Date: Tue, 20 Aug 2013 16:44:25 -0400
From: Morris Henderson <bigmoh@post.com>
Subject: Brain_Scam_Part_1

BRAIN SCAM
PART 1

Locale:  San Jose, California
Time:  the near future
Characters:
   - Mike Stevens, a 23-year-old financial analyst
   - Dr Donald Abrams, a wealthy, 51-year-old, retired neurologist

Dr. Abrams was startled by the knock on his office door.  He looked up to
see a tall, blonde, strikingly handsome young man standing in the
doorway.  "Come in," Dr. Abrams said perfunctorily.  "You must be Mike
Stevens."

"I am," Mike replied.  "I'm grateful that you agreed to see me.  I hope I'm
not interrupting your work."

"You are," Abrams grunted, resenting the intrusion and hoping to get rid
of the unwanted visitor as soon as possible.

"I can come back later," Mike offered.

"No!  Let's get this over with."

If Mike hadn't already sensed the older man's irritation, that comment
removed all doubt.  "I won't take up much of your time, Sir.  I just have a
few questions about..."

"I know what you want, young man.  But first I have a few questions of
my own."  The man rose to clear a disorderly stack of papers off a chair in
front of his desk.  "Have a seat," he said.  It was more of a command than
an invitation.

Mike sat.  He had disliked asking for the appointment.  He was not at ease
in social situations or interacting with a stranger even for business reasons.
It induced anxiety that often bordered on panic.  But it was important to
his accounting firm that he find out more about Dr. Abrams' company.
He had to accept the unpleasant situation if he were to keep his job.  The
decidedly cool, almost antagonistic greeting made him uncomfortable.
And it portended a confrontational meeting.

Dr. Abrams was equally distressed.  He had been able to keep the nature
of his business secret for ethical and legal reasons.  But this young man
might discover the goal of the research he was covertly performing.  That
could be disastrous.  If word of his work got out it would no doubt prevent
him from achieving the scientific breakthrough he fervently sought.

Abrams glared at his visitor and growled, "I understand from what you
said on the phone that you want to snoop into my financial affairs.  The
fact that I agreed to the appointment should be sufficient proof that I have
nothing to hide ... certainly nothing that an accounting firm would be
interested in.  Or, for that matter, even understand."

Mike found the Doctor's arrogant attitude highly offensive.  He managed
to keep his cool but only with extraordinary effort to quell the anxiety that
had been growing steadily since the first telephone contact.  Mike
surprised himself when he replied assertively, "I'm not here to `SNOOP,'
Sir.  As for `understanding,' my inquiries will be limited strictly to
financial details.  My firm is highly qualified in that area.  As am I!"

Abrams attempt to gain the upper hand in the verbal skirmish had been
met by a prompt, and effective counter-offensive.  This could only mean
that the young man might prove to be a formidable adversary.  The
intruder may be more of a threat to his secretive research than he first
feared.  He returned to his tactic of intimidation by asking a series of
rapid-fire questions.  "What makes you think I have any financial
information that would be of interest?  Why are you here if I haven't used
your accounting firm?  My company is a privately-held entity.  Private
means immune to public scrutiny.  What authority do you have to snoop—
yes, I said SNOOP—into my business?  And why do you have the
audacity to interrupt me and interfere with what I'm doing?  Do you
realize that you're grossly exceeding the limits of courtesy?  And most
probably professional standards?  Do us both a favor and go back to your
number-crunching overlords and tell them I don't want to be harassed any
more."

In other situations Mike would retreat and lick his wounds.  But successful
completion of his assignment was essential to his future in the accounting
firm.  So he absorbed the assault of the questions and paused to formulate
a reply.  "I could leave now, Sir, but it may very well trigger a subpoena
from the courts for your financial records."  He then smiled and continued,
"I'm sure that would be more trouble for you than telling me what I need
to know."

It was as much the young man's smile as the specter of a court appearance
that softened Abrams' attitude.  "What do you mean by a subpoena from
the courts?"

"Your company is incorporated as a nonprofit.  The state of California has
not received what they feel is an adequate justification of your continued
qualification as a nonprofit.  They have hired my accounting firm to
investigate."  In an attempt to make the threat less harsh and to build on
the Doctor's apparent change of heart, Mike continued, "I assure you, Sir,
that I will be completely fair ... and discreet ... in examining your financial
records.  It's surely a better option than dealing with a prosecutor in
court."

Abrams turned his back on Mike and stared out the window (which Mike
thought was rude), weighing his options.  The young man was right.  The
last thing he wanted was to be embroiled in a legal battle.  But he couldn't
risk the possibility of the young man discovering the nature of his
research.  Two unacceptable situations.  He chose the lesser of the
dangers.  Turning to face Mike, he said, "I'll agree to show you my
financial records.  But let me be very clear.  That's ALL you will see.  I
will not discuss the purposes, methods, or results of my research.  So don't
even ask!  You will be accompanied by my assistant whenever you're in
the building and she will prevent you from wandering anywhere except
into the conference room where she will answer your questions and
provide you with the financial information you may see.  Any questions?"

"No, Sir.  Can we begin the work now?

"No.  My assistant is not available at the moment.  Come back at eight
tomorrow morning.  She can help you until noon ... although I'm sure it
won't take that long.  And I hope it doesn't.  She has other, far more
important things to do than to babysit you.  Now let me get back to work."
He pressed a button on his desk phone and spoke, "Jennifer.  My guest is
leaving now."  Moments later Jennifer appeared and escorted Mike out of
the building.

Abrams sat for several minutes at his desk, pondering the wisdom of his
agreement to give a stranger access to his financial records.  If that's all he
gleaned from his examination it would not be a problem.  There was no
need to conceal any financial data by sanitizing the records.  However, he
couldn't be sure that they might contain clues to the nature of his research.
If so, would the stranger learn too much?  Would he keep it a secret?
Years of labor were at risk of being wasted.

But another thought intruded into his mind.  For the first time, he recalled
how handsome the young man was.  The well-proportioned and
symmetrical facial features approached perfection of masculinity: deep-set
blue eyes that had a tantalizing sparkle especially when confronted with a
challenge, expressive eye brows that reinforced the meaning of the words
he spoke, a strong but not exaggerated jaw.  And there was his body!
Even covered by clothes—shirt, tie, and suit coat—it was obvious that his
six-foot frame was trim and firm.  Abrams chided himself for thinking of
such minutia when his work, his dreams of fame when his research was
published, were jeopardized.  But then again ... this young man (What was
his name?  Mike Stevens.) would be the perfect subject in one of the
planned experiments.  The Doctor made a mental note to pursue the
possibility.  But VERY carefully.  He would have to proceed slowly to be
sure of the young man's willingness and, in the persuasion process, each
step would have to be meticulously planned and allow for a reasonable
way to terminate the relationship without arousing suspicion or
endangering his secretive research.  He chuckled aloud as he recalled how
like it was to courting a potential bed partner when he was in graduate
school.  None of his attempts had been successful.  But he had learned
from his mistakes.  He resolved to capitalize on those lessons now.  For
personal and professional reasons, the goal of recruiting Mike as a subject
in an experiment was too important.  To the research and to himself.

<><><><><>

Five minutes before eight the next morning, Mike entered the small,
sparsely furnished lobby of the office building: two folding chairs and a
small table with a phone on it next to the single locked door that led to the
interior of the building.  Attached to the wall next to the door was a small
box with a glowing red light.  He picked up the phone and punched the
zero key as requested by a sign above the desk, a sign that was the only
"decoration" on the four bare walls.

"May I help you?" came a voice over the phone.

"This is Mike Stevens.  I have an appointment with Dr. Abrams."

"Dr. Abrams is not available."

"He asked me to meet with Jennifer, his assistant, this morning."

"Yes, I see you're expected.  Please wait and Jennifer will let you in."

Mike sat on one of the hard folding chairs for nearly fifteen minutes.
During that time three people came in through the front door.  All of them
looked at Mike suspiciously; two asked why he was there.  Each placed an
index finger on a tiny opening in the box by the door.  When a chime
sounded, they opened the door and went inside.  Mike was puzzled by
what he thought was extreme security measures.  He shouldn't have been
after Abrams' emphatic warning about seeing anything not directly related
to the financial records of the company.

Just as Mike's patience was about to be fully exhausted, the door opened
and a young woman in a lab coat came through the interior door.  "Mike
Stevens?" she asked.

"Yes.  You must be Jennifer."

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said,  "I'll escort you to the conference
room.  The computer there has all of the financial data loaded for you to
examine."  She immediately picked up the phone and punched zero.  After
a brief pause, she said, "This is January.  I'm entering with a guest, Mike
Stevens."

Mike couldn't help asking, "January?  I thought your name was Jennifer."

 "It is.  January is my code word.  You see, if two of us go through the
door with only one fingerprint ID, it will sound an alarm.  And by the way,
you can't beat the system by using `January' because the code word can
be used only once."  Her expression and voice tone was not friendly.  In
fact, what she said sounded like a warning.

"That seems like a lot of bother," Mike said, hoping to add a little levity to
the situation.

Jennifer just glared at him briefly without responding, which only
heightened Mike's curiosity about the extreme security measures.

Jennifer led Mike to a conference room.  Two computers were in place at
either end of a rectangular table.  "That one is yours to use," she said.  "It
has all the financial information.  And nothing more.  The wireless
capability has been disabled so don't be tempted to try to access anything
more than what's loaded in the computer."

Jennifer sat at the other computer and began working.  Mike assumed she
was writing a report of some kind because her fingers flew over the
keyboard.  For the next two hours, each attended to their separate tasks,
interrupted only occasionally when Mike had to ask a question about
something that appeared on his computer screen.  Jennifer's answers were
precise but succinct and delivered with no emotion.  At one point, Mike
said, "I see an infusion of cash ... a sizable amount ... two million dollars.
But the source of the funds is not identified."

"A benefactor who supports Dr. Abrams' work.  He wishes to remain
anonymous."  She immediately returned to her work.

It was not prohibited to accept anonymous donations.  It was not even
unusual.  So Mike returned to his inspection of the financial records.

Eventually Mike interrupted Jennifer's work (she frowned ... again!).
"I've reviewed everything.  I've found no reason to challenge anything.
My report to my firm will be very positive."

"As I expected," Jennifer said somewhat condescendingly.  "I'll escort
you out now."

When they parted ways in the lobby, Mike said with a smile to counter the
woman's chilly attitude, "Thanks.  I really appreciate your assistance."

"Part of the job," she replied coldly (or was it sarcastically?) and then
promptly closed the door, which left Mike with a single thought: "What a
bitch!"

<><><><><>

A week later, Mike called Dr. Abrams but was switched to his voice mail.
"This is Mike Stevens.  I've finished my report and submitted it.  Please
call me if you would like me to mail you a copy."

Less than an hour later, Dr. Abrams returned the call.  "Hi, Mike.  This is
Don Abrams."  The cheerful greeting was the opposite of what happened
in their first meeting and momentarily confused Mike.  "First of all, Mike,
I'd like to apologize for what I said—and how I said it—when we talked
in my office.  I guess it was one of my bad days.  Anyway, yes, I'd like to
see your report.  Perhaps we could have lunch if it's convenient for you.
My treat.  To make up for being such an ass.  You can bring your report.
I'll be interested in reading it.  And I would enjoy your company in a less
formal setting."

Having agreed to meet at a restaurant on Saturday, Mike was left with yet
another puzzle, one that almost equaled in perplexity the extraordinary
secrecy about what went on behind the lobby of the company's building.
Why was Dr. Abrams suddenly so friendly when earlier he had been so
arrogant and confrontational?

Mike—dressed with a tie and sport coat because he expected the
restaurant to be upscale—arrived ten minutes early for his luncheon
appointment with Dr. Abrams.  Looking around, he didn't see his lunch
companion.  When someone at a table in the far corner of the restaurant
stood and waved, Mike was briefly puzzled; he didn't recognize the man
in a tee shirt and denim jeans.  But then he realized that the man was Dr.
Abrams who looked quite different without a lab coat.  He walked over.
Abrams greeted him warmly with a smile and a firm handshake.  "Thank
you for coming," the doctor enthused.  "After the way I treated you, I was
afraid you would not want to have anything to do with me."

Mike, still puzzled by the radical change of personality, replied, "All in a
day's work, Sir."

"You're very forgiving.  Thanks for that.  But please drop the `sir' bit.
Call me `Don'.  I hope you came hungry.  The prime-rib here is
spectacular."  Handing Mike a menu, he said, "But order what you want."

Mike followed his host's suggestion and ordered the prime-rib, which put
another large smile on Abram's face as it was at least weak evidence that
the young man was susceptible to suggestions.

Most of the conversation while waiting for the meal was Abrams
questioning Mike about his background, his job, and what he thought of
California after growing up on a farm in Wisconsin.  A definite rapport
developed, which, together with learning more about Mike, was the older
man's primary intent.  It was the first essential step in his plans for the
handsome young accountant.

Abram's congeniality almost expunged Mike's memory of an arrogant,
confrontational, and antagonistic owner of a company.  His normal reserve
in social situations was replaced by comfort in animatedly talking to a
virtual stranger.  When Abrams asked, "Found any pretty young women
since you've been here?  A handsome young stud like you should have no
problem."

Mike was relaxed enough to joke.  "That's a secret. But you know all
about secrecy, don't you?"

"Touché!" the man laughed.  "I guess I came across as an obsessive
paranoid when you were in my office.  My only excuse is that it's a hazard
of heading up a leading-edge research operation.  I apologize for my
behavior.  Let me simply say that we're exploring the most complex part
of the human body: the brain.  We're trying to—if you will—reverse-
engineer that marvelous organ.  Lots of researchers have identified parts of
the brain that control various functions: muscular movement, sensation,
creative and analytical thought, and even social and antisocial behaviors.
But so far it's like looking down at the Bay Area from an altitude of
30,000 feet.  We hope to map the brain in far greater detail."

"Sounds fascinating," Mike replied.

"It is.  And it's extraordinarily difficult ... mostly because of the variability
across the population.  Genetic inheritance and environmental influences
mean that ... at the level we're working ...  no two brains are alike.  Just
like no two city blocks are alike.  Each city block will have buildings but
they're all quite different."

"Sounds like it's more than difficult.  It sounds impossible."

"Somebody said that to Watson and Crick about their attempt to explain
the human genome.  But they kept at it.  And now we know about the
helix structure of DNA.  And we use that information to predict and treat a
wide range of what would otherwise be life-altering or life-threatening
problems.  With enough data and the right techniques, we should be able
to map an individual's unique brain just as easily as we map a person's
unique DNA.  Can you imagine what that might mean for curing
physiological defects and behavioral dysfunction?"  Without waiting for
an answer, Abrams continued,  "Some things have been done already.
Deep Brain Stimulation has given patients with severe mobility
impairment the ability to walk and lead a normal life.  It has eliminated the
symptoms of Parkinson's disease.  It's even cured mental depression that
standard pharmaceuticals couldn't."

"Yes," Mike replied.  "I've heard about the medical miracles.  I'm not
going to ask ... because you warned me about asking about anything other
than financial data ... but I assume your research is to take a leap forward."

Abrams paused to decide how to answer the implied question.  "Indeed!
But there's a lot of work yet to be done."  The comment was specifically
crafted to confirm Mike's suspicions but ambiguous enough to hide the
exact goals of the research.  "Right now, we're building a database of just
how much variability there is in the human brain.  It's quite time-
consuming to get enough data—that is, enough people to participate.  It
will take a broad cross-section of the population to have enough
information to work with."  Abrams fell silent and stared out the window.
It was not a spontaneous act.  It was more of a deliberate ploy, a part of his
carefully scripted plan.

Mike grew uncomfortable with the interruption to what had been a lively
conversation and said, "I'm sorry.  I feel like I've accidentally made you
violate your secrecy rule."

Abrams retuned his gaze to Mike and held it for a moment.  "It's not that
at all, Mike.  Rather, it's a thought I had.  Let me put it to you directly.
That's the only way I know how to communicate with a friend."  Abrams
had successfully reached the second stage of his plan.  Referring to Mike
as `a friend' was a tactical maneuver to ensure the achievement of his next
goal.  "It occurred to me that you are exactly the sort of person that would
help fill a void in my database.  You're an accountant.  That means you
have an analytical mind, one that is comfortable dealing with reams of
minute facts and details.  Moreover, as you demonstrated when dealing
with me when I was in a bad mood, you're sensitive to situations and are
goal-directed.  Those and other attributes are just the ones that I need to
fill the gaps in my database.  Would you be willing to volunteer as a
subject in my research?"

Mike was flattered by the compliments on his analytical skills but was
stunned by the final question.  It was totally unexpected and countless
questions invaded his thoughts.  Among them was the lingering mystery of
a man who behaved so drastically differently in his office and in the
restaurant less than a week later.  But more demanding of an answer was
how to respond to the question and what might happen if he agreed to
participate in the research.  "I don't know what to say, Don."

"Of course," the man said with a friendly smile.  "I should have known
that.  Because of your analytical mind. It's really very simple.  I put a skull
cap on you.  It has a number of sensors that identify areas of your brain
that are most active.  The sensors are connected to a computer.  And
therein lies the technological breakthrough.  A sophisticated computer
program is able to isolate the activity in any part of the brain—to a level of
precision that is unheard of.  While you're wearing the skull cap, you will
see a series of pictures, hear a variety of sounds, and listen to music and
voices.  I'll also ask you to do a series of simple movements.  Nothing
strenuous.  Finally, I'll ask you some questions that will call upon your
memory of events in your past.  By the way, none of my questions will
embarrass you or be at all threatening. It's simple.  It's completely safe.
One week later, you'll go through the same procedure.  Repeating the
session is necessary to assure the validity and reliability of the computer
analysis. Will you be a part of a major scientific breakthrough?"

Abrams waited impatiently for Mike's response.  Had he explained it well
enough to be convincing?  It had worked with many others ... but not all.
A few, he recalled agreed only after learning of the compensation for their
time.  So before Mike could respond, Abrams said, "And ... I should
mention that it pays very well for both of the two-hour sessions."

"I know that," Mike said casually.  Jennifer explained those expenditures
to me when I examined your financial reports."

Abrams smiled.  "So, my friend, will you help me?  And help the cause of
scientific advancement?"

Mike mentally reviewed all that Abrams had said and weighed his options.
Meanwhile, in the moments that seemed to the doctor much longer than
they were, Abrams' anxiety mounted.  Progress in his plan hinged on
Mike's willingness to cooperate.

"Okay." Mike finally said.  "It should be interesting.  Will I get to see the
results of my brain scan?"

Abrams succeeded in containing his elation—he felt like whooping with
joy—and limited his reaction to a broad smile and the words, "Thank you.
It will be very interesting.  And extraordinarily useful to my research.
And yes, I'll be happy to show you the results of the testing."

"May I make one request?  I'd prefer to participate without Jennifer
present."

He was about to explain why when Abrams burst out laughing and said,
"She's a bit of a cold fish, isn't she?  But she's absolutely brilliant.  The
most valuable employee I have.  So I put up with her sullenness and limit
our conversation to work matters."

Then both Mike and Abrams laughed.

Having agreed on dates and times for the two sessions, they finished their
meal and walked to the parking lot in cordial conversation.

While driving home, Mike mentally analyzed what went on during the
meal.  He was extraordinarily pleased to have joined in the conversation,
which was quite the opposite of previous, awkward attempts to be sociable
with others.  He was also enthusiastic about participating in the research.
It would be an adventure and a welcome change from his predominately
lonely and dull life.

Abrams was ecstatic over his success in winning Mike's cooperation.  He
eagerly anticipated having this handsome young man as a subject in his
experiments.  The crafty researcher had no guilt feelings about telling
Mike only part of the purpose in the two sessions.  The untold part was, in
fact, the primary goal of his research.  But for legal and ethical reasons, he
could not reveal that to anyone beyond his few trusted employees.

<><><><><>

Mike drove excitedly to the nondescript building for the first of his two
sessions.  He had been looking forward to Thursday evening since the
meeting with Dr. Abrams over lunch almost a week earlier.  He arrived ten
minutes early for the eight o'clock appointment and, not surprisingly,
found the door into the lobby locked.  What was surprising, however, was
that the door opened less than a minute later and Dr. Abrams appeared,
saying with a cordial grin, "Come in, my friend."

They walked to the interior door where Abrams placed his index finger on
the small control panel.  The chime sounded, he opened the door, and he
motioned for Mike to precede him into the protected interior of the
building.  Mike paused and asked, "Isn't that a violation of protocol?
Jennifer said that two people going through the door with only one
recognized fingerprint would set off the alarm."

Abrams laughed.  "One of the perks of being the head of the organization.
I could let in a whole football team if I wanted."

Walking down the hallway to the laboratory, Mike said, "The place is
different after hours.  Dim lighting.  No sounds of people working late."

"Don't let that concern you," Abrams said, sensing that his guest might be
somewhat ill at ease.  "Most of the lights are turned off automatically at
seven and automatically turned on at seven the next morning.  You'd be
surprised at how much money that saves.  But you're probably not; you're
an accountant."  They both grinned.  "We're the only two in the building.
It's not uncommon to run experiments in the evening since most subjects,
like you, have to be at work during the day.  Except when the subject is
female.  Then Jennifer must be present."

Mike chuckled.  "As a chaperon or as a defense witness if you're accused
of impropriety?"

Abrams just grinned and led Mike into a small room filled with computers
and other devices he could not recognize.  A video monitor was mounted
on the wall just above one of the computers.  Abrams briefed Mike on the
procedures.  "I'll be in here.  You will be alone in the adjoining room.  We
can communicate with each other by voice only.  Each room has a
microphone and speaker.  I'll be able to see you on this video monitor but
you won't be able to see me.  The reason is simple.  It's called
`experimenter bias' but simply means that for accurate measurements you
shouldn't be able to see any of my reactions to what you say and do.  Any
questions so far?"

"No, Sir."

Abrams smiled and said, "Given the situation, you can call me `sir' but in
less formal situations, please call me `Don.'  Okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now let me show you the other room."  Abrams led Mike into the
adjacent room that was very comfortably furnished and unlike the rest of
the facility that could only be described as austere.  "For most of the time,
Mike, you'll be seated in the easy chair watching the video screen on the
wall opposite, listening to voices or music over the speakers or answering
my questions.  For a brief period, you will stand up and perform certain
actions so I can get a reading on where in your brain muscular control is
managed.  Your primary concern is to be yourself.  Don't try to please me.
I must know what goes on in your head in normal circumstances.  If at any
time you're uncomfortable with what's happening, be sure to tell me.
Okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You'll be fine.  I'm sure of that.  Sit down and let me fit the skull cap on
your head."

When the skull cap was in place, Abrams attached small, numbered wires
to each of several connection points.  He then asked, "Is that
comfortable?"

"A little tight but not enough to be a problem."

"Good.  We can get started."  Abrams left the room and closed the door.
Within a minute, Mike heard the doctor's voice over the intercom.  "We'll
begin if you're ready."

"I'm ready.  What's the first task?"

"I'm going to show you a series of photos on the video monitor.  Just
watch the monitor and enjoy the show."

Each photo appeared for only a few seconds.  Scenery.  Adults of various
ages singly or in group activities.  Children and babies.  Animals.
Significant events in history that included a few of violence.  They were
randomly mixed but unlike the sequence of photos used with any previous
participant.  Abrams had included a dozen photos that would give him
specific information he hoped could be exploited later in the session.
These extra photos showed attractive women and handsome men at the
beach in swim suits.  Abrams was extremely pleased with the display of
brain activity when these photos were presented.  In another departure
from standard experiment protocol, Abrams enabled a capability of the
skull cap sensors during the display of a short, contiguous series of photos
taken from a helicopter above Manhattan.  At the conclusion of that set of
photos, he disabled the sensors' capability that was his most closely
guarded secret.

Abrams voice came over the intercom.  "That concludes the first part of
the experiment, Mike.  Before moving on to the second part, I need to ask
you something.  You will have noticed that the photos were presented
randomly.  Except for the aerial views of Manhattan.  Did that seem
unusual that they were presented together?"

There was a pause that Abrams welcomed before Mike replied.  "I'm
sorry, Sir.  I don't remember anything like that.  But I was paying
attention.  Honest."

 "I'm sure you were, Mike."  Abrams' next comment was intentionally
deceptive.  "I suppose it's my mistake that I didn't include them.  Still, the
data I got from all the other photos will be extremely useful."  Also useful
was the confirmation that Mike's memory of the Manhattan photos had
been blocked.  "Now let's move on to the second part of the session.  In
this part you will hear short pieces of music or brief segments of people
speaking.   Are you okay?  Are you ready for the next part?"

"I am."

"Good.  Be sure to tell me if you are tired or troubled in any way.  It's
important that I record your brain patterns without any mental
distractions."

The audio clips were, like the photos, presented randomly.  The music was
both familiar and unfamiliar melodies.  The interspersed spoken words
from male and female adults were mostly noncontroversial but a few
advocated universally unpopular beliefs.  At the conclusion of the second
part, Abrams asked again, "Are you still okay?

"Yes, Sir."

 "Good.  I'm going to ask you to perform a few simple tasks."  They were,
indeed, simple.  Folding the arms.  Standing and sitting back down.
Touching or scratching the face, arms, and legs.  That went on for about
ten minutes and ended when Abrams announced over the intercom, "We'll
now begin the final part of the experiment.  I'd like you to close your eyes
while I ask you several questions.  Short answers are fine; there's no need
to elaborate unless I ask you for more detail.  If you don't know the
answer, just say so.  If you know the answer but would rather not answer
the question, just tell me.  Okay?"

"Fire away," Mike responded

The questions were in four parts.  The first was standard for all
participants and focused on short-term memory.  The second had
questions that called up long-term memories.  The third asked Mike to
solve problems.  The fourth part, however, was added to the standard
procedure and was engineered to manipulate Mike's consciousness in
ways that suited Abrams' covert agenda, the success of which was assured
based on preliminary brain responses from pictures that depicted muscular
men and attractive women in swim suits.

Before launching into the fourth part, Abrams said casually, "We're
almost finished, Mike.  You're doing very well.  I imagine you're getting a
little tired.  You are, aren't you?"

"No, I'm fine."

Abrams reactivated highly secret capability of the system.  The sensors in
Mike's skull cap, except for one brief period when displaying photos, had
only been monitoring brain activity—doing no more than relaying signs of
activity in various parts of the brain to the main computer.  However, the
sensors had another capability: to transmit signals INTO specific parts of
the brain, something that had never been achieved by any other researcher.
The signals targeted short-term memory only when the Manhattan photos
were displayed.  This time, however, they were also used to inhibit
selected parts of the brain that processed ethics and self-restraint.  After a
brief pause for the signals to take effect, Abrams soothingly said, "You
ARE tired, Mike.  I want you to relax.  You will not go to sleep but you
will be totally relaxed.  And at peace.  You will hear my voice and be
aware of what I'm telling you but nothing else will intrude into your mind.
You trust me.  You will respond to my questions and instructions without
any reservation.  Do you understand what I'm telling you now?"

"Yes, Sir," came a slightly slurred response from Mike.

The tone and inflection in Mike's response indicated that he was in an
induced trance not unlike hypnosis.  But it had been accomplished in a
remarkably short time.  Abrams continued his calm directions.  "You are
completely relaxed.  It feels wonderful.  Your friend will now guide you
through a sequence of activities.  I am your friend, am I not?"

"Yes."

"And you trust me to help you, to make you feel good.  Is that right?"

"Yes."

"It's getting warm in the room where you are.  Very warm.  Unbutton your
shirt.  You'll be more comfortable."

As Mike unbuttoned his shirt, Abrams hit the record button on a second
video recorder.  The recording would be for his Abrams' eyes only to
review and enjoy later.

"You're doing fine, Mike.  But you're still uncomfortably warm.  Raise
your undershirt to expose your stomach and chest to the fresh air."

Abrams expected what he saw—flat abs and well-defined pecs—but it
nevertheless affected him deeply.  He felt a stirring in his groin.

"That feels good, Mike.  The fresh air on your skin has helped.  But you
still feel too warm for comfort.  You do feel very warm, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

"More exposure to the fresh air will help, Mike.  Pull your trousers down
to your ankles.  Let the cool air sooth your legs."  Mike dutifully complied
while Abrams watched and adjusted his inflating penis.  "That feels much
better, Mike.  You're much more comfortable now.  Look down.  Admire
your body.  The sight of your manly physique makes you proud.  Now
look at the bulge in your briefs.  How often do you masturbate, Mike?"

"Five or six times a week," came the response with no hesitation.

"And how does it feel when you masturbate?"

"Wonderful."

"Of course.  Every man masturbates.  It's very normal.  Have you ever
masturbated with someone else?"

"No."

"You feel the urge now.  You need to feel the satisfaction of stroking your
cock and releasing your cum.  The orgasm will be one of the best in your
life.  Pull your underwear down to your ankles, Mike."

Again, Mike complied dutifully and without any reservation or modesty.

Abrams was captivated by the cock that came into view on the monitor in
the control room.  The cock, although still limp, was impressive.  This
would be one of his favorite parts of the video recording.  Abrams' own
cock achieved full erection.

"You like what you see there between your legs, Mike.  Touch it.  Fondle
it.  Bring it to life.  Make it stiff and standing tall, ready to give you the
thrill of an orgasm."

It didn't take long.  Mike's cock grew and stiffened.  He began to stroke it,
slowly but building up speed.

"That feels good, Mike.  Your hand around your admirable manhood.  The
anticipation of a storm of pleasant sensations as your cum explodes out of
your cock."

Abrams' plan was working perfectly.  It was time to advance to the next
carefully detailed stage of the procedure.

"You have a problem, Mike.  When you spew your cum, how are you
going to clean it up?  There is a solution to that problem.  I can help you,
Mike.  May I help you?"

"Yes," Mike grunted as he continued his feverish pace of jerking his
throbbing cock.

Abrams immediately left the control room and walked into the room with
Mike.  Bending down on his knees in front of the object of his lust, he
gently removed Mike's hand from the rock-hard cock.  "I'll catch your
cum so it doesn't leave a mess to clean up.  More importantly, Mike, it
will feel marvelous."

The man wrapped his mouth around the irresistible cock and began
stimulating it with his lips and tongue.  It was something he had done only
once ... while he was in college years ago but the memory of that
experience stayed with him in the following decades.  When his current
research proved to be capable of rendering a person cooperative and
without inhibition, his fantasy of savoring a manly cock and relishing the
tangy flavor of fresh cum other than his own became a recurrent hope.  In
a fortunate coincidence of perfecting the sensor/transmitters and the
appearance of an attractive young man in his office, his dream of sexual
gratification became an obsession.

As he engulfed Mike's primed rod, the extremely horny young man threw
his head back and moaned loudly.  The time seemed too long for Mike but
much too short for Abrams before Mike's body stiffened and he cried out
with a primal scream of sexual satisfaction.   Multiple volleys of cum
exploded into Abram's throat.

While the `victim' of Abrams' lust recovered from an overwhelming
orgasm, the researcher retreated to the control room while swishing
around a large load of cum in his mouth.  Finally swallowing the creamy
nectar and seeing Mike's movement on the video monitor, he said over the
intercom, "How do you feel, now, Mike?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic!"

"That's good," Abrams replied.  "You may now pull up your underwear
and pants, button your shirt, and relax for a few moments."  When Mike
was fully dressed, Abrams turned off the second video recording and said,
"You feel wonderful.  Now listen to me carefully.  I will soon restore your
awareness of your surroundings.  When I do, you will remember nothing
of what happened while you were relaxed.  When I walk into the room and
shake your shoulder, you will suddenly be aware of where you are and
what we're doing here.  Is that clear?"

"Yes."

Abrams then returned to the room in which Mike sat starring at nothing in
particular.  He shook Mike's shoulder.  Mike jumped and asked, "What
happened?  I thought we were going to finish the interview."

Abrams smiled and said, "You fell asleep.  But don't be concerned.  It
allowed me to get readings of your brain activity during slumber.  What is
the last thing that you remember?"

Mike struggled to recall what happened.  "You asked if I was tired.  I said
I wasn't.  But I guess I was if I fell asleep."

"You've been a fine subject in my experiments, Mike.  I'm grateful for
your help.  And you've made a major contribution to a very significant
research project.  I look forward to your second session next Thursday
evening."

"I'll be here," Mike replied.  He chuckled and said, "And I'll try not to fall
asleep."

"Don't let that worry you, my friend.  The second session will be almost
identical to this one.  Its purpose, as I mentioned before, is to assure the
validity and reliability of the readings we took of your brain activity."

Abrams escorted Mike out of the building and, in parting, said, "I meant it
when I said I'm grateful for you help, my friend.  And for your
contribution to the advancement of neurological science."

Abrams immediately returned to the control room.  It was essential to edit
the video recording of the experiment by deleting the final portion and to
retrieve the secondary recording that showed the sexual encounter.  While
doing that, he congratulated himself on successfully achieving his
clandestine goal.  He should have felt guilty for manipulating Mike and
for engaging in profoundly unprofessional behavior.  But he didn't.  The
first reason was that the results of the first session strongly indicated that
Mike was attracted to men and was probably gay.  His responses to photos
of bare-chested men where elevated while those to women were not.  His
answers to interview questions were more subtle clues but nevertheless
supported the conclusion.  The second reason for not feeling guilty was
that his obsessive lust had seized control of his thinking and blinded him
to the potential risks.  The highly charged eroticism of watching a
handsome young man disrobe and masturbate only fueled his lust and
further clouded his judgment.  His original plan included only watching
Mike masturbate in each of the two sessions but the compulsion to do
more than watch and to actively participate in the sexual scenario was
overpowering.  The experience of suckling on a virile cock and tasting the
warm cum was almost enough to give him a spontaneous orgasm.  He
resolved that before the second session he would meticulously plan how to
do more than watch.

He deleted the evidence of his depravity from the regular recording.  He
took the second recording to his office and was he was compelled to view
it.  His cock started to inflate as he connected the flash memory card to his
computer. He eagerly watched the computer screen as it showed Mike
undressing.  As Mike fondled his cock, Abrams unconsciously did the
same to his own already stiff rod.  When the computer screen showed him
entering the room and engulfing Mike's cock, the highly aroused man
began stroking his throbbing hard-on vigorously.  His orgasm produced a
prodigious amount of cum that stained his lab coat from neck to navel.

He secured the flash memory card in his office safe, knowing that he
would retrieve it frequently and that each viewing would produce far more
stimulation than Internet porn because it would recapture the ecstasy he
experienced when the recording was made.

It was almost midnight when a very satisfied Abrams left the building.  On
the drive home, he reflected on the experience in the lab.  It was, without a
doubt, far more gratifying than any sex he had with the wife.  They
divorced decades ago for a number of reasons including one that was
never mentioned.  He had been attracted to men from an early age but for
career and reputation married Suzanne.  Since the divorce he had remained
chaste and celibate but masturbated frequently.  The frustrations of living
alone and having to satisfy his own libidinous needs had two
consequences.  The first was that he channeled all of his energy into his
medical practice and, later, into his research company.  The second
consequence was a steadily growing need to enjoy sex with a man.  Mike,
in spite of being more than twenty years younger—or perhaps because of
that—gave new urgency to the frustrated man's craving for male sex.

Abrams was impatient for the next session with Mike on the following
Thursday.  It would be another opportunity to live his fantasies and to do
more than suck the young man's cock.  On the periphery of his
anticipation lurked a question: Could he manage to have more than just
two sexual encounters with Mike?  He mentally put that question aside for
later consideration.

Mike's drive home was quite different.  Unaware of the doctor's betrayal
of trust by forcing cooperative but nonconsensual sex, he could only recall
the standard part of the experiment.  It was, he concluded, interesting but
also somewhat mysterious.  How could the sensors in the skull cap
monitor his brain activity with the precision that Abrams claimed?  Why
should his research be such a secret?  Could there be more than fear of
competition from other research organizations?  Did he fear condemnation
of his peers for his methods?  Why was he wide-awake one minute and
asleep the next?  Was a repetition of the session necessary to get accurate
data?  Regardless of those imponderable questions, Mike looked forward
to the second session even though it would likely duplicate the first.

While getting ready for bed, Mike noticed a familiar stain on his
underwear.  He had found a similar stain several times when he was not
sufficiently careful in cleaning up after an orgasm.  Why would the stain
be there tonight since he had not jerked off for two days?  It was a
question he could not answer.  But he resolved to be on the alert for a
recurrence that might indicate a medical problem.  Before falling asleep,
he re-evaluated his opinion of Dr. Abrams who definitely had a gentle,
considerate nature.  Their first, confrontational meeting must have been
atypical because he was irritated at having his finances scrutinized.

<><><><><>

Mike slept in late on Saturday morning.  At about eight, the rays of the
rising sun were just barely leaking into the bedroom from around the
edges of the drapes.  Mike enjoyed the luxury of not hearing the blare of
the alarm and having to rush to get ready for work.  Half-awake and half-
asleep, he gradually became dimly aware of his morning woody.  Without
conscious thought but out of pure habit, he laid a hand of the swollen
member and caressed it.  That soon led to instinctive fondling.  The
routine for Saturday mornings was a prolonged, leisurely period of
stimulation followed by an explosive orgasm.  But the routine took a
sudden and unexpected detour.  A half-formed memory intruded into his
senses.  He was sitting in Dr. Abrams' lab, half naked, and masturbating.
It jarred him into full consciousness instantly.  He sat up in bed and for
several minutes tried unsuccessfully to understand why he had such a
bizarre thought.  The details of the memory—or was it a delusion? —were
vague but it was very disturbing.  What caused it?  Surely it didn't happen.
He would never do such a thing.  So it couldn't be a memory.  Was it a
fantasy?  Perhaps wishful thinking?  No, he reasoned, it was not
something he would want to do.  Certainly not in that situation and not
with Dr. Abrams.  Could it have been a dream?  Dreams are famous for
being irrational and can sometimes be remembered after waking.  He sat
pondering the odd experience. Finally, he concluded that it must have
been a weird dream.  He had been half way between asleep and awake.
The sleeping half could have generated the dream.  The waking half could
make it easy to remember.  Confident in his analysis, he turned his
attention to his deflating cock, restored its full stature, and brought himself
to a satisfying climax.

That afternoon, he watched a football game on television.  The Green Bay
Packers, his favorite team, easily won.  He pressed the off button on the
remote and picked up a magazine to read.  Five minutes later, he realized
that he had read the article before so he laid the magazine in his lap to
think about whether to fix dinner or go out to eat.  He hated eating alone in
a restaurant so he decided to fix a batch of spaghetti.  Glancing down at
the magazine in his lap, he was startled by a hazy image.  It disappeared as
quickly as it appeared but it was extremely disturbing.  It was a head of
salt-and-pepper hair bobbing up and down between his bare legs.  It took
only a moment to recognize whose hair it was: unmistakably ABRAMS!
He inhaled sharply and his heart began to race.  It was NOT a dream!  But
what made such an improbable image pop into his mind?  He sat, almost
in a cold sweat, for several minutes trying to make sense of the impossibly
bizarre notion that it would ever happen or even that he would want it to
happen.  There was no rational explanation.

For much of the rest of the day, he was haunted by what he thought was a
dream of masturbating in the lab and by the more distressing image of
Abrams giving him a blow job. At several points he worried that he was
losing his mind.  More specifically, he wondered whether the two hours
with sensors monitoring his brain activity had caused unwelcome
disruptions to his mind.  If so, should he cancel next Thursday's session?

The next four days passed without any recurrence of strange ideas popping
into his head.  His life returned to normal.  His fears of unintended
consequences of the experimental procedure abated.  By Thursday,
although he still had no reasonable explanation (His analytical mind
thrived on reason and verifiable facts.) he decided to return to Abrams' lab
that evening for the second session.  A small part of the decision was
knowing that Abrams would be extremely disappointed and possibly
angry over the cancellation.

The second session was a virtual repeat of the first.  Abrams was very
friendly when greeting Mike and effusive in his appreciation for the time
and valuable assistance in the research.  There were two variations in the
procedure, however, that Abrams had planned.  First, there was no need to
test the effectiveness of the disruption to short-term memory by including
the sequence of aerial views of Manhattan and questioning Mike about it.
The second variation, however, was far more significant and included an
addition to the sexual activities.

A hypnotic-like trance was induced as before.  But Abrams entered the
testing room at an earlier stage—before Mike had fondled himself to
erection. He wanted to do that himself and take more time to relish the
taste of the young man's stiff cock.  Consumed by the sensual gratification
of the moment, he teased the cock with his tongue and lips for so long that
Mike was writhing and pleading for relief.  Grudgingly, Abrams stroked
vigorously while making sure that his lips were tightly wrapped around
the top third of Mike's cock so as to be sure to capture all of the hot,
creamy ejaculate.  As before, Mike screamed when his orgasm
overwhelmed his senses.  After a few moments of relishing the massive
load in his mouth, Abrams swallowed in order to launch into the part of
the procedure that he had eagerly anticipated for days.

In a soothing voice, he asked, "That felt wonderful, didn't it, Mike?"

"Yes!  Wonderful!"

"You want to return the favor now."  It was not a question.  It was a
declaration made with confidence that Mike would be especially
susceptible to following instructions.  The man stood and lowered his
trousers, releasing his steel-hard cock from the confinement that, until this
moment, had not been a concern to Abrams.  "Get out of the chair and
stand, Mike."  Dutifully and almost mechanically, the young man
complied.  "You're doing fine.  You feel good about what's happening.
Now get down on your knees."  Again, Mike responded as directed.
"Good.  Now I'm going to put my penis in your mouth.  It will taste
fantastic."  Abrams almost collapsed when the warm lips surrounded the
tip of his cock but he managed to continue his directions.  "You're happy
to return the favor.  You want to show your gratitude for what I've done
for you.  And prove to me that you are capable of giving satisfaction to a
needy man.  Suck my dick, Mike.  Slowly at first but gradually increase
the pace."

Abrams was in erotic bliss as he felt the moist mouth stroking his cock.
Only with great effort did he manage to periodically compliment Mike,
tell him what a good job he was doing, and implant the idea in Mike's
artificially acquiescent mind that he enjoyed sucking cock.  In order to
prolong the ecstasy of his first blow job, Abrams struggled to control his
arousal and delay his climax.  The intensity of the experience was so great
and he was so completely consumed with pleasure that he lost track of
time.  It would prove to be disastrous.

Just as Abrams felt he could delay his orgasm no longer, Mike withdrew
and sat back down on his heels.  Abrams looked down to find Mike
looking up at him with an expression that clearly revealed alarm and
confusion.  It was only then that Abrams remembered the safety trigger in
the computer program that was intended to automatically shut down the
transmission of signals from the skull cap into the subject's brain.  It was
feared that prolonged stimulation of the brain might cause damage to the
neurons and lead to permanent impairment of critical brain functions.
Abrams knew about the automatic shut down but he had been distracted
by the extreme pleasure of what Mike was doing to him.  In abject horror,
Abrams realized that Mike was no longer being controlled by signals
transmitted into his brain.

Mike shook his head to clear his mind.  When the effects of the induced
trance began to wear off, he screamed, "What the fuck is going on?"

Abrams was in total and debilitating agony—physically because his
orgasm had been denied at the last possible moment but mostly mentally
because he had no reply to Mike's demanding question.  Nothing he said
would have eliminated or even reduced the predicament he was in.  All he
could do was whimper, "I'm sorry."

"As you very well should be," Mike exclaimed.  "You manipulated me.
How many times have you done this and gotten away with it?"

"Nevcr!  Only with you.  Because you're irresistibly handsome.  And
sexy.  I'm sorry, Mike.  I wronged you.  You have every reason to hate
me.  But I had to do it.  You're my idea of perfection in a man."  Abrams
slumped and dropped his head in overpowering shame.

Mike's anger caused him to be silent and let Abrams suffer.  But from
beneath Mike's anger arose a compelling sympathy for a man who was a
victim of his own lust, a man whose dream of scientific fame was now in
jeopardy, a man that could face criminal prosecution and disgrace rather
than respect.  The odd mixture of anger and compassion prompted Mike to
say, "Why the fuck couldn't you have won my WILLING cooperation?
We could have been friends if you had the decency to earn my respect.
And you could have been honest about what you wanted.  I might have
declined your request but we could still be friends.  Or I might have
granted your request and had sex with you.  It would then be fully
consensual and pleasurable.  But no.  You abused your power for the
selfish purpose of sexual satisfaction.  You may be a brave pioneer in
scientific research, Abrams, but what you've done to me is pure
cowardice."

Mike then remembered that he was half naked.  He pulled up his trousers,
turned, and left the room without bothering to button his shirt.  He ran
down the hall and into the building's lobby.  The outside door, although
locked, had a push bar that would open the door in case of emergency.  He
opened the door and escaped into the evening's fresh air.  As he ran to his
car, he heard the alarm blaring behind him.  As distraught as he was over
what had been done to him, it was miraculous that he was able to drive
home safely.

Meanwhile, Abrams crumpled to the floor, crushed as much by his
stupidity as by the inevitable damage to his research and to the company.

To be continued

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:  Iatia's editing, encouragement, and valuable
suggestions are greatly appreciated.