lost on the people watching it. Nevertheless, we had a great time.
The three of us retired to the “pillow fort” built in the corner of the play room. We laid about and talked about the scene. After a while, Lee lured us into yet another trance, playing once again on our rapport. She made the pleasure of the trance I was feeling reverberate off of Nutmeg, which reverberated off of me, and so forth, until pretty soon, the two of us were a bit of a writhing display on either side of Lee. Lee also may have used her rather fetching spiral-ish-threaded stockings as the basis for a trance, but there’s a certain point at which things got a little blurry.
Lee got up for a while, and Fleur sat down. Fleur wants to note that I did, in fact “drag her to the pillow fort by her hair.” In my defense <cough, cough> I don’t recall any actual “dragging.” But it’s entirely possible I was in such a fantastic top space that some entirely hot and consensual “dragging” may have occurred. Some people just like being treated like a puppet… Or a poppet. I had worked with Fleur a little bit before, and I had an idea. So, with their permission, I put both Fluer and Nutmeg in a trance at the same time, and gave them both the same post-hypnotic suggestion, which was loosely based on a video series called “Hysterical Literature.” Go ahead, look it up on Youtube, I’ll still be here when you’re done.
In those videos, a woman sits at a desk, fully clothed, and reads from a book. As she does so, someone underneath applies a vibrator to her and builds her to an orgasm, as the woman attempts to keep her composure for as long as possible.
In my variant, I gave the Fleur and Nutmeg the post-hypnotic suggestion that anytime I read something to them, they would feel the words I was saying on their private parts, as if the very consonants and vowels were-ahem- strumming over them.
Shortly thereafter, I tested it by reading one of the stories I had published on Tumblr to Fleur. It was a major success. She held herself up against a wall as I, very simply, read the story to her. A few minutes later, I tried the same thing with Nutmeg. Once again, it worked. There’s a fantastic feeling in having someone literally writhing. On. Your. Every. Word.
In the middle of this, ZanyM came by and watched the scenes. I explained in detail what was happening with Fleur and Nutmeg. She was in a bit of a suggestible state, and as I set the scene, I saw that brief enchanting flutter of the eyes that indicate that the brain is accepting new commands. Before long she leaned into me, and I started reading to her… and it worked on her. It’s one of the beauties of fractionation that one can find ones’ self in such a suggestible state. I read her the same story, all the way through, and watched admiringly as she felt every single word. I was so pleased with the moment; that the evening had coalesced in three scenes, each filled with incomparable magic and beauty. I am still so speechless with how wonderfully ZanyM captured the moment from her perspective in her blog.
Sometime after this, Lee, HYS, Lee’s puppet, and I went to dinner. We wound up at our shared hotel room and chatted with ZanyM for a little while. ZanyM was gracious enough to do some of her lovely body work on me, which I greatly appreciated and left me in good stead to be energized and well for the rest of the weekend.
ZanyM’s partner, DrDream, came by, and we all gossiped and discussed our general plans for the weekend.
Shortly afterwards, exhausted after a long, long day of excitement, intrigue, and fun, we collapsed into our beds.
NEXT TIME: Class! Another Class! Yet another class!! Fun classes! All the classes!!! The future of –EHUs!!! Hypno-oh-Oh-OH! Pynchon is approached! Pynchon is approachable?? Dinner!
The Voyage Home
Traces and Places of Home, Back in New York City
To begin with NEEHU, I have to backtrack to a few days before.
But before I do that, I need to fast-forward to today. As I begin this blog, I’m somewhere South of Cleveland, twenty-thousand feet in the air. I am exhausted, but exhilarated. My weekend this year was even better than the one last year. I wouldn’t say it was more life-changing, but then again, I didn’t know at the time that last year’s NEEHU would prove to change everything for me. I also just received a lovely email from someone saying that their experience this last weekend changed their life. In my somewhat fractionated, somewhat tired, somewhat open state, I freely admit that the email had me sobbing. Great, big, ugly sobs.
And so I get to begin writing, telling, as much as I can, about how I experienced this NEEHU.
But as I said, to begin that story, I have to go back a few days before the “Unconference” itself. When I decided to return to NEEHU (not that it was particularly a tough decision) my friend ZanyM suggested that I come out and teach a class in New York City a few days before. Now it just so happened that the day I would arrive to teach the class was also the day Lee was to return to the States from a month-long trip in Europe spreading the gospel of erotic hypnosis.
After some coordination, it was decided. I would teach the Subjects 102 class I had taught already at WEEHU and at a special class for the San Francisco hypno-group. Travel arrangements were made, tickets were purchased, and I prepped myself for the trek.
The class itself is really a basic class for subjects to offer tips on how to define and develop boundaries and limits, how to work towards asking for the trances and experiences they want, and how to behave ethically in the community.
Tangent- On Ethics in the Erotic Hypnosis Community.
This topic is one I imagine I’ll be returning to over and over again in this blog and in however long I stay in the community (hopefully a long, long time). And for some of you out there, particularly the more vanilla readers, you may very well wonder why there is any sort of issue with ethics in the Erotic Hypnosis (“EH”) world.
To talk about this I should (once again) take a step back and give some context. Having ethical standards isn’t just important in the related BDSM community; it’s essential. Consider that hitting someone hard (whether with your hand or an implement) is generally considered assault and battery. But what makes it all right in the BDSM community? Consent and assumption of risk. If I ask someone to slap me across the face, I have consented to the resulting slap. This is why, for example, boxers do not get arrested for their actions in the ring, or why you are unlikely to be able to sue someone if you get injured by a fair tackle in a pick-up tackle football or soccer game (or why you can’t accuse someone of assault if they foul you in a basketball game). By participating in your chosen sport you have implicitly consented to a degree of touching, hitting, jostling or what-have-you.
But with BDSM this can be problematic. For one thing, several states claim that you cannot consent to what I understand lawyers call an “intentional tort,” like punching. In other words, no matter how much someone says “punch me” out loud and with sober intent, you cannot, in fact, punch them in that State. In other states, consent is a defense. Great. But how do you establish consent? Well, it becomes imperative to negotiate that consent. But, as I’m sure you may be noticing, surely someone can take advantage of this state of affairs; it seems like it would be relatively easy to assault someone in a BDSM arena and claim “oh, I thought I had consent.” Almost certainly you then have a “he said/she said” (mix genders as appropriate) situation. And one need only Google “rape culture” to see how these sorts of conflicts play out in the world or in the justice system.
As one can imagine, it is rare for people who have experienced consent violations in the BDSM community to go to the local authorities. Given how many people are uncomfortable with the idea of kink, many people understand that to go to the authorities could result in the loss of their job or worse. (It should also be noted that, while a “consent violation” is a bad thing, not all consent violations are treated the same: accidentally having a slip of a tongue and calling someone something they didn’t say they’d appreciate is far different from leaning over and punching someone while they’re in the middle of a scene with someone else. Neither is a good thing, both are to be avoided, but each is a separate issue and should be handled differently.)
But DJ, I hear you asking, are there any special issues with regards to EH play involving these things? Why yes, gentle reader, yes there are. You see, much of the fantasies involving EH typically spiral around the idea of losing your control to another person. Many of us look for that person who will overcome our will power and “make us do these things we don’t [really] want to do.” In short, it’s practically a whole arena predicated on the fantasy of consent violations.
How the hell do you police that?
So my class was developed to try to get subjects to consciously (heh) think about their limits and boundaries ahead of time, so that they don’t (whether inadvertently or predatorily) get seduced into something they may not be comfortable with at that time. And what’s rather remarkable, is that in talking to recreational hypnotists, they’ve said, almost uniformly, that having a subject who can set boundaries and say no, even under trance, makes them more comfortable working with that subject. Think about that.
In any event, it’s a topic I’ll be returning to here and there throughout this blog, I imagine.
I arrived in NYC, met Lee (who had arrived about an hour earlier at the same airport) and headed for some martinis and some appetizers at a very good Thai place just around the corner from the class.
I confess I was nervous. It is one thing for me to teach a class in San Francisco, effectively my second hometown, and to do it at the request of people who had sat in on my class and could assess whether it was something worthwhile. It was quite another to have friends—who had never actually been in the class—essentially stick their necks out for me and vouch for my relative qualities as a teacher. I really did not want to let them down.
With all of that said, it really seemed to go over well. The Eulenspiegel Society, a fantastic organization, generously allowed me to teach at their TES Hypnokink and Novice SIG (“Special Interest Group”) for about 90 minutes. It was a nice crowd and there were some fantastic questions (except for the fellow who may have been confused as to the nature of the class being geared towards subjects as opposed to hypnotists. But that person did arrive late-or else, in my jet-lagged state, I misunderstood the question.).
The second half of the class was given over to open discussion, which I also found very gratifying and informative.
(I can’t tell you much of the details since such discussions are generally considered private so as to create a safe space for open discussion. Please imagine that I answered questions wonderfully and masterfully and that will be far enough from the truth to protect the integrity of the event.)
Also—technically speaking, I can now say I performed off-Broadway.
A group of us then went out for a quick bite and then Lee and I crashed at ZanyMo and DrDream’s place. Special thanks to both of them for being such fantastic hosts and friends. Somehow, despite me being on Pacific Time and Lee being on British Standard time, we all went to bed at around the same time.
The next morning, Lee and I went to Penn Station and then boarded the train for her place up in New Hampshire. Although NEEHU does more or less start on Thursday night with pre-parties and hot tubbing at the hotel, Lee wanted to go home for at least one night before the weekend, and I was happy to accompany her to prep for the classes we’d be co-presenting. Plus, riding on a train with “your own private hypnotist” for a few hours is pretty cool, and I’m not one to look gift-horses in mouths.
But even on top of that, there was the fact that there is a lovely symmetry in spending the day with Lee. Faithful readers may remember that when I arrived at NEEHU, at the pool, at the hotel, Lee trance tackled me and gave me my first ever live trance. It was the culmination of a day that changed my life (and it’s only gotten better from there). So spending the same Thursday-one year later- with Lee only made sense.
After the train we took a bus for the remainder of the trip, which is where I wrote the “Prologue” blog.
We spent the remainder of the day and night getting various items together and hatching plans, as well as meeting up with people who’d be traveling with us to the site.
As, perhaps you can tell, I was excited to return to NEEHU. I was also slightly nervous—would it be as fantastic the second time around?
I mean, can you ever really go home again?
NEXT TIME—Classes! More Classes! Three hours straight of classes! Why do I volunteer for these things? Subjects 102 contains a whole section on saying “no,” why can’t I do that, too? And, of course, catching up with “old” friends.
30) Fitful sleeps
31) My first munch..
“Bring Him Home”
Six Unconferences and a Movie
Somewhere over Utah, it hit me.
I was going back to the start.
Was it only last year? It feels in so many ways like it was only yesterday that I was thrown from the saddle of my usual life. When I decided to take the plunge and check out the New England Erotic Hypnosis Unconference (“NEEHU”). When I decided to attend my first kink convention. When I decided to embrace a part of me that I had only fed in fits and starts. When my then-job helped by laying me off mere hours before I was to leave. When my wife straight up told me to go, despite the layoff, because the plane ticket and the NEEHU ticket were already paid for, and I’d otherwise just mope about the house all weekend. When, in so many ways, my life began.
In that time: I have traveled across the country (counts on hands) four times after decades where I couldn’t be near an airport without two stiff martinis and a Xanax; I have been composing (with Lee Allure) a book on Hypnosis (still working on it, thank you very much) and engaged in easily 50-plus hours of hypnosis by LeeAllure over the span of a month for it; have become friends with people whose blogs I used to read in fits of jealousy, and now I know them, have played with them and have blogged about it (wait a minute…. What are you feeling right now?); have been asked to teach at two events on either side of the country about different ways of being a better hypnotic subject; have had my first piece of erotic fiction published on the inestimable mcstories.com website, source, font, and catalyst of so many people’s fantasies and kinks; I have found friends-so many brilliant, wonderful, sexy, fun, intelligent people who have accepted me as one of their own, and if they’re not happy to have me come out to see them, they sure as hell fake their enthusiasm; and, as I write this, I am on my way to NEEHU6, one year later, and I can say that I have found a community that I can call home.
Is the community perfect? Dear lord, no. But is your family/sports team/religion full of perfect people? (I mean, answer that honestly.) Any individual community within a society will have some reflection of that society, even if it’s reaction or opposition to that society. And heaven knows, it’s not a perfect society.
But I can now write this sentence—and it’s a sentence I never thought I’d write—this is my community.
And I’m coming home.
* * * * *
So I’ll be blogging about my experiences this year. In part this is because I applied for and received a blogger’s scholarship from NEEHU (thanks, guys!) so I have pretty much committed to it. I have also volunteered to be on (counts on fingers again) seven panels, ranging from a hypno-blogger’s panel (hey guys! Come and say hi!) to a really erotic group trance session that Lee and I will be performing on several willing volunteers. In a separate room. With blindfolds (for the participants).
I’ll provide recaps of each of my classes, as well as, hopefully, providing an idea of what it’s like to be at NEEHU. Again. If you’re out there and on your way, please come and say hi. If you’re in the area and not joining us in Hartford, what’s your problem? And if you’d like to attend one day, make sure it’s soon.
And please, please, please, use my experience as encouragement to chase whatever dreams you have (whether or not they include an –ehu attendance) and try them.
You may just find a new home.
Sunday in the Park With George
May All Your Mondays Be Like This
I was in a park by the Lake in Chicago. If I even knew the park’s name, I don’t think I would tell you. I was holding hands with two beautiful women (even if one was and is ridiculously tiny). A handsome man stood near us. A third woman, my friend and fellow instigator, walked around us, saying words over us and through us. It was a magical spell as sure as anything in this reality can be a magical spell:
The hot humid summer afternoon;
the fractionation of the previous four days;
the morning we had just spent, roaming around parts of Chicago;
the way the sun caught the gold, green and yellow flowers all around us;
the way we were finishing each others’ sentences;
the trance that Lee was sending us into, each hand holding on for dear life, each hand and each breath and each other hand sending us deeper and deeper into a trance;
the way the summer breeze caught our sighs, caught our minds, caught our senses;
the way I had mentioned to Lee that I had never really had a walking, waking trance;
the way Lee had said, “well, then,” and began my walking, waking trance;
the way Seb had chosen that moment to do the same with Fay and Emiliana;
the experience as I had said good-bye to cc and DaSade and Sleepingirl;
the moment I had shook hands with AmHypnotic;
spending time with Tesdenic;
remembering all the moments;
being the Doctor;
being another Doctor;
running from the Weeping Angels;
hashmarks on the arm;
the general camaraderie of the group as they had one last meal together in the hotel kitchenette, giving hugs and promises of seeing each other at the next one, whatever and whenever that next one would be;
driving through the Chicago traffic, always alert but somehow never feeling anxious or nervous;
the snippets of words and conversations from the previous few days;
Lee playing the number slider game “2048,” sending me deeper and deeper as the numbers collided into each other and added up;
our minds in a trance in a park in a bustling city of millions, yet no sound in that park save the rustling of leaves and plants and Lee’s words and the trance that took us into itself and made us leave the waking world;
“your service is so pure”: words said to me that I was still, am still, will still (be) processing;
the three drink minimum fractionation moment;
“an orange juice sounds SO good right now,” “Why yes, yes it does”;
Em’s first trance;
Em trancing me;
Fay’s burning trance;
The Empire of Light;
the flickering beat of memories behind my eyes, now vivid, now fading, now vivid, now fading…..
These are all just words struggling to convey the message to you, dear reader, that this was a perfect moment.
And if you’ve ever been in a perfect moment, you know that black words on a white page will not give such a moment form. There was once a monologist named, improbably, Spaulding Grey. He came to fame talking about his experiences with a bit part in the movie, “The Killing Fields” in a movie, directed by Jonathan Demme, called “Swimming to Cambodia.” He takes well over an hour building to a moment…. I will not spoil that moment here. But the point is that, having the attention of an audience and an unlimited capacity for words, it took him more than an hour to lay the groundwork for describing one perfect moment. Which was, after all, but a minute on a day on the other side of the world. How can I describe a weekend that was a string of perfect moments, like diamonds on a royal crown?
All I can say is that there are a few moments I’ve had in my life that I would describe as “perfect,” (and I will not share them with you) but this weekend had several. And they still take my breath away.
And then the trance ended, and we walked on.
We walked to a coffee house and chatted about nothing in particular for a while. Before long it was time to take everyone home, I dropped Lee off at the train, and drove Seb, Em, and Fay over to the airport.
Then I drove myself back to the hotel room; my plane didn’t leave until 5 am the next morning. I walked down the hall that had just recently been full of people and kink and trances and all manner of shenanigans. And the place was silent and quiet. Somehow, although I knew there were a few people still there from the weekend, I didn’t run into any of them.
I pieced myself together as best as I could. I drove to the airport, dropped off the hulk-mobile, and made my way home.
Once again, Mrs. Pynchon said that my energy was “so clean” when I saw her again. As if I had been cleansed. I always find that ironic, given how dirty some of our play is. Whatever the –ehus do with me, they sharpen me somehow.
* * *
Thanks, as always, to the volunteers, organizers and to everyone who attended MEEHU.
Thanks to Sleepingirl, for her inspiration (for starters) as a writer, subject, and friend. She is wise beyond her years. She is wise beyond my years, frankly. But also for being someone else who has a hard time taking a complement. At one point we had this wonderfully weird fight where we tried to make each other uncomfortable by relaying compliments to each other. Talk about perversion.
Thanks to Mephki, for starting the –ehus in the first place, and for her continued friendship.
Thanks to SweetGasp, for being a fellow Doctor.
Thanks to DannyK and Dancecode and others for being brilliant Weeping Angels.
Thanks to AmHypnotic for being such a fantastic example for the community.
Thanks to Daja and SpiralTurquoise, for whom, even though I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with them, I could always see they were spreading their own brand of cuteness and joy throughout the uncon.
Thanks to Seb, for his friendship, and for setting standards as a writer that I can only hope to attain. Also thanks for being brave and throwing yourself into the mix, even when the alternative must have seemed so enticing.
Thanks to Em, for being an unexpected diamond and fellow traveller. It is so gratifying to meet someone who shares the same energy.
Thanks to Fayvie, for being so brave and game as to come to a different country, and for meeting all of these crazy people, and for taking that leap. (I also guarantee that Mrs. Pynchon exists).
Thanks to LeeAllure. She has been a friend, hypnotist, mentor, co-writer, and… did I mention friend?
And finally, to Mrs. Pynchon. She still doesn’t understand why the hell I’m doing it, but she is so happy I am, and supports me every step of the way. I am humbled by her love. Thanks for being part of my journey.
And, incidentally, thank you, gentle reader, for going on this journey with me. Hopefully you’ll continue on this path.