TRANCES
                    by Michael K. Smith


     It wasn't that I didn't have a pretty good reputation
with the girls in high school and college, but my successes
weren't spectacular, either. I did all right, plenty of
dates most of the time, two girls with whom I went steady
for almost a year -- the usual. I wasn't a jock, or a
student government leader, or anything, but neither were
most guys. It all seemed perfectly normal... but that was
before my friend Jeff's older brother taught me how to
hypnotize people.
     I was doing my freshman year of college locally, to
save money, when Edward came home from one of the big-time
universities where he was a senior psych major. His grades
were very good and he apparently had an excellent shot at
one of the better graduate schools the following year.
Edward's particular fascination was the workings of human
will power. He wanted to understand the forces that drove
people. That meant trying to nullify someone's will power so
he could, in effect, take it out and study it, see what made
it tick. And, for Edward, that meant hypnosis.
     To him, hypnotism was a kind of crowbar that he could
use to pry the lid off his subject's mind, so he could
investigate its innards. He was very good at it, too. He was
able to hypnotize his brother in less than five minutes,
even though Jeff knew perfectly well what he was doing and
probably tried to resist. I know Edward was able to put *me*
under in nothing flat, even though I'm ordinarily a highly
suspicious and skeptical person. I wouldn't have thought I'd
make a good hypnotic subject -- but I have a polaroid of
myself, barefoot with pants legs rolled up, and an actual
lampshade on my head, capering about in a particularly silly
way. That proves it.
     The odd thing is, being a rather reserved person for a
teenager and careful of my dignity, I would have resisted
consciously and strongly any attempt by anyone to get me to
behave like that, but I can clearly remember being
completely aware of my actions at the time. I just didn't
*mind* that Edward had me behaving in such an embarrassingly
foolish way. It seemed, at the time, that it was all my own
idea,... and a very good idea, at that.
     When I emerged from the hypnotic state (Edward had told
me that I would feel not at all resentful, and I wasn't), I
was very curious about the old story that you couldn't make
someone do something against their will under hypnosis. He
laughed.
     "Well, you can't just tell a subject to shoot someone,
for instance. But you could probably tell them they're
shooting at a paper target on a firing range -- and if you
convince them of it, they'll shoot. Especially if they've
been on a range before and know they can't 'hurt' the
target. It's not a matter of overcoming the subject's will
power so much as doing an end run around it."
     I thought about that. "This is getting interesting," I
said. "Could you teach me how to hypnotize someone?"
     Edward was reluctant. He didn't want some irresponsible
kid poking randomly into things he didn't understand. But I
was a serious young man and I could be pretty persuasive
myself. He finally gave in and instructed me in the
techniques of seducing a person's attention until they had
entered a trance state. No pendulum-like pocket watches, no
rotating spiral disks, no monotonic chanting, no "tricks" of
any kind. It was a matter of focusing the subject's entire
attention on yourself, a little at a time (though it
actually happened pretty fast if it was going to happen at
all), until your suggestions regarding their thoughts and
behavior seemed to them to originate within their own mind.
It was a technique some people could master easier than
others, of course. And it turned out that I was a natural at
it -- better than Edward, in fact, once I'd had some
practice.
     My first subject, coincidentally, was Edward and Jeff's
kid sister, Sharon. She didn't really know me and she had no
reason to trust me. In fact, as a typical thirteen-year-old,
she had no reason to put much trust in *any* teenager much
older than herself. But I was able to put her under within a
few minutes. As a test, I gave her a few pieces of licorice
and told her it was dark chocolate. I like licorice, which
was why I was carrying it around, but both brothers assured
me Sharon loathed the stuff. But she grinned with delight as
she ate it, and even thanked me for the treat very politely
when I brought her out of the trance! I knew this could be a
source of Power, with a capital "P".
     I had been somewhat interested in psychology already,
but when I transferred to the university as a sophomore the
next year, psychology became my official major. I also began
thinking seriously about pre-med and a career in psychiatry.
It seemed a fascinating opportunity to get "under the hood"
of the human mind; I was beginning to understand why Edward
was so absorbed in the subject. But my new skills at
hypnosis also proved to be of more immediate use.

     Kathy was a cute little thing, a freshman I met during
my junior year, who looked closer to fifteen than the
"eighteen-and-a-half" she claimed. She was bright and
friendly and open -- and trusting. A perfect subject, I
thought.
     I had spent nearly a year honing my abilities on
friends and acquaintances, especially those who, like me,
lived in the dorm. I had never asked anyone to do anything
that could be considered immoral or illegal -- just things
they would not choose to do if they were in control of their
own actions. Things like a guy putting on a girl's dress and
strolling around the dorm completely oblivious to the
laughter trailing after him.
     Actually, I only went that far once, with a subject who
was almost universally disliked; he held no grudge afterward
(I'd told him he wouldn't) and no one else complained of the
little show he had been instructed to put on. More often, I
had shy subjects get up and sing bawdy songs and girls
recite dirty limericks to strangers: Things that were only
mildly embarrassing, and which the subjects probably got a
secret thrill from afterward.
     I also learned the hard way to phrase instructions so
as to obtain exactly the results I wanted. One guy in the
dorm had a bad nervous habit of biting his nails; his
cuticles were frequently bloody. He was willing to let me
attempt a bit of hypnotherapy, but I screwed up badly. I
told him that when he had the urge to bite his nails, he
simply wouldn't be able to.
     The unforeseen result was that he was physically unable
to move his hand to his mouth and he went into a serious
panic. Fortunately for both of us, I always left a
posthypnotic "back-door," to make it easier to put the
subject under the next time, and I was able to calm him down
and modify the instructions: When he wanted to bite his
nails he would remind himself that it was ruining the
condition and appearance of his hands and he would lose the
*desire* to gnaw at them.
     That was much more successful. After a few weeks of
aborted hand-to-mouth motions -- which didn't interfere with
eating or note-taking -- he had conditioned himself not to
bite his nails at all. The desire had gone, the habit had
disappeared, and he was delighted. I suspected he would
probably adopt some other nervous habit, but I wasn't a
therapist yet! Anyway, I was learning, always learning. And
then I moved to the university and I met Kathy.
     My "in" with Kathy was her infatuation with poetry. She
loved having her favorite verses read aloud to her, in fact:
The classic romantic. So we sat under a tree on campus one
Friday afternoon and I read CHILDE HAROLD to her in a
quietly dramatic voice. She leaned against the tree trunk,
eyes half-closed, drinking in the music of the words. After
ten minutes of listening to my voice, she had virtually put
*herself* under. When I asked her to repeat a series of
nonsense syllables, she did so without hesitation. She was
suggestible and I had already worked out what I would do to
take advantage of the situation I had created.
     "Listen to me carefully, Kathy. We only met a few weeks
ago, but you're already beginning to have romantic thoughts
about me -- and only me. You will find yourself daydreaming
about me, and it will happen a little more with each passing
day. After a week or so, you will wonder if you're falling
in love with me. The sound of my voice will give you
exciting little chills, my touch will make you feel warm and
loving, you will gradually begin to fantasize about a
physical relationship with me. Nothing serious -- sitting on
my lap so you can be close to me, kissing me, wanting me to
put my arms around you and hold you. All the things you read
about in romantic novels. You will be completely aware of
your growing feelings and your increasing desires for me,
and they will all seem completely natural. They will make
you very happy. You will begin to do everything you can
think of to win me over to you.
     "Most important, you will quickly come to trust me in
every way, won't you? That's one of the main reasons you
will begin to fall in love with me -- because you know you
can trust me absolutely and you know I would never hurt you.
     "Now: You will not remember this conversation and you
will not remember that you were in a trance. You've just
been sitting here, feeling warm and happy, listening to me
read you poetry. Do you understand?" She smiled slightly and
nodded. "But you will follow the instructions I've given
you, won't you? And you will slip easily into a deep trance
state whenever you hear my voice -- and only *my* voice --
say the words 'Dive, Kathy, dive.' Repeat the words that
will put you into a pleasant trance when you hear my voice
speak them to you."
     "Dive, Kathy, dive," she murmured, and giggled. I
wondered for a moment if she could be faking but quickly
realized the giggles were just part of her happy frame of
mind. Kathy was just a giggler, and a very cute one. One
more little test, though.
     "Kathy, I want you to repeat the following words to me,
softly, but as if you really mean them: 'Fuck me in the ass
until I scream for mercy!' Go ahead."
     She licked her lips and squirmed and her eyes opened
wider. She fixed me with a hot look. "Fuck me in the ass
until I scream for mercy...!" Her voice was soft but husky,
almost smoky. What a turn-on!
     "Okay, now you'll forget that I ever asked you to say
that, Kathy, and you'll forget that you ever said it. I'm
going to count backward from five and you will gradually
float up out of your trance. When I reach 'one' you will be
fully awake again. You will not remember having been in a
trance but you *will* follow your instructions."
     I settled myself again, a polite few inches away from
her, and looked at the volume of Byron in my lap. "Five,...
four,... three,..." She was blinking and trying to focus.
"Two,... one." She looked over at me and I could practically
see her mind shifting gears. There were new thoughts in her
head, now. Thoughts about me.
     I continued to read the lines of verse from where I had
left off, but she was paying more attention to me than to
the words. She licked her lips as before and I thought I saw
a slight tinge of pink at the tops of her ears and around
her collarbone. She leaned toward me a little without even
realizing it.
     I marked the place in the book with one finger and
closed it. "Kathy, I'm afraid I have to get back to the dorm
and work on a term paper. Uh, would you like to go out
tomorrow night? Maybe a movie? Or we could just go for a
coke and a stroll...." I was careful not to act too sure of
myself.
     "Oh, yes! I'd *love* to go out with you!" And she
blushed a little at her own enthusiasm. I was in.

     The next evening, Kathy and I walked down to the
multiplex at the shopping center near campus and took in a
movie. We held hands and cuddled and I was aware that she
seemed to be watching me more than the screen. And
afterward, when we stopped at the Baskin-Robbins for a cone,
she continued to study me in a bit of a daze -- not a
"trance" daze, just an ordinary adolescent one. (The fuzzy
pink clouds were almost visible....)
     When I kissed her under the trees outside her dorm, she
didn't hesitate at all but plastered herself against me and
kissed me back with exciting eagerness. Perhaps I could have
grabbed her crotch through her jeans, but I didn't want to
push my luck and I'm not quite *that* crude in any case. I
settled for stroking her curvy little bottom, with an
occasional squeeze, and Kathy kissed me all the harder. She
would blossom under romantic attack much more satisfyingly
than from a blunt assault, and it was also a lot more fun.
     By our third date, she had arranged for her dorm
roommate to be out so she could sneak me in for a few hours.
We left the lights low in her room and I carefully
unbuttoned her blouse as I nibbled on her neck. She was
shaking a little from nervousness but there was no fear or
hesitation. When I knelt and slid her jeans down her smooth,
silky legs, she moaned in the back of her throat and urged
me to hurry. Foreplay is pleasurable torture, though, and I
had no intention of being rushed.
     Then she was naked and I sat on the end of her bed,
still fully clothed, and smiled as my gaze traveled the
length of her body. Her eyes glowed; it was obvious she
enjoyed being the object of my attention.
     "Dive, Kathy, dive," I said quietly. Her expression
didn't really change but she blinked and her attention fixed
on me absolutely. "Yes," she whispered.
     "Kathy, what are you feeling right now? What are you
hoping will happen here?"
     "I feel sexy as hell," she said with a breathless
laugh. "I'm standing here on display for you and I love it!
But only for you...." She licked her lips. "I guess I hope
we'll make love."
     "Are you a virgin, Kathy?"
     "No,... but I've only had sex with my boy friend in
high school a few times. This is different," she added with
a Significant Look.
     "Kathy, your arousal is increasing more and more. Can
you feel it?"
     Her eyelids drooped a bit. "Oh, yes...." Her hands
moved hesitantly to her breasts and she shook out her hair.
"Please, take your clothes off...," she murmured.
     "Not yet, Kathy. You want to show off for me first,
don't you? You want me to appreciate just how sexy your body
is. And it would be *very* sexy if you masturbated while I
watched, wouldn't it?" I got up from the bed and moved over
to my jacket, draped over her desk chair.
     Her respiration had increased. "Um-hmmm," she said
under her breath as she began to roll her nipples between
her fingers and stretch them out from her body. I dug the
Polaroid out of my jacket pocket and snapped it open.
     "Kathy, lie on the bed and jack yourself off for me.
Take your time and enjoy it, sweetheart. Your breasts and
your cunt will be much more sensitive than usual and you'll
really get into this, won't you?" She crawled onto her bed
and squirmed around on her back so that her legs were
stretched out and her thighs parted. One hand moved down to
her already moist pussy while the other continued to massage
her nipple.
     "I'm going to take some pictures, Kathy, but you will
ignore that, you won't think about it, you won't even
realize I'm doing it. All you'll be aware of is that I'm
watching you masturbate and I'm enjoying it very much, it's
really turning me on, Kathy -- and that's turning *you* on,
isn't it? Tell me what you're thinking, sweetheart."
     "Oh, God, what would your cock feel like and I love
being naked and feeling myself up and you're watching me do
it and it feels so good, so good, God, it's so nice, my clit
feels like a whole penis maybe and I wish you'd do this to
me but I know you like to watch me do it so I like to do it
for you,..." She paused for a breath as both hands separated
her lips and one finger slipped inside.
     I took a couple of shots and they came out very well,
even in the low light. I had no thoughts about blackmail or
anything; I just wanted data for my private studies... and
souvenirs, of course.
     It didn't take long for Kathy to work herself up to a
high pitch and I took several more snapshots of her with her
eyes half-closed and her mouth twisted with passion. As she
hit the first orgasmic crest I used up the remainder of my
film pack. She was really beautiful when she gasped and
sobbed with her cunt full of fingers and her rigid nipples
about to explode. But I didn't want her in a trance when we
had sex.
     "Kathy, that was wonderful! You have no idea how sexy
you are when you do that; it really does turn me on. Are you
happy about that?"
     "Oh, yes, that's what I want! I want to turn you on so
you'll make love to me -- please?"
     I was already stripping off my clothes. "Of course I
will, sweetheart, I want very much to make love to you! Now,
when I get my underwear off, you will come out of your
trance -- with no hesitation, no regrets, no embarrassment
about jacking off for me, okay? You enjoyed doing it and I
enjoyed watching it, and that's all that matters, isn't it?"
     She responded with another "Um-hmmm" and then blinked
and smiled broadly as I held up my shorts and then tossed
them on the floor. She opened her arms to me as I crawled
onto the bed and we spent a little time kissing and
caressing and stroking. Kathy was a sweet girl and if I had
conscience pangs they were subdued by the conviction that
she had been doing what she really wanted to do, if only she
had the nerve.
     We spent a very enjoyable couple of hours thrashing
about on her old dorm-issue bed, exploring each other's
bodies with hands and mouths, and finally fucking each other
into sweaty exhaustion. She was enthusiastic and
uninhibited, which I wasn't sure she could have been without
hypnotic encouragement. I knew perfectly well that I was
using her, but I preferred to think I was also giving her
something back.

     I had Kathy on a string for three months before her
increasing dependence on me really began to worry me. I had
made myself the most important thing in her life and that
had consequences I hadn't imagined. She hung on my every
word and thought, she got jittery when she was away from me,
and she went to tears if she thought I was displeased with
her. She became anxious every time we had sex, gnawing her
lip if I didn't display unbridled enthusiasm at her every
movement. Moreover, her grades were beginning to suffer, as
were her relationships with other people. Her girlfriends
began directing hostile stares at me when Kathy and I went
out together.
     I won't say it wasn't fun, though. I could speak a code
word to her in public and watch while she enjoyed a small
orgasm. And it was kind of nice to have a very cute girl
leaning over my shoulder and nibbling on my ear while I had
a hamburger with the guys at MacDonald's. Nevertheless, my
original instructions to Kathy hadn't been well-structured
or properly thought out. And since I had to modify them
anyway, I decided to "free" her, to allow her to continue
with her own life (and get out of mine).
     After putting her under, I asked, "Kathy, suppose for a
minute that I wasn't in your life; is there some other guy
you know -- or would like to know -- who's available and to
whom you are really attracted?" She hesitated and seemed a
little fearful. "Go ahead, sweetheart, it's okay. You aren't
betraying me and I won't get mad; if I wasn't interested, I
wouldn't have asked."
     "Well,... there's Bobby Rinehart, in my Government
class. He's really cute and he's not going with anyone. I've
seen him watching me in class, too -- but I don't mean--"
     "No, Kathy, that's quite all right. Now, this is what's
going to happen: Over the next week or so, you will
gradually come to realize that you and I don't have as much
of a future together as you thought we had. We won't have a
fight and there won't be any hard feelings from either of
us. You will still be fond of me and I will still be fond of
you. But we will agree, quite amicably, that we aren't
really in love and that we should begin dating other people.
You will think about Bobby Rinehart and if you decide -- for
*yourself* -- that you'd like to go out with him, you will
approach him yourself,... or any other guy you think you
might enjoy dating. Do you understand, Kathy? You must not
be shy about beginning a relationship with Bobby, or anyone
else. You will not remember this conversation, but when you
wake up tomorrow morning you will begin acting on your new
instructions, won't you?"
     We had a very nice "last supper" that evening, munching
and nibbling on each other. Two days later, Kathy said
rather quietly, "We need to talk about us."
     It wasn't quite as painless for me as I had expected.
Even though Kathy had been in a condition of servitude, I
found I was going to miss her attentive presence. That was
the penance I had to pay, though, for having Kathy in the
first place. At least I had arranged it so that we would
remain friends.

     The months with Kathy had been an interesting
experiment and I had learned a lot. But I had become certain
that I had only released feelings in her that were already
there. Kathy had already been attracted to me or I wouldn't
have been reading Byron to her that afternoon. I had removed
her inhibitions, perhaps, but I hadn't convinced her to do
anything she might not have done anyway. I needed to find a
more naturally resistant subject. I wanted to discover just
how far my power extended. And I had my chance when I went
home for the Christmas holidays.

        *   *   *

     I had two weeks of down-time before the spring term
began and I was mostly hanging around the house, reading and
watching TV, and visiting friends. Generally goofing off. Of
course, I made a point of dropping by to see my old friend
Jeff, who had transferred to a different college. As it
turned out, he was off on a Christmas shopping expedition
with his mother and the door was answered by his
licorice-hating little sister, Sharon -- my very first
hypnotic subject. She was fourteen now, a very cute, bouncy
little gumdrop with a babyface and a sweet smile, and the
moment I saw her I knew what my next experiment would be.
     "Hi, Sharon -- you've really grown up since I saw you
last year! You remember me, don't you?"
     She blanked for a moment but then recognition appeared
on her face. "Oh -- yeah! Jeff's friend! Um, you hypnotized
me once, didn't you?" She opened the screen and motioned me
in.
     I followed her into the living room, watching the
jaunty twitch of her little bottom beneath the tight denim
of her jeans. She was wearing her hair below her shoulders
and it bounced and swayed in shiny waves against the back of
her pink sweatshirt. God, she was so full of adolescent
female energy.
     "You remember being hypnotized, do you?"
     "Oh, sure! You don't forget something like that. I was
so surprised that I went under so easily. I remember, you
gave me some chocolate, too, didn't you?"
     "Do you remember what a posthypnotic trigger is,
Sharon?"
     She turned as she reached the living room. "A
post-what?"
     "Dive, Sharon, dive," I said quietly.
     Her puzzled expression slowly cleared and she smiled
happily. "Yes...." I learned very early to always leave a
back door.
     "Sharon, I'm going to ask you some easy questions. You
know the answers and you will be absolutely honest and
candid. And you won't feel any reason to be embarrassed,
will you? You know I'm your friend, don't you?" She nodded
and cocked her head attentively. "You know I like you,
Sharon, and that I have only the best intentions, right?"
     "Sure." We sat down on the sofa, side by side.
     "Is there anyone else in the house right now? Is Jeff
due back anytime soon?"
     "Nope, I'm all by myself. I don't expect Mom and Jeff
for at least a couple of hours. Why?"
     "Because I don't want us to be disturbed. Now remember,
Sharon -- be honest with your answers and don't be
embarrassed, either. You can tell me absolutely anything,
can't you?" She nodded again. "Does it usually embarrass you
to talk about sex, Sharon?"
     "Um,... no, I guess not -- not when I'm talking to you,
anyway." Very good, I thought.
     "Most teenaged girls get horny -- right, Sharon? And
they masturbate. How old were you when you started doing
that? How did you discover it? And how often do you do it?"
     "Oh, I found out about getting sexy a couple of years
ago; I guess I was eleven or twelve. My jammies were a
little too small and the top rubbed against my titties and
they got tingly, sort of. My friend Debbie told me she got
hot when she wore tight jeans without underpants, so I tried
that, too. That got me really horny and I started rubbing
myself in bed. I guess I get off once or twice a week, now."
She sounded very matter-of-fact. Terrific, I thought; the
timer was sure ticking on *this* little sex bomb.
     "That sounds about right, I think. Have you ever
masturbated in public? In school, or on the bus, or
someplace?"
     She giggled mischievously. "Yeah, I've done it on the
school bus a couple of times. If you put your legs close
together and squeeze the muscles just right, you can get off
that way! The bus bouncing helps, too." She was even sexier
when she grinned.
     "And I did it once in science class, with my pencil
eraser, because Mr. Edwards is really cute! Even if he is
almost thirty. All the girls have the hots for him, I think.
I know a couple of girls who have used their fingers to jack
off in the showers in gym, but I've never done that. People
might think I was a lesbian!" She laughed and her hips
squirmed -- which suggested something.
     "Sharon, while we're sitting here talking about sex,
you're getting really horny, aren't you? You really want to
jack off right here, don't you?"
     "Ummm, yeah, I really do...." Her voice had lowered in
volume and pitch and she squirmed even more. "Can I,
uh,...?"
     "Yes, of course you can, Sharon. Just pretend I'm not
here and I can't see what you're doing -- but keep answering
my questions." The girl scooted her ass forward on the sofa
beside me and her thighs parted as her hand glided down to
cup the crotch of her jeans. She began massaging and rubbing
the denim between her legs rhythmically but her attention
didn't wander from my face, though she licked her lips a
couple of times. The side of her knee was pressed against my
thigh and I could feel the small muscular twitches as she
climbed higher.
     "Sharon," I continued softly, "close your eyes and
picture the sexiest things you can think of, as if they were
on a movie screen in your head. The pictures are very clear.
What do you see while you masturbate? Tell me what you see,
Sharon."
     She drew a shaky breath. "It's Darlene's brother, Phil.
He's two years older than Darlene and me. I'm over at
Darlene's house and I go upstairs to use the bathroom, and
Phil's bedroom door is open a crack, and I hear these...
sounds. And I can't help it: I go over real quietly and peek
in." Her voice was low and she was breathing faster as she
relived the experience.
     "All he's wearing is a T-shirt; his jeans and his shoes
are on the floor. I've never seen a guy that old naked
before! He's holding his,... his penis. He's, like, jerking
off, and his cock is real big and stiff-looking, and I
wonder what it would feel like if he put his cock in my--
between my legs. It looks so big -- but it must fit, people
do it all the time. And he's moving his hand faster and
faster, and I'm getting hot just watching him, I'm getting
wet down there, I can feel it...."
     Sharon's hand was moving in tighter circles and her
pelvis was jerking a little. She was sure as hell getting
*me* hot! "Go ahead, Sharon -- what happens next? What does
Phil do? And what do you do?"
     "I put my hand between my legs, feeling myself up. And
Phil's bouncing on the bed and he's got his eyes shut. And
then he comes. I've never seen that before -- God, there's
so much of it, all that white stuff! And he shoots it at
least a foot in the air, he shoots off several times, I
can't believe it goes so far,... and I can't imagine what it
would feel like if he squirted all that stuff inside me. But
I'll bet it would feel really great!"
     Sharon's hand was really moving now, and her hips were
bucking. I should have had her take her jeans off, I thought
-- but this was safer. And then she sort of squeaked and I
could feel the trembling in her knee. She let out a long,
ragged sigh.
     "The idea of having sex with a boy kinda scares me, but
I can't wait until I'm old enough. And then I tiptoe to the
bathroom, real quiet, and while I'm on the toilet, after I
pee, I finger-fuck myself. And I imagine Phil walking in on
me, because I deliberately didn't lock the bathroom door.
And that makes me come -- it's only the second or third time
I ever really came, too."
     Listening to Sharon's sweet young voice describe her
experience was intensely erotic and it had my cock as hard
as a baseball bat. So I took a pretty stupid chance.
     "Sharon, would you like to see another guy's cock? I'll
show you one, but you must not be frightened by it. You'd
like that, wouldn't you?"
     "Oh, uh,... I don't know. You mean, like, close up? Oh,
wow...."
     "Yes, close up, Sharon -- very close. I'll show you my
cock and I won't touch you. There's nothing to be afraid of,
is there, Sharon? It's completely normal for a
fourteen-year-old girl to be curious. You'd like very much
to see my cock, wouldn't you, Sharon? It's really stiff...."
     I could see on her face the struggle between aroused
curiosity and little-girl uncertainty. "Oh. Well, uh,... I
think-- I think I'd like to see it." She licked her lips
again and swallowed, and straightened her shoulders. A
slight but enjoyable aroma permeated the crotch of her
jeans.
     I leaned back and unhooked my belt, unzipped my fly,
and slowly pushed down my jeans and my shorts. My cock
sprang up like a Jack-in-the-box but Sharon didn't even
flinch. I'd been successful in subverting her inhibitions
and fears, and now this was what she really wanted to see.
In fact, she leaned closer in obvious fascination and
hesitantly reached out her hand.
     "You can touch it, Sharon, it won't hurt you. You
really want to find out what it feels like, don't you? You
really want to hold my cock in your hand...."
     And then her soft, warm fingers had grasped the
thickest part of the shaft, near the base -- and her other
hand had closed carefully over the head. "Wow... it feels so
hard and so soft, at the same time...." She moved her lower
hand slowly, lightly, up and down, staring fixedly at what
she was doing. She seemed to be trying to imitate Phil but
she wasn't sure how. It sure felt nice, sitting there, being
jerked off by this cute little teenybopper, but if things
reached their natural conclusion I'd probably make a mess
I'd have a very hard time cleaning up or explaining.
     "We'll just do this much, Sharon." I folded my hand
gently around hers and moved it upward, squeezing a large
drop of semen onto the palm of her hand. "Sharon, you have
an overwhelming desire to know what that 'white stuff'
tastes like, don't you? It can't hurt you and it doesn't
taste bad. Women do this all the time. Put out your tongue,
now, and lick that drop off your hand. Taste it slowly and
remember what it tastes like." She put out her little kitten
tongue and cleaned her palm with a thoughtful expression.
Her nose twitched and she smiled.
     "Now, Sharon, cup your hands over your nose and mouth
and inhale deeply. That's it, sweetheart. Remember that
aroma, Sharon: That's what sex smells like. It smells
wonderful, doesn't it? Do you like it?"
     She smiled again and nodded happily as she lowered her
hands. "Yes, I really like it."
     "All right, Sharon. You will not remember that any of
this has happened. But whenever you feel sexy, whenever you
start to masturbate, sometimes you will think about when you
watched Phil jerk off -- but more and more often, you will
think about me, instead. You will think about what my penis
looks like and feels like. Your imagination will call up the
visual memories and images of this afternoon. You'll
remember the smell of sex. And your imagination will take it
from there: You will fantasize about having sex with me, all
different kinds of sex, and that will make you very, very
horny. All this will happen only when you're by yourself
because you don't want to get caught, do you? You will
always be aware that it's just your imagination coming up
with sexy, exciting thoughts for you to get off on. But
you'll also start to have private daydreams about making
love with me. You won't know why it's *me* your imagination
has picked to fantasize about, but you won't worry about
that. And, Sharon -- you will begin to look forward to
seeing me again during the summer, won't you? You will begin
to think about finding some way to meet me alone."
     She smiled warmly. "Oh, yes -- I'm really looking
forward to seeing you again next summer." She was gripping
my cock again and now she gave it a friendly little squeeze
before releasing it. All this was so far beyond my spur-of-
the-moment expectations, I could hardly believe it.
     I stood and pulled up my jeans and tucked in my
shirttail while sexy little Sharon watched with bright eyes.
I reminded her once more that she would not consciously
remember what we had been up to and then I brought her up
out of her trance.
     She blinked and I said, "Well, It's been nice seeing
you again, Sharon. Tell your brother I stopped by, okay? Ask
him to give me a call before we go back to school."
     "It's nice to see you again, too. Real nice," she
added. Her tone and her expression were freighted with new
meaning. "Maybe I'll see you again over summer vacation...?"
she suggested. She looked hopeful and she was leaving
eyetracks all over my body. Who knew what might happen when
the seeds I'd planted began to ripen...? I felt kind of like
a squirrel putting away nuts for the winter.

        ***

     After I got back to school in January, I found that the
spring room-shuffling in the dorm had landed me with a
thoroughly undesirable neighbor right across the hall. His
name was George Kaufman and he was an asshole. No -- let's
be blunt about this: George was a bigoted, red-necked,
right-wing, foulmouthed, coprophagic, anthropoid,
odoriferous, knuckle-dragging, homophobic, microcephalic son
of a bitch.
     For instance... I had grown a beard the previous
quarter -- not to make a statement, particularly, but just
because I was too lazy to shave every morning and full
facial hair looks better (okay, it looks more "deliberate,"
anyway) than a three-day stubble. The very first time George
saw me, he dubbed me "cunt-mouth" -- his idea of
sophisticated humor. That's all he ever called me and it
carried over to his few friends. I decided I would have to
do something about George. I thought about simply knifing
him in his sleep, but that would probably get me expelled.
No, it would have to be something sneaky, indirect, and
untraceable.

     My opportunity came via a girl named Sandy in my
English class. She had a steady boyfriend and she wasn't
really my type -- not for dating, anyway -- and that allowed
us to become casual friends, minus the usual sexual tension.
     Sandy was reasonably pretty (I thought) and rather
vivacious when she wanted to be, but she seemed to have a
poor self-image. I got the impression that her two sisters
had been hometown beauty queens and Sandy was the Cinderella
of the family; she thought "plain" was the best she could
aspire to.
     Over lunch one day, I explained to her my interest in
hypnosis and my therapeutic successes, and I convinced her
to let me put her under. She would remain aware of the whole
process, which should allay any uneasiness she might have
about what I was doing. So I went over to her room that
evening and, in the comforting presence of her roommate, put
her into an easy trance. Then we had a little talk.
     I asked Sandy questions about her opinion of herself
and found what I had suspected: An assumption of
inferiority, constant self-comparison to her sisters, and
resignation that she would never be very attractive. I
assured her that she was in fact *very* pretty, that she
didn't have to be a pin-up to have all the dates she wanted,
that she had a warm and friendly personality that nearly any
guy -- or girl -- would find attractive. Her roommate clued
me in on a few details and I carefully reshaped Sandy's view
of herself. It took maybe an hour and that was it.
     Within a few days, Sandy's roommate called me excitedly
to tell me her friend had actually approached a guy she had
secretly liked and asked *him* for a date -- and the guy had
accepted. Moreover, the date had been a complete success and
Sandy was so pleased with herself she was practically in
tears. That made me feel good, to know that I could help
someone that much by actually doing so little.
     The following week, before class, I happened to see
Sandy conversing with another girl, obviously a buddy of
hers. The buddy was immediately joined by my nemesis,
George, who put his arm possessively around her. George
hadn't seen me and I slipped back into the doorway and
observed the three. Sandy's body language seemed to indicate
that she wasn't a big fan of George's, which confirmed my
judgment of her good taste in men. When she came into the
classroom, I asked her who that was she'd been talking to; I
thought I knew her from somewhere... maybe back home?
     "Who, Cynthia? Cynthia Lewis? We went to high school
together, so I don't think you'd know her...." No, I guess I
didn't know her, I said; she must simply look like someone I
knew. Oh, well.
     After class, I walked with Sandy over to the Library
and as we cut through the little grove of fir trees out
front, I said "Sandy, wait a minute." She stopped and looked
at me questioningly. "Dive, Sandy, dive."
     Her expression didn't change, but she said "Sure..."
and waited for instructions.
     "Sandy, does your friend Cynthia Lewis have any bad
habits or personal problems that you think she'd be happier
without?"
     "Well, I'm afraid she's kind of a borderline anorexic.
She panics if she goes even two pounds over what she thinks
is her ideal weight and then she skips meals for days. It's
made her sick a few times and her doctor had to bully her
into eating. But the worst part, I think, is that she
worries and loses sleep over it. She's terrified she'll get
'fat'. You know those charts on public scales, that tell you
how much you should weigh for your height? Well, Cynthia
takes those things literally; she doesn't realize she's just
a large-framed person! She's never going to be a fashion
model. 'Normal' weight for her is about ten pounds more than
those stupid charts and she looks really good at that weight
-- very busty and kind of voluptuous. I worry about her
sometimes...."
     So there was my leverage. "Sandy, I want you to take
your friend Cynthia aside and explain to her that you know
someone who might be able to help her with her weight
problem. You will convince her to get together with me, and
I'll try to readjust her sights to a healthier and more
realistic weight target, okay? You will stay with her the
whole time, so she has nothing to worry about, does she?
Tell her all about the session you and I had -- you remember
every bit of it -- and how it seems to have helped you.
You'll tell her you worry about her and you want to help
her. You're convinced of that, so you'll be able to convince
her, okay?"
     A week later, Sandy asked if she could bring a friend
of hers around to talk to me about a problem she was having
with her weight.

     Close up, Cynthia turned out to be not at all hefty --
just not a little wisp of a girl, either. She was about
five-foot-six, maybe a size fourteen, with large tits and
wide hips. Not fat, though. Just, as Sandy had suggested,
"voluptuous." She was quite pretty but she had a rather
drawn expression, as if she spent too much time staring down
at the scales.
     We sat and chatted for a few minutes. Cynthia wasn't at
all sure about this hypnotism thing, but she trusted her
buddy, Sandy, and Sandy insisted I had been able to help her
overcome her shyness about guys; Cynthia, in fact, remarked
on the change in Sandy she had observed herself. I assured
her that she would be completely aware of everything that
was happening and that Sandy was there to make her feel more
comfortable, too. And she finally agreed.
     Cynthia was not a difficult subject. She was used to
deferring to other people and she practically put herself
into a trance. "Cynthia, when your doctor has scolded you
for not eating, what did *he* say your weight ought to be?"
     "About 125 pounds -- but that's *way* too much!"
     "No, it isn't, Cynthia. You're taller than average and
you have a larger bone structure than those tiny little
girls whom you think are the 'right' size. You must convince
yourself that your doctor is right: You, personally,
individually, should weigh about 125 pounds. You will let
your weight gradually increase to about that level, won't
you? You will feel much better when you let yourself weigh
what you *should* weigh, won't you? When you go a few pounds
over your target, you won't worry and fret about it; you'll
just eat a little less for a few days until you're back down
to 125, give or take a couple of pounds. You won't rush it,
you won't fast, you won't go on crash diets -- none of that
is necessary, is it, Cynthia? You know you'll be much
healthier, don't you? And your doctor will be pleased with
you. You'll look very nice and very sexy at your proper
weight, Cynthia. And that will make you much happier. Your
friends won't worry about you so much. You're a beautiful
young woman, Cynthia, and you have a very nice body, and you
must not try to starve yourself for no reason. Do you
understand?"
     Cynthia nodded and actually looked relieved, as if
someone had given her permission to do what she knew she
ought to do. I said, "Now, pay no attention to anything I
say for a minute, Cynthia." Then I turned to Sandy, sitting
quietly in the other chair, and said "Dive, Sandy, dive."
Now they were both under. I put Sandy on hold and turned
back to her friend.
     "Now, Cynthia, there's something else we need to talk
about." She nodded. "How long have you been going with
George Kaufman? And why are you attracted to him?"
     "A couple of months, I guess. I know some people don't
like him, and he's kind of loud sometimes, but he's all
right. He pays attention to me and he doesn't care that I'm
overweight. I mean, I used to be-- I mean, I guess I'm not
really overweight, not anymore, but he--"
     She was beginning to confuse herself so I said,
"Cynthia, you're not overweight, remember? No matter what
George or anyone else says or thinks. Are you in love with
him, Cynthia? You two seem pretty tight when you're
together."
     She laughed lightly. "No, nothing like that! He likes
to put his arm around me in public, so I let him. It
embarrasses me a little, sometimes, but what the hell. But
I'm not in love with him!"
     "Have you fucked him, Cynthia? What do you usually do
in the way of sex play, on dates?"
     "Uh, yeah, we've fucked a couple of times. But it makes
me nervous; I don't want to get pregnant, or catch a disease
or anything, and he refuses to use protection. So, mostly,
we just play around. He sucks on my tits and that feels nice
-- but he sucks too hard sometimes, and leaves a bruise. And
we jack each other off in the car. You know." She was a
little uncomfortable divulging all this intimate
information.
     "Cynthia, you will not be nervous about telling me
these things. I'm helping you with a couple of problems,
right? Your friend, Sandy, is right here, keeping an eye on
you. You're perfectly all right and completely relaxed,
aren't you? Now, tell me about George. What kind of lover is
he?"
     "Oh, he's okay, I guess. His penis is awful small,
but--"
     "Small? Smaller than other guys' penises you've seen?"
     "Oh, yes -- *much* smaller. I made out with several
guys in high school and a couple others in college before I
met George, and even the ones with average-sized penises
were a lot bigger than George's little thing." Wonderful! I
couldn't help grinning.
     "Okay, Cynthia, this is what you're going to do:
Starting the next date you have with George, you will begin
telling him exactly what you've been telling me. When he
paws you in public, if you don't like it, tell him so, okay?
Tell him he's embarrassing you. If he sucks too hard on your
tit, tell him to stop doing it, you don't like to have a
bruise there. And when you handle his little prick, it will
strike you so funny, you won't be able to keep from
laughing, understand? You won't be able to stop yourself
from making jokes about it, will you? You can do much better
than George, you know that, don't you? In fact, after your
next date, you should tell all your friends, female *and*
male, just how tiny and inadequate George's equipment is,
don't you think? Make sure the word gets around about him.
He's used you, hasn't he? It's time you got even, isn't it?"
     Cynthia's smile had taken on a beautifully wicked
tinge. I realized she resented George's condescension toward
her even more than she had said. I turned back to Sandy, who
had been sitting quietly all this time, smiling at her
private thoughts.
     "Sandy, you will forget completely that you've been in
this trance. When I count down to five, you will come out of
it and not remember you've been under. You're watching me
counsel Cynthia on her imaginary weight problem, and that's
all that's happened. You'll remind her that her ideal weight
is really more like 125 pounds and you'll give her all the
psychological support she needs until she gets used to it,
won't you? She's your friend and you're glad you were able
to help her by bringing her to see me, right? Okay now:
Five,... four,... three,... two,... one." I had turned back
to Cynthia when Sandy blinked herself awake and shifted
position slightly.
     "Okay, Cynthia, is everything clear now? About your
best weight? And everything else we've talked about?" She
nodded and smiled. The girls went back to their dorm
chattering happily and at peace with the world.

     A couple weeks later, I began seeing notes scrawled in
restrooms on campus: TINY GEORGE, TERROR OF THE BEAVERS!
And: LITTLE GEORGE KAUFMAN STRIKES AGAIN! I overheard two
guys in the dorm cafeteria laughing about what their
girlfriends had told them about George "Little Dick"
Kaufman; the news was coming around third- and fourth-hand,
now.
     George himself was red in the face and snarling most of
the time these days. There was a scuffle in the hall when
someone made a crack behind his back and George made the
mistake of taking a swing at the guy, who put him on the
floor with one punch. It's amazing how much blood your nose
can produce.
     Sandy had told me, in between giggles, what her buddy
had told her about George the day after our session, so I'd
already known the "therapy" had taken. Cynthia's weight
gradually increased a few pounds and she seemed much more
relaxed and much happier with herself. I saw her with other
guys besides George and she looked,... well, "fulfilled."
     I asked Cynthia out a couple times myself, in fact, and
it didn't require hypnosis to explore her charms. She had
tits like firm sofa pillows: Large but not sagging. Her
stomach and legs hadn't a ounce of flab and she was a
delightful girl to exchange caresses with. And when, on the
second date, we did The Deed in her dorm room, I discovered
I didn't need the two condoms I was carrying in my pocket:
Cynthia had laid in a stock in the drawer of her bedside
table, in all colors and flavors.

     Oh, yeah -- George transferred to another school at the
end of the spring semester. He wouldn't even tell anyone
what school it was, apparently for fear someone would call
ahead and keep the gossip going. I almost missed him. What
good is it, being a hammer, when you can't find a deserving
nail?

        **

     I went home for the summer after my third year of
college with the satisfaction of a 3.8 GPA and a
notification letter in my pocket that I had been awarded a
full scholarship for my senior year, including room and
board. I wouldn't have to find a summer job that year,
except perhaps for a little extra pocket money. I made do
with a moped instead of a car anyway, and most of my spare
cash went for books rather than fancy clothes or expensive
dates.
     On the recommendation of my faculty advisor, I had put
together an extensive reading list that I had to try to get
through before beginning my senior thesis, so I was
expecting to spend much of the ten weeks sprawled in an easy
chair with a good reading lamp nearby. But I wasn't going to
ignore my social life -- or my particular physical needs.
     I'd been home about a week before I got around to
calling my old high school friend, Jeff. We weren't exactly
blood brothers, but we had always gotten together during
vacations and we sent each other oddball Christmas cards and
such. It was his brother, Edward, who had gotten me started
with hypnosis. Edward was in med school now, on his way to
full shrink-hood. I had just about decided not to pursue an
actual medical career -- or not an M.D., anyway. The
prospect of still being in school when I was thirty was not
appealing. But psychological counseling on the strength of a
master's degree was a real possibility.
     Jeff was three years into a political science degree
and was trolling for a position in some congressman's office
after graduation. We sat out on his big, screened-in back
porch, drinking cokes, comparing college experiences, and
laughing as we thought up insane career ideas. We were
joking about going into business together -- he could select
political candidates and I could brainwash them -- when I
became aware that someone was watching me.
     I leaned back in my pine rocker and looked over my
shoulder. A dim shape, young and female, stood inside the
screen door. I smiled and Sharon gave up her attempt at
concealment and opened the screen. She was barefoot and
long-legged in her cutoffs and French-style T-shirt.
     If I'd had any doubts about the efficacy of the
long-term suggestions I'd planted in this girl's mind last
Christmas, all it took was one glance at her face to know
I'd been successful. Little Sharon's hot, smoky stare made
me begin to sweat.
     "Hi, sis," Jeff said. "Listen, while you're up, would
you mind getting us a couple more cokes?"
     He was being perfectly friendly, not demanding, but
Sharon quietly replied "Get 'em yourself, man,"... and her
eyes never left my face.
     I shot a quick glance at Jeff, who seemed nonplussed. I
said, "Sharon, would you mind very much getting us a couple
of cold cokes?"
     She broke into a brilliant smile. "Sure! Just a
sec...!" And she was headed for the kitchen. I turned back
to Jeff and his dumbfounded stare. His eyebrows were
crowding his hairline.
     "What was *that* all about?!" he exclaimed.
     I smiled lazily. "I think your kid sister has a crush
on me."
     "On you? Why?"
     "Why not?" I replied. "Maybe she's dazzled by my
obvious sex appeal."
     "Hell, she won't even be fifteen for another month!" he
exploded. "How would she even know you, anyway?"
     "Well, she's known me as long as *you* have, actually.
Just in the background. Come to think of it -- how much
older is your father than your mother?"
     "About seven years," he said. "But--"
     "That's more than the difference between my age and
Sharon's," I said quietly. It was kind of fun watching ol'
Jeff's blood pressure rise.
     "But Mom was already out of college when she met Dad!
It's completely different!"
     "Calm down, already. I didn't say I was going to take
her to a motel, did I?"
     His eyebrows came down fast. "Hey, now-- She's my
*sister*, man...."
     "Jeff, don't you think some of the girls *you* try to
get into bed have older brothers who are just as protective
as you are?"
     "Well,...." He couldn't think of a retort and Sharon
banged through the screen door at that moment, a coke in
either hand. Jeff looked in her direction and shut up.
     "Thanks very much, Sharon," I said as she handed me
both bottles. I passed one to Jeff, whose gaze was flicking
from his sister's face to mine and back.
     "Well, just watch it," he muttered at me under his
breath.

     When I got up to leave a half-hour later, I'd mollified
Jeff at least to the point where he'd decided his sister's
adolescent crush did not indicate an imminent elopement.
Sharon disappeared about that point, too. I figured I'd have
to wait until she called me, since calling her would only
arouse her brother's suspicions again. But she was way ahead
of me.
     As I pulled away from the curb in my father's borrowed
car, I was startled by a movement in the rear-view mirror,
followed immediately by a breathy "Hi!" close to my ear.
Sharon glanced out the back window and clambered over into
the front seat.
     "A stowaway, huh?" I returned her conspiratorial grin.
     "Yeah -- I didn't know when I'd get the chance to talk
to you again."
     "And what did you want to talk about, sweetheart?"
     She hesitated, licked her lips, and took a deep breath.
"I'm,... I'm in love. With you." She looked a little
apprehensive. I decided to continue to play the game awhile
longer.
     "Why do you think that, Sharon?" I smiled at her
encouragingly.
     "Well,... I think about you all the time." Her hand
touched my shoulder and she scooted closer on the seat. "I
imagine all kinds of things about us. About--" She glanced
at my lap. I very gently stroked her thigh and her breath
caught again. "About making out with you," she finished in a
rush. "And, uh, other things...." She blushed, just a
little. "And it's always you -- never any of the guys I know
from school. Maybe they're just too young for me."
     Sharon was sitting sideways on the car seat, one leg
folded neatly beneath the other. Her knee overlapped my
thigh and I continued to stroke her silky tan. Her hand had
moved to the back of my neck and her slender fingers twined
nervously in my hair. She was putting out more heat than a
barbecue pit.
     I had slowed down as I reached the end of her block and
now I turned the corner and stopped at the curb, out of
sight of her house. I set the brake and turned to face her;
she seemed a bit unsure of herself, probably worried I was
going to tell her to run along and grow up. But I took her
other hand and held it firmly; when I smiled back at her,
she sighed happily and tried to shift even closer.
     "Sharon, could you get away to see me without your
parents or your brother knowing about it?"
     "Yeah, I think so...!" She was all bouncy eagerness
now. "My friend, Marilyn? I told her I had a secret
boyfriend--" (She shot me an apologetic smile) "--who was
older and had a car, and my parents wouldn't approve." She
sure had *that* right. "Marilyn thinks it's all too
romantic! If I tell my parents I'm sleeping over at her
house, she'll cover for me. She has her own phone," she
added.
     "Okay, then why don't you make arrangements with
Marilyn for this Friday night, sweetheart? And I'll organize
us a place to go where we can be alone, okay? Oh -- one
other thing." I squeezed her hand and she gave me her full
attention. "Dive, Sharon, dive." It had been six months, but
she slipped effortlessly into a deep trance.
     "Sharon, it's Wednesday now. Tonight and tomorrow
night, you will think about me when you go to bed -- even
more than usual. Then you will masturbate and imagine it's
my hand instead of your own, and that thought will make you
even hornier. Over the next two days, your breasts --
especially your nipples -- and your cunt will become more
and more sensitive, they will tingle almost continually, and
that will make you think constantly about sex and about me.
You'll become more and more aroused in anticipation of our
date -- and you will enjoy those sensations very much, won't
you, Sharon?"
     A light flush was already rising around her delicate
collarbone. Holding her hot gaze, I reached out and brushed
her nipple through her shirt with one finger. She twitched
with pleasure and arched her back for me.
     "Sharon, when you come out of your trance, you will
feel an enormous desire to kiss me. You *need* to kiss me
before you get out of the car, don't you?"
     "Oh, I want so much to kiss you," she replied
breathlessly. I brought her out of it and almost immediately
she hopped up on her knees, above me now, and set her elbows
carefully on my shoulders. I leaned back, letting my hands
slide up and down the backs of her thighs. She hummed softly
in her throat as her mouth swooped down on mine. For
fourteen years old, little Sharon had a natural talent for
lip-work. She twisted her fingers in my hair and made
exciting little sounds as she ground her mouth against mine.
Her tongue darted in and out and I found it hard to remember
that she was supposed to be an inexperienced kid.
     When she relented a few minutes later, my ears were
ringing and I knew I had left finger marks on the backs of
her thighs. I was looking forward to Friday night almost as
much as Sharon was. Then she was out of the car and jogging
barefoot toward the mouth of the alley that would take her
back to her house. We hadn't even firmed up the arrangements
for our date.
     On Thursday, when I got home from an afternoon workout
at the pool, my mother was muttering under her breath
because some unknown person had called twice and hung up
when she answered. The next time the phone rang, half an
hour later, I grabbed it myself on the upstairs extension.
     In response to my "Hello?" there was a breathy pause
and then a whispered "I just had to hear your voice. Please
don't be mad at me...."
     "I'm not mad at you, Sharon, but you might get in
trouble if you keep calling like this." I kept my voice low
and one eye on the door; my mother wouldn't understand this
conversation. "Just think about what you and I might be
doing tomorrow night, okay? Tell me what you think is going
to happen, Sharon. Describe it to me."
     I could hear her take a long breath. "I'm going to hold
your penis in my hand. Maybe I'll lick it and put it in my
mouth -- and you'll put your finger in my pussy and get me
hot. Oh, God...." She was breathing faster.
     "That's not all I'm going to put in your sweet pussy,"
I whispered back. Little Sharon was doing things to me. And
the only response I got was a throaty murmur.
     "I'll see you tomorrow night," I said.
     "Yes, you sure will -- all of me, I'll bet!" She
throttled a giggle. "Pick me up at eight o'clock at the end
of the alley where I got out." And the receiver clicked.

     When I pulled up to the curb at 8:02, Sharon was out of
the shadows and into the car with a pink gym bag before the
wheels stopped rolling. She was wearing dark jeans and a
dark sweatshirt, and she sank down on the floor, out of
sight, though there wasn't much chance of her being seen. If
she wanted to make a romantic intrigue out of this, that was
okay with me. Then she got my attention by slipping her
warm, slender hand up inside the leg of my jeans. "Where are
we going?" she asked.
     I'd been working on that problem since Wednesday. I
certainly couldn't take her home. A nice hotel cost far too
much and was much too public, especially for an assignation
with a girl as obviously underage as Sharon. And a cheap
motel, the kind of place that would ignore her age, was a
good place to get ripped off. But by calling around among a
number of old acquaintances, I'd finally found a solution.
     A guy named John Alexander, one of "the gang" in high
school and that first year at the junior college, was still
single and was now earning a comfortable living selling some
sort of electronic equipment to big corporations. He was
frequently on the road, either making a pitch or working a
sales show at some convention center. He'd been known to
lend his rented town house to friends, and this was one of
those occasions. He'd left that morning on an out-of-town
weekend trip and I now had his door key and his cheerful
"Poke her one for me!"
     John was an unusually trusting guy, especially for a
salesman, but so far no one had trashed his place, or
annoyed the neighbors, or caused the cops to visit. I
intended to be as invisible as possible.
     There was a spot in the complex's parking lot right in
front of the town house door, so I got out and unlocked the
place -- and Sharon scuttled in as though the police were
right behind her. I looked around as I shot the deadbolt and
flicked on a lamp. It was a typical bachelor pad -- lots of
leather (well, naugahyde) and tweed upholstery, brass lamps
on the oak end tables, and a massive liquor cabinet in the
place of honor opposite the front door. I didn't really
notice the stereo system at first because it was spread all
across one wall, woven in amongst the bookcases. Each of
John's speakers was the size of my dresser in the dorm. The
small kitchen was full of food processors and other
high-tech appliances -- though I didn't know what he used
all that equipment for, since his freezer was crammed full
of frozen entrees.
     Sharon was already hurrying upstairs to check out the
bedroom. I heard a smothered squeal of delight and the
exclamation "There's a waterbed!" I followed her up the
carpeted stairs, smiling at her enthusiasm.
     She was lying spreadeagled in the master bedroom,
pumping and flexing her lithe body to make waves in the bed.
Her face was an appealing mix of fourteen-year-old shyness
and very grown-up sexual hunger. But I wasn't in any hurry
-- yet.
     "Sharon, why don't we go back downstairs and try out
that fancy sound system? This is supposed to be a real date
and I'd like to find out what kind of dancer you are." She
thumped back down the treads ahead of me and had pulled out
some CDs by the time I caught up. I hadn't heard of any of
the groups but they didn't look like the sort of thing
anyone could dance to at under 40mph. Fortunately, John was
also an 'oldies' fan and I found a number of slow-dance
tunes that I knew I could handle and that Sharon might enjoy
being romanced to.
     She was a little hesitant, though. "I'm not very good
at old-fashioned dancing...."
     Old-fashioned? "Come on, sweetheart, it's easy -- nice,
too." I loaded up The Belmonts and The Platters and slipped
my arms around her slender waist. She immediately crossed
her wrists behind my neck and moved up as close as she could
without actually climbing inside my clothes. I gave her a
quick kiss and tucked her head on my shoulder; she hung on
like we were in free fall.
     I had to admit, it was very nice moving slowly around
the room with a hot young thing like Sharon in my arms. I
didn't delude myself about my preference for young -- or
young-looking -- girls. I liked them sweet and slender,
inexperienced and eager, fresh and filled with curiosity.
Dancing like this was delightful,... even if I hadn't had
sex on my mind.
     Her nose nuzzled my ear, giving me fleeting chills.
When I was her age, I had been only casually interested in
girls. My first kiss had been awkward and I hadn't known
what to do with my nose. If someone like little Sharon had
turned her blowtorch on me back then, I probably would have
fainted. I had begun to understand why teenage girls often
were attracted to slightly older, more experienced guys.
Perhaps I still hadn't persuaded a hypnotic subject to do
something against her nature; perhaps this was what Sharon
had subconsciously yearned for. But that certainly wasn't
going to keep me from enjoying myself tonight.
     My hands slid across Sharon's firm little ass and she
strained her hips closer to me. A small whimper escaped her
lips as I tucked my fingers in her back pockets and she
tried to burrow even closer. After a moment, she moaned in
frustration and clamped her mouth to mine. She clutched the
back of my head and her tongue assaulted my front teeth. I
moved up under the back of her sweatshirt and counted the
knobs of her vertebrae.
     Sharon pushed herself away with a gasp and feverishly
hauled her shirt off over her head. She fumbled with the
front clasp of her bra and then her small breasts sprang
free, nipples pointing over my shoulders. When my hands
covered them, I reveled in the touch of their smooth
surfaces and the silky down under my fingers. Her nipples
were as stiff and resilient as rubber and when I pinched
them lightly her hands grabbed hard at my forearms and she
inhaled sharply.
     Then I had her jeans unbuttoned and unzipped and she
moved back and pushed them down, kicked off her loafers, and
stepped out of them. She reached for the elastic of her thin
white cotton panties but I pushed her hands away and knelt;
I had been looking forward to doing this myself.
     When I poked my tongue in her navel, her stomach
muscles fluttered and she choked down a nervous laugh. I
eased the elastic slowly over her hips and she seized my
hair and moaned even louder than before. The curls of her
wispy pubic hair rose into view and I combed them between my
teeth. Then her panties were down and as they fell to the
floor she quickly stepped out of them.
     I stuck my tongue into her crevice as far as I could
and she jittered and pushed her crotch forward. Spreading
her moist labia with my fingertips, I was able to get my
mouth as far as the top of her clit. Her stomach muscles
shuddered again and she tried to spread her thighs and bend
her knees without falling down.
     Then I stood and swiftly clutched her buttocks, lifting
her off her feet. She squeaked and then giggled as she
wrapped her long legs around my hips and hung onto my neck.
I walked the six feet to the couch and laid Sharon out on it
like a banquet. As I straightened and began unbuttoning my
shirt, she struck a seductive, sprawling pose -- shoulders
back and tits out-thrust, spine arched, toes together and
pointed. She must have been studying PENTHOUSE. Her tongue
glided slowly across her upper lip.
     "Go ahead and start without me, Sharon. I'll be able to
catch up... and you already know I like to watch." She
grinned and spread her knees so I could observe her middle
finger disappearing from view.
     My shirt was off and my jeans pushed to the floor in a
hurry. Sharon stared hotly at my rising cock for a moment,
then reached up and wrapped her free hand around it. She
squeezed a little and pulled it closer; I had to move
quickly to keep from tripping over my pants, but I finally
pushed my shoes off and worked my feet free.
     Then I knelt again, grabbed Sharon's hips, and
swivelled her around to face me. She was still on her back,
ass off the edge of the couch, and I hunkered down between
her legs and pushed her thighs back and farther apart. Her
pretty little cunt opened like a pink flower spreading its
petals, and as I buried my face in it she jerked her head
back and grabbed the sides of the cushions.
     I had muff-dived on several girls and had thoroughly
enjoyed it -- and so had they. But this was different. For
one thing, Sharon had almost no "muff" to speak of; the soft
strands bordering her cunt didn't conceal a thing. For
another,... well, it may simply have been her youth, but the
taste of her was exquisite -- sweet and light and fragrant,
and definitely heady.
     So I continued to lap at her pussy, sucking on her clit
and swishing my tongue around inside until it became
obvious, from her sobs and moans, that she was on the edge
of both orgasm and hysteria. I pushed my nose between her
labia, shook my head, and growled into her depths -- and she
squealed "Oh, Jesus!" and trembled like an aspen in the
wind. When her spasms passed, I straightened up to see tears
running down her flushed cheeks as she panted for breath.
     Sharon let her legs drop loosely in temporary
exhaustion and held her arms out to me. I bent over her
sweating body and slid my forearms under her shoulders,
lifting her up to me, and kissed her, long and thoroughly.
     "What did you do to me?" she asked hoarsely when we
came up for air and she put her cheek against mine. "I
didn't know it was possible to feel like that, especially
without..." She continued to breath heavily.
     "...without fucking?" I finished for her. Her grip
tightened and I felt her head nod. I put my hand between her
legs and began sliding it along her hot, wet crevice. Her
response was to gasp in my ear and clutch spastically at my
ribs with her knees.
     "Oh,... oh, yes,... please -- please do it.... God,
fuck me!" she moaned, and her body began to thrash about
once more. My cock resembled a heat-seeking missile aimed at
the cross-hairs of little Sharon's crotch. But I didn't want
to waste this moment crawling around on a naugahyde couch.
     I stood and held out my hands. "C'mon, sweetheart --
this requires a proper bed."
     She sat up, which put her eye-to-eye with my anxious
cock. She took hold of it and stroked me slowly a few times,
then swallowed and opened her mouth. It was obvious she
wanted to suck my cock -- or thought she should, anyway --
but she had no idea how to go about it. I could have
instructed her, and on another occasion I just might, but it
would take some time and would certainly destroy the mood
right now. Also, I found my patience had vanished. I leaned
over to where my jeans were heaped on the carpet and
rummaged in the pocket.
     "Not this time," I said softly and pulled her to her
feet. "I can't wait to make love to you for real." She
seemed to go boneless as I bent and lifted her in my arms
and climbed the stairs again with no effort. Her arms were
wrapped tightly around my neck and she was gnawing at my ear
lobe.
     Then she was lying in the middle of that big bed, arms
and legs writhing restlessly. I sat on the edge of the frame
and displayed the foil packet in my hand. "You want to
*always* use one of these, sweetheart. You don't want to get
pregnant and you don't want to pick up the results of
someone else's indiscretion." She nodded solemnly and
watched as I unrolled the condom over my almost painful
erection.
     As I crawled onto the mattress, Sharon spread herself
like a starfish as she had earlier, and this time I was
ready. She curled her ass upward as I pressed against her
virginal opening and I was a little surprised at the ease
with which she accepted me.
     She smiled at my expression. "The doctor said I broke
my hymen a couple years ago when I started my periods and
began using tampons. It doesn't hurt at all, but it feels so
wonderfully *big*...."
     I pistoned in and out a few times slowly and carefully,
spreading her plentiful lubrication and settling myself.
Then I hooked her trim ankles over my shoulders and folded
her neatly in half, knees pressed against her collarbone.
That gave me the deepest penetration and I strained to fill
her as full as possible. She worked her vaginal muscles,
perhaps instinctively, and the effect in that warm snugness
was like a python swallowing a rabbit.
     I leaned forward to get the maximum friction against
her clit and started drilling for oil. The surf we churned
up in the waterbed helped. Within a minute, Sharon's eyes
were squeezed shut as her hands wandered over the backs of
her thighs and her own upturned ass. My pumping forced a
series of breathy moans from her. She was transported and
she was taking me along for the ride. Several times I felt
myself approaching a climax and backed away from the brink,
willing myself to extend the pleasurable assault.
     All my senses were open and when I knew she was headed
for her second orgasm I speeded up and gave her a push. Her
whole body tensed and quivered as she fell over the edge,
and I was only fifteen seconds behind her. It had been
several months since I'd screwed a girl in cold blood, so to
speak -- especially with the luxury of a real bed and
private surroundings.
     As I finished emptying myself into her, Sharon began to
relax. She favored me with a sweet, dreamy smile and urged
me down to kiss her. I settled my full weight carefully on
her, partly because my arms were shaking and partly because
I simply wanted to cover her with my body.
     "Mmmm,... you feel hot to the touch -- like an electric
blanket," she murmured. "A *heavy* electric blanket." I
pushed her legs together and straddled them, taking some of
my weight on my knees and elbows. That also pushed my
retreating cock out of her, but that was okay -- it felt
like it needed to step out for a smoke anyway. I gently
kissed her eyelids and her nose and her lips. I hadn't
planned this feeling of affection toward Sharon, though I
liked her well enough. She was such a scrumptious little
thing, I couldn't help it.
     Perhaps that emotion communicated itself to Sharon
because she finally took a deep breath and said, "I wasn't
going to ask this -- I swear I wasn't. But, do you--
well,... do you love me? Even a little?" She immediately
covered her face with her hands. "God, I'm sorry!" she
wailed. "Why can't I keep my mouth shut?"
     I slid off of her and peeled off the condom. I propped
my head up on my fist while I stroked her succulent breasts
and thought about her question. Kathy had been physically
and emotionally addicted to me because I had set it up that
way -- but she hadn't been "in love" with me, not exactly.
She was old enough to have had several crushes and been
devoted to at least a couple of boyfriends.
     But I had deliberately played on Sharon's adolescent
romanticism, her need to be "in love," and she was
responding *too* well. For whatever reason (maybe even my
conscience), I wanted to try to explain her own feelings to
her without resorting to hypnosis, if that was possible.
     "Sweetheart, I wonder if you and I mean the same thing
when we talk about 'love'. Are you thinking about marriage
and a family?" I smiled at her blank expression. "I love you
for what you are, Sharon -- a sweet, beautiful
fourteen-year-old girl. I imagine you'll fall in love at
least a couple of times before you find the guy you want to
marry. If we were to meet again in, say, eight or ten
years,... well, who knows?" The way she looked at me, she
was steeling herself against an unbearable rejection. Damn.
I was going to have to fix this on a deeper level.
     "Dive, Sharon, dive." Her face cleared and she smiled
warmly. "Sharon, you're no longer a virgin now -- you're a
woman. You will come to realize, over the next few weeks,
that there is a difference between casual love with
sex-for-fun and the kind of deep, serious love you come to
feel for someone you want to spend the rest of your life
with. You must not be afraid of either kind of love, do you
understand? It's natural to feel loving and affectionate
toward someone you're also physically attracted to, but you
know, don't you, that that's not the same as 'capital-L'
love?" She nodded with a calm, thoughtful look.
     I was still caressing her and when my fingertips passed
over her still-rigid nipple, she twitched. "Sharon, tell me
what you felt when we were fucking -- and how do you feel
right now? How do you feel about sex?"
     "Oh, God,..." Her eyes glowed. "I could feel your penis
moving in there, way deep inside, and it felt so strange --
but it felt really great, too! My clit felt as big as my
thumb, and I wanted to come so badly,... but at the same
time, I *didn't* want to come. I just wanted to go on
feeling you rubbing me with your cock so I could get more
and more excited. I didn't want to come for *hours* yet --
but when I did, and then you came inside me,... wow! It was
like being shot full of electricity!" She paused and I could
see her mind replaying very recent events.
     "I think, when you pushed my legs back -- well, it left
me wide open, you know? Sort of helpless, I guess, like you
could do whatever you wanted to me. I mean, I could feel the
sweat running down into,... into my asshole." Her face was
heating up again. "But I knew you wouldn't hurt me so I
didn't mind. In fact, it was really sexy and you went in
really deep. Jesus...."
     "And how do you feel about sex now, Sharon?"
     "I love it! I want to do it again, a lot more times!"
She flashed me the lustiest grin I'd ever seen on a girl her
age. And I'd never actually fucked a girl while she was in a
trance....
     "Okay, Sharon, let's do it again, shall we? You will
stay in your trance and you will react to everything I do in
the freest, most uninhibited way you can imagine, won't you?
You feel even more adventurous about sex than you did
before, don't you? Let your hands, your whole body, do
whatever it wants, let yourself experiment, okay? You know I
won't do anything to hurt you, don't you? You feel a
tingling in your cunt, Sharon, you're beginning to feel
really sexy again, really heated up. Just turn yourself
loose, sweetheart."

     It was like I'd been ambushed by a jaguar. Sharon rose
up, bright-eyed, and threw herself on me, grabbing my hand
and urging it toward her crotch as she flung one leg over my
hip. The anxious mewing sounds she made as she scattered hot
kisses across my chest were certainly arousing. She strained
against me, digging her nipples into my flesh. She reached
back with her other hand, trying to skewer herself on my
cock. It was a delightful bit of wish-fulfillment, but
Sharon was stronger than she looked and I became concerned
about love-bruises. Time to introduce another factor.
     I let my hand trail down her spine to her coccyx and
she stuck her round little bottom out for my convenience. I
continued and when my finger stopped over her anus and
rubbed in little circles, she pushed back against it and dug
her nails into me. All her openings were still damp and I
had no difficulty sliding the first joint of my middle
finger into her rectum. She had moved upward against me to
give me easier access, and my mouth was perfectly positioned
to reach her nipples, which I milked attentively.
     But I wanted to explore that lovely ass more closely.
"Sharon," I said, "unwrap yourself, sweetheart, and get up
on your hands and knees. Wiggle that hot little butt for
me." She giggled and did as I instructed, back bent and ass
in the air, squirming provocatively. When I crawled around
behind her, riding the waves in the waterbed, I was
especially drawn by her fragrance and by the symmetrical
beauty of her ass, including the wisps of silky hair framing
her pussy. Just above that was her small, star-shaped
pucker.
     I stroked her bottom, marveling at the smooth
resilience, and kissed her lingeringly on both cheeks. Then
I scattered a series of wet kisses down the crease of her
cleft and her ass began to twitch in earnest. I put out my
tongue and licked the length of her cunt while she gyrated
and balled up the sheet in her fists. Two fingers eased into
her depths, still hot and juicy, while I made rings around
her asshole with my tongue. She tasted deliciously of dried,
salty sweat. Sharon bucked and shook and groaned in mounting
passion.
     "Oh, that feels lovely," she whispered hoarsely. "I
wish you'd stick your tongue right up my asshole, that'd be
so wild! And you could fuck me from behind, too...." Her
fingers were now between her legs, strumming her clit with
abandon. I followed her request -- and my own surprised
inclination -- and pushed my tongue through her sphincter; I
could only reach a few centimeters, but it was the attempt
that turned her on.
     I hurriedly tore open another foil packet and rolled
the condom over my resurgent cock. And, getting on my knees
and moving up close behind her, I brushed my cock head
against the lips of her cunt. She vibrated, spreading her
knees farther apart and cocking her ass up even more. I slid
into her easily, as if she had been screwing for years.
Holding her hips tightly, I thrust into her so hard and fast
I bumped her cervix. She went momentarily rigid and gasped,
"Oh, God! That's so great! It's like being raped or
something -- only I love it, I really do!"
     After three or four minutes of pounding away, I said,
"Let your knees slide out from under you, Sharon -- slowly,
so I don't lose you."
     She let herself slide onto her stomach and I followed
her down, keeping my knees on the outside of her legs. The
grip of her small, tight ass allowed me to remain buried in
her -- but now her clasp was even tighter and it swallowed
me whole. I pulled her arms down to her sides and held her
close, completing the vulnerability fantasy she had
mentioned several times. Her head moved restlessly and I
could feel her slender body undulating beneath me as I
resumed thrusting into her.
     "Oh, yes! Hold me down, don't let me move! Just keep
fucking me, just like that -- oh, that's so nice!"
     "Sharon," I said between breaths, "it feels to you like
my penis has grown to twice its previous size. Your vagina
is completely filled with it, stretched and filled to
overflowing, and you feel every movement it makes with great
intensity, don't you?"
     Her reaction was instantaneous. "Oh! Christ! Oh,... oh,
shit.... I didn't know your cock could get so huge," she
moaned as her ass shuddered beneath my stomach. "God, you're
going to split me open -- and I don't care! Just keep doing
it,... keep fucking me!"
     The marvelous part of this was that Sharon wasn't
parroting a set of lines I had given her to repeat. What I
had done was to establish the circumstances; her reactions
to that were her own. And her feedback was something more
than I had expected -- as with this little rape-fantasy of
hers. Well, I thought, a game was a game.
     "Sharon," I continued softly in her ear as I rammed
myself into her, "what would you think if I were to tie you
down to the bed by your wrists and ankles?"

     She stopped her breathless squirming for a moment.
"Would it-- would it hurt?"
     "No, sweetheart, I told you I would do nothing to hurt
you. No, this would be sort of 'pretend'. The restraints are
real but very light; they're symbolic, do you understand?
That way, it's always *your* choice whether you want to
continue." Except for my hypnotic influence, of course.
     I was aware of a slight increase in Sharon's excitement
(if that were possible) as she thought about the suggestion.
"Oh, wow, that sounds,... um, it sounds really sexy. I'd be
tied down? Then you could do anything you wanted to me,
couldn't you? Wow...."
     Again, I thrust hard into her and her ass clenched as
she grunted a little. "God,... so big -- I feel so full,..."
she murmured, and humped me back. Sharon's youthful
horniness was becoming too much to bear and I picked up
speed, ramming into her with increased force. She twisted
her hands around, where I had them pinned at her sides, and
squeezed the tops of my thighs. With each lunging stroke her
body was shoved forward, setting up more wavefronts in the
bed which synchronized with the "Uh -- uh -- uh" sounds she
was making. After a few minutes, her breath was almost as
rasping as mine and from the way her fingers dug into my
flesh it was clear she was also nearing another climax.
     When I hit the final impalement and ejaculated for the
second time into the hot focus of her, Sharon's entire body
went rigid -- even her toes, which strained against my
shins. I wished I wasn't wearing that damned condom. Sure,
the physical sensations are all there, but simply *knowing*
there's a synthetic barrier between you and the girl you're
plowing can be off-putting, at least to me. Ah, well....
     It was going to be a little while before I was ready
for a third round, though I suspected Sharon could go on
having orgasms all night in her present inflamed physical
and mental state. Time for play!
     As we both struggled to catch our breaths, Sharon
flexed her internal muscles and gave my overheated cock a
delightful squeeze. "You gonna tie me up now?" she asked. I
began to wonder if I had created an adolescent monster.
     "Of course I am, sweetheart." I eased my rather sore
and wilting penis out from between her reddened thighs and
rolled over to the side of the bed, where I peeled off the
condom, tied a knot in it, and set it on the nightstand
beside the first used one... and the other three foil packs,
which I hoped would be enough to get us through the night.
     I hadn't expected bondage games, of course -- hadn't
even ever taken part in one, in fact -- so I had no rope or
velvet-lined handcuffs with me. When you're desperate, you
improvise. I wondered how much John had paid for his
neckties.
     "Sharon, remain face down and extend your arms and legs
toward the four corners of the bed; stretch as far as you
can. Imagine the sensation of being tied to the bedposts."
She obediently stretched her limbs out, grunting a little as
she reached as hard as she could. Her red-splotched buttocks
quivered in a lovely way with her efforts. Her cunt
glistened between her parted thighs; by rights, there should
have been a trickle of my semen dribbling down onto the
sheets, but that couldn't be helped.
     I rummaged guiltily through our host's closet, looking
for makeshift rope, and finally discovered a small heap of
frayed bungee cords -- the sort with rubber-coated metal
hooks on the ends of each three-foot length, for tying down
suitcases on luggage carriers and such. An obvious accessory
for a salesman; I might even tell John later what use I was
putting them to.
     I returned to the bed, where Sharon was becoming a bit
red-faced, both from her exertions and from renewed
excitement. "Now, sweetheart," I began, "I'm going to fasten
you down. I promise you, it won't hurt. You'll be able to
get loose with no difficulty if you really want to -- but
you won't want to, will you? This is a sex *fantasy*,
remember: You must keep in mind that *you* are the one who's
really in control. But since you trust me, and you know you
won't be hurt, and you *really* want to try a little
kinkiness, you will gladly play the role of a helpless
captive, completely at my mercy. Do you understand, Sharon?
That's what you really want, isn't it?"
     "Yes -- that's what I want, I want to be helpless, you
can do anything you want to me and I can't stop you...." She
trembled and licked her lips in anticipation. Her fingers
repeatedly spread and balled themselves into tight little
fists.
     I quickly looped a cord twice around her right wrist,
made a loose overhand knot, and hooked the metal ends around
the upright of the rattan headboard. The elastic cord
stretched enough to keep her arm taut. As I hooked up her
other arm, she caught my eye over her shoulder and gave me a
sultry smile through a curtain of tousled hair.
     It wasn't until I turned to bind her feet that it
dawned on me that John's waterbed, like most, had no
footboard. I hastily grabbed a couple more bungees and
linked them together so I could fasten one ankle to the
closet doorknob and the other to a chrome stand loaded with
exercise weights. Then I stood for a moment admiring my
handiwork.
     Little Sharon certainly *looked* helpless, with her
slender, smoking body stretched across the bed. She writhed
sinuously, testing her bonds. Her toes were pointed by the
angle and tension of the cords, forming oddly attractive
creases across the soles of her small feet. I raked a
thumbnail lightly across the bottom of one pretty foot and
she gasped and tried to curl her foot even further. I slowly
licked the sole of her other foot and she began to shake a
little. Then, leaning over her without touching the bed, I
nibbled at the back of one knee and she jerked and moaned
softly. It wasn't difficult figuring out how to push
Sharon's buttons.
     I crept onto the bed between her trembling legs, leaned
down, and buried my nose in the aromatic space between her
cunt and her asshole. Sharon squealed and puffed, and jerked
at her bonds. Her wrists twisted and contorted as if she
were fastened much more tightly than she really was.
     Separating her buttocks with my thumbs, I swabbed my
tongue from her gleaming cunt to her rhythmically twitching
anus. "G-g-god!" she stammered. I nipped the silky flesh in
the depths of her cleft and lapped again at her pussy. She
was vibrating like a drumhead.
     Finally, I slid my middle finger far into her molten
vagina and stirred it about to completely lubricate it for
its next task. The same finger moved up the slope of her
frenzied ass and pushed slowly through her sphincter, the
tight, muscular ring clutching at it all the way, until my
palm was flat against the underside of her ass and three
joints of my finger were being Hooverized by her rectum.
     Slowly, I began to finger-fuck her ass, sliding my
finger almost all the way out, pausing to build the
suspense, and stabbing much more quickly back into her.
     Sharon tensed just before each thrust and sobbed a
little at the end of each. They weren't sounds of pain, but
of ever-mounting lust, and I was amazed at their
recuperative effect on my cock. I had never in my life
screwed a girl more than twice in a single evening, and here
I was, going for my third erection in less than three hours.
     I was becoming very aware that what I really, really
wanted to do was to get my cock about fifteen inches up that
entrancing ass of hers. Watching that trembling little butt
squirm and writhe as it tried to suck in even more of my
finger was almost more than I could stand. Sharon was all my
most carefully sublimated erotic fantasies come true. It was
becoming a matter not of "should I?" but of "can I get away
with it?"
     Could Sharon's young, very tight ass manage my cock?
There would almost certainly be a little pain at the
beginning, too: Would that pop her out of her trance?
     "Sharon, I'm afraid I have to leave the room for just a
moment. You won't worry and you won't be afraid because you
know for certain that I'll be right back; you know that,
don't you, sweetheart?"
     "Yes," she giggled unevenly, "I know you'll be right
back -- but what about my asshole?"
     "Um. Think about what it might be like to have a man's
cock in your asshole, Sharon. You've heard of ass-fucking,
haven't you?"
     "Yeah, I guess so. Isn't that kinda weird?"
     "Isn't being tied to the bed?"
     She giggled again. "Maybe so, but it's nice, too!"
     "I'll be right back," I repeated as I slid my finger
out of its dark harbor. "Imagine how nice it would feel to
have my penis in your ass instead of my finger, okay?"
     She twitched her bottom and made fists as the pictures
moved through her mind. I headed out the door and down the
stairs, my new erection bobbing in front of me. Searching
the kitchen for some kind of test instrument, I thought of
the jokes I'd heard and opened the vegetable crisper in the
refrigerator. John apparently liked Polish and Czech food
because I found a fresh kielbasa, nearly a foot long and
almost two inches in diameter. Even its consistency was
vaguely cock-like (I supposed). Back upstairs, I stopped in
the master bathroom and dug up a tube of K-Y; I would've
been surprised had I *not* found it.
     Sharon was moaning slightly and her little sphincter
seemed to be winking at me. "I'm back, Sharon, and I have a
surprise for you," I said softly as I squeezed K-Y along
half the length of the kielbasa and rolled it around in the
palm of my hand, coating it liberally. I also smoothed a
smaller glop of the stuff on and in Sharon's asshole while
she twisted and hummed in the back of her throat.
     "Now, this won't hurt at all, Sharon, do you
understand? This is just a sex toy I found -- kind of a fake
penis, just to make sure you can deal with being fucked in
the ass. I want you to tell me what it feels like, okay,
sweetheart?" I was pressing gently at the little brown
ridges with the narrow end of my "toy" and she was trying to
hump the sausage.
     Twisting slightly, I worked the end of the kielbasa
into her ass an inch or so as Sharon gasped and started
breathing rapidly, mouth wide open. Another two inches and
her neck was bent, head thrown back as far as she was able.
Her toes wiggled slowly and I saw her arm and leg muscles
tense and release in turn. At six inches, I began to rotate
the meat so its curve changed direction within her; her
buttocks seemed to shimmer with tension and her tangled hair
whipped back and forth.
     "Are you okay, sweetheart? How does that feel?"
     It took her a few seconds to put together a reply. "My
God," she whispered hoarsely, "there's a snake in my gut,
and it feels like my legs are on fire, and my toes have
electricity in them, and I think my nipples are lit up like
Christmas tree lights! And it just goes on and on...."
     Wow, some reaction. I released the kielbasa and looked
at it thoughtfully; it was half-buried in her butt and the
thicker end traced slow, complex patterns in the air as
Sharon's pelvis writhed. Could she take in the whole thing?
But if she did,... how would my merely human cock compete
afterward? Perhaps I hadn't thought far enough ahead. Oh,
the hell with it.
     I continued to work the sausage into Sharon's asshole,
which dilated to accommodate it. I added more K-Y around the
wide-stretched ring; it felt strange to the touch but didn't
seem in danger of being damaged.
     I became so mesmerized by what I was doing that it
wasn't until I could no longer get a grip on the thing that
I realized only an inch or so still protruded from her
rectum, like a stumpy little tail. Sharon's back was tightly
arched and she was making a prolonged "Unnnnhhhh..." sound.
     A bright scarlet sexual flush had crept down her neck
and shoulders and there was no doubt about her state of
arousal -- nor about my own. My cock ached so much I was
almost afraid to touch it.
     "What do you feel like now, Sharon?"
     "Ohhhh.... You're so huge and long in my butt, I don't
believe it! Are you going to come inside me? Are you?" In
her extreme excitement, she seemed to have forgotten the
kielbasa was supposed to be a "toy." And it was a sure thing
that I was going to come somewhere.
     "I'm going to pull out and then go back in," I replied
hastily, and began extracting the sausage, pausing every
inch or so to thrust it back into her as if I were fucking
her for real. Her moans became louder and her gyrations more
athletic at each plunge.
     As the length of the kielbasa emerged, I was a bit
surprised to find none of the shit stains I had expected.
That reassured me, though. As the last bit of the sausage
appeared, I positioned myself above that lovely little ass.
Tossing the "toy" over my shoulder (it made an exhausted
sound as it bounced on the floor), I plunged through her
vibrating sphincter, burying my cock completely in one
thrust. It might not have felt like a lot to Sharon by
comparison, but it was exquisite to me.
     I pulled partway out and rammed into her again and she
buried her face in the sheets and sobbed under her breath.
I'd thought her virginal cunt was tight but her rectum was
unbelievable, and there was no end to it. My balls banged
against her pussy and I ran my hands up and down her flanks.
My vision was clouded, I was so transported. I could hold
out for only two or three minutes before I geysered again,
the third time that evening. It felt like I was shooting
sperm as far as her kidneys. Sharon's sobbing was louder and
she was gasping "Oh -- oh -- oh" between gulps. Neither of
us was able to move at all for five or six minutes.
     Her lovely adolescent ass still held my organ so
tightly in its grasp, I was able to stay put for quite
awhile. Every few minutes, some internal muscle or nerve
would twitch and my penis would spasm in response. I was
amazed at my ability to climax so many times so close
together, but I knew the tank was empty at last. There was
no telling how long it would take my body to manufacture
more seminal fluid. But at least I'd had the pleasure of
flesh-to-flesh contact that last time. Sharon wasn't likely
to get pregnant from having her ass plowed and I knew I was
absolutely disease-free, so there were no guilt pangs on my
behalf. A most delightful -- and exhausting -- end to my
brief jailbait affair.

     The next question was, what should I do now? Stay
overnight in John's bed with my arms wrapped around this
cuddly little doll? (And take a much greater chance of her
parents discovering she wasn't where she was supposed to
be...?) I peered at the bedside clock as I rolled stiffly
off Sharon's body; she groaned softly and shifted position.
It wasn't quite midnight, though I felt like we had been
screwing for at least three days. If we got up now, I could
probably deliver Sharon into her friend Marilyn's care by
1:00 in the morning -- not unreasonable hours for a Friday
night sleep-over, if the girls claimed they had been out
running around.
     I reached over and stroked her sweat-slick shoulder.
"C'mon, sweetheart, we have to get up and take a shower so I
can take you to your slumber party."
     She screwed her eyes tightly shut. "Don' wanna go...
wanna stay here with you...." She looked adorable behind the
curtain of tangled hair and I really wanted to keep her --
but I wasn't *that* stupid.
     "Sharon, pay attention. I'd like very much for you to
stay here, too, but I'm afraid it's a very bad idea. Let's
go, sweetheart -- up and at 'em." She groaned again in weary
satiety and rolled over. She winced a couple times as she
sat up and scooted over to the edge of the bed. If Sharon's
healthy young body was stiff and sore, I hated to think what
kind of condition I was going to be in in the morning.
     She held up her arms for assistance and I hauled her to
her feet. Her arms, naturally, continued to slide around my
neck and we glided smoothly into a slow, gentle kiss,...
completely unlike our most recent lovemaking. Even used up
and worn out, I appreciated the warm softness of Sharon's
body pressed against mine as our sweat combined. That might
present a problem to the outside world, though.
     "Darlin', I think we're both badly in need of soap and
hot water," I commented as the kiss tapered off.
     She sniffed and smiled. "We just smell like sex; I
kinda like it."
     I squeezed her tighter. "So do I, sweetheart,... but I
don't think your folks would appreciate it. Or your
brother." We made our way stiffly to the master bathroom,
which had a big shower with tinted glass doors, fake
cobblestone flooring, its own recessed heat lamp overhead,
and a high-tech, ten-way showerhead.
     Sharon was still a bit fuzzy but she woke up with a
squeal when the first icy blast of water hit her between the
shoulderblades. In another two seconds, the water was nearly
scalding, though, and she backed into it, wriggling her
shoulders with a sigh and twisting her neck from side to
side. I began soaping her down and she raised her arms so I
could reach her ribs. She gave me a sweet, warm smile as my
slippery hands glided over her breasts and down across her
belly.
     "You're still in your trance, aren't you Sharon?" She
nodded and cocked her head. "Tell me what you're thinking
about right now, sweetheart. What's behind that lovely
smile?"
     She leaned against my chest and tucked her face into my
neck. "I'm thinking about how nice it is to be here with
you," she said quietly. I was touched to the heart. She
seemed to hesitate and then added, "I'm also thinking about
being in love." She raised her head and focused on my eyes
from two inches away. I opened my mouth but she touched my
lips with her fingertips. "I know what you said,... you
know, about sex and love. But I'm in love with you now --
tonight -- and I can't help it."
     She was so earnest in her proclamation, I found I
couldn't help it either. "Sharon,... putting it that way,
for tonight -- well, I love you, too." She wrapped her arms
around my chest and squeezed so hard, I worried a little
about a cracked rib.
     We didn't say much for a few minutes. I rubbed up a
thick lather over most of her body, ears to toes. I loved
handling every inch of her and she obviously enjoyed being
the object of such careful attention. Then it was her turn
to soap me up, and she made innovative use of her breasts as
bath sponges, grinning when her nipple in my navel made me
shiver.
     When Sharon had rinsed off, we switched places under
the showerhead and I watched the gleam from her slick, wet
skin as she leaned against the tile with her ankles demurely
crossed. She saw the direction my eyes were traveling and
smiled at my fixation. Holding my gaze, she cupped her small
breasts and pinched her nipples. One hand slid slowly down
to cover her pubic mound and her middle finger slipped into
her vagina.
     I couldn't believe she could have the energy to go
'round again, but it quickly became obvious that she was
merely putting on an erotic little show for my
entertainment. She turned around and leaned her elbows and
forearms against the wall, knees straight, her inviting
little bottom jutting out at me. She gave me that hot little
smile over her shoulder as she traced a slow track down
between her buttocks with one nail. My cock made a
halfhearted twitch and gave out completely. So I made the
best response I could: I bent over and planted a wet,
lingering kiss on the out-curve of one taut, perfectly
formed cheek. Sharon wiggled in delight, and when I added a
little nip with my teeth, she giggled in a way that gave me
chills hotter than the shower.
     Fifteen minutes later, we were toweling each other down
beneath the big heat lamp in the dressing alcove. Sharon
insisted on drying me completely, just as she had soaped me
-- and, of course, I did the same. We paused several times
for cuddles and kisses and it was crowding 1:00 before we
finally tidied up the bedroom and made our way downstairs to
gather up our clothing.

     I was becoming concerned about slipping Sharon into her
friend's house, but she calmly explained that Marilyn kept
the ringer turned down on her private line and that the two
of them often conversed secretly about "girl things" in the
middle of the night. Marilyn would arrange to sneak her in
and no one's parents would be the wiser. I hoped she was
right.
     Sharon sat on the arm of the sofa, casually and
beautifully naked, talking quietly to her buddy on the
phone. One toe traced invisible patterns in the carpet and
she'd wound the cord several times around her fingers,
looking for all the world like any other fourteen-year-old
girl, except for all that lovely skin.
     Again, I let my gaze travel slowly over that gorgeous
little body as I dressed. I wasn't likely to see her in this
state again; the chances of being caught were simply too
great. She watched me watching her and smiled intimately as
she talked. Then she silently parted her thighs to give me
an unobstructed view of her pussy, which appeared as
exhausted as I felt.
     I was a bit surprised to hear her say, "I'm still bare
as a baby, Marilyn, and my boyfriend's putting on his
clothes. I like the way he's looking at me, like he'd like
to eat me for dinner. And I've just spread my legs so he can
see almost inside of me. Yeah, really,... but he already
knows what the inside of me feels like. Have you ever let a
guy fuck you in the ass? No, Marilyn -- it's fantastic! Or
maybe it just has to be the right guy...." She winked at me.
Hearing her nonchalantly describing her new sexual
experiences to another girl her age was a whole different
kind of turn-on. I wondered momentarily if
Marilyn-the-girlfriend might become available for a
three-way party. No -- that would *really* be taking risks!
     "No, I told you Marilyn: There's no way I'm going to
tell you who the guy is! He's so sweet, and I *love* fucking
him, and he could get in *really* bad trouble, you know.
Besides, you don't know him. He's older, remember? No, I
won't tell you how much older, either!" she added with a
laugh. "Look, I have to get dressed, okay? I'm leaving pussy
puddles on his sofa, I swear I am. We'll be there in about
thirty minutes and I'll wait just beyond the kitchen porch
light, okay? Yeah, I promise -- I'll give you a blow-by-blow
-- or a hump-by-hump, maybe! Oh, Marilyn,... you simply will
not believe what sex is like. *Real* sex, I mean, not just
kissing and making out. It's just too terrific...."
     I was dressed now, and had moved to lean between
Sharon's knees so I could nibble on her pussy as she talked
on the phone. I placed my thumb carefully on her clit and
moved it in slow circles. Unbelievably, my little lover's
eyes went smoky again and she arched her back.
     "Uh -- oh -- God!" she moaned into the mouthpiece. "Oh,
Marilyn, you wouldn't believe what's happening, what he's
doing to me right this minute! Oh, that feels so good...." I
grinned and pinched her clit between thumb and forefinger.
She gasped and moaned again and gave me a wicked look;
obviously, some of Sharon's very vocal reaction was for her
friend's benefit.
     "Sweetheart," I breathed in her ear, "I'm afraid you're
going to have to dress that gorgeous body so we can get out
of here. Of course, I could deliver you to Marilyn's house
just as you are...."
     Sharon stifled a giggle and covered the mouthpiece with
her hand. "That would be exciting, wouldn't it?! Better not,
though, just in case we got stopped on the way...." I was
joking, of course, but the image of Sharon's naked body
heating up the front seat of my car blazed through my mind.
     "Marilyn, I've *gotta* go! I'll see you in thirty
minutes -- if I can find all my clothes!" she laughed. Then
she hung up and pulled on her sweatshirt. (A pretty young
girl clothed only from the waist up is a wondrous sight.)
She picked up her panties and her jeans but paused and gave
me a thoughtful look. "Want a souvenir...?" She dangled the
white panties from an outstretched fingertip. She saw the
answer in my eyes and carefully wadded up the material and
crammed it up between her legs, most of it disappearing into
her cunt. She closed her thighs tightly and kind of rotated
her hips. When she extracted them, her panties were visibly
damp; she waved them close to my face and I inhaled the
thick perfume. She leaned close and ran her little tongue
over my lips as she stuffed her trophy-gift into my pocket.
     "I'm sorry I don't have a memento to give to you in
return," I replied softly as she nibbled at my ear.
     "Are you kidding?" she chuckled, and my ear tickled. "I
have two tied-up rubbers in my jeans pocket that are full of
you." She guided my hand around to her ass, still bare below
her shirt. "Plus an extra installment...." One long kiss
filled with tongue and then Sharon was almost shyly pulling
her jeans up over that naked, lovely ass and jamming on her
loafers. Her bra went into her gym bag. She slung her purse
over her shoulder and looked around to make sure she'd
forgotten nothing. And then we were out the door and
climbing into the car, and I found myself very much
regretting that my evening (and almost certainly my affair)
with Sharon was nearly over.

     I wasn't sure what remained of Sharon's trance so as we
pulled out of the parking lot -- the only car on the street
at that hour of the night, as far as I could tell -- I
squeezed her shoulder to get her attention and said "Dive,
Sharon, dive." When I glanced at her face, I saw the calm,
relaxed serenity I'd learned to associate with a successful
hypnotic trance. She was under, all right.
     "Sharon, you understand, don't you, that you must not
say anything to anyone about our relationship? Don't even
hint at my identity, correct? You can tell Marilyn and your
other most trustworthy friends all the physical details
about how you lost your virginity and how much fun sex can
be, though." I was revising my thoughts quickly. "In fact,
Sharon, you *will* tell them all about it -- very privately,
of course. You'll tell them in detail how great it feels to
be fucked in the ass, and all the rest of it, won't you? But
you will be very careful not to give them, or anyone else,
even the smallest clue as to who I am, all right? Just refer
to your 'boyfriend' and leave it at that. Do you understand,
sweetheart?"
     She seemed almost affronted that I would think she had
to be instructed. "Yes, I understand; I'd *die* before I
told anyone anything that might get you in trouble! I just
wouldn't do something like that -- especially around Jeff.
And my parents would never understand about sex anyway." She
paused. "I wouldn't even trust all my friends to keep their
big mouths shut about something this important -- it would
make terrific gossip around school. I'll be really careful
what I say and who I say it to, I promise."
     She slid closer and stroked my thigh as I drove through
the darkened suburbs. "I can trust Marilyn, though,
absolutely. Other way 'round, too, because I even held a
little bag of pot for her last year when she was afraid her
parents or the maid might find it." She smiled
conspiratorially. "We do things like that for each other all
the time, you know. In fact,... Marilyn's the one who showed
me how to get myself off." She folded her hands primly in
her lap. "I didn't know how and I asked her, and so we got
in bed together one night, and she played with her pussy and
I watched. She even came!" she giggled impishly.
     "Hmmm. Sweetheart, have you and Marilyn ever touched
each other's pussies?"
     "Noooo.... I think she wanted to once, though."
     "Okay. Don't you think it would be a good idea if you
and your friend got really cozy and masturbated each other?
Girls can make love with other girls, you know; sex is sex.
Would you enjoy that? Would Marilyn?"
     "Yes," she replied slowly, "I think she would. She's
really, really interested in everything about sex. And it
sounds like fun...." I had a feeling little Sharon's social
life was going to heat up considerably.
     "Sweetheart, I want you to be sure to write to me at
school and tell me what happens in your sex life with
Marilyn, with other boys, all of it, okay? And give me all
the other news about your life, too, because I'm very
interested. Be sure no one catches you writing or mailing
letters to me, Sharon; that could land us both in a lot of
trouble. But you will be explicit and completely honest in
what you tell me, do you understand?" And I had her memorize
my post office address at school.

     Our parting was almost anticlimactic. I turned off the
headlights as I rounded the corner onto Marilyn's block and
eased to a stop at the curb across the street and several
houses down. As I killed the engine and switched off the
dome light, I looked toward the house Sharon indicated and
was sure I saw the white lace curtains move in an upstairs
dormer window. Sharon saw it, too, and grabbed her gym bag
off the floor.
     "I'd better be going -- I should be there already when
she opens the kitchen door, so she won't have to wait." She
quickly opened the door and seemed about to leap out and
disappear. Suddenly, I was unprepared for her departure.
     "Sharon--" I grabbed her shoulder and she looked back
at me. Her face softened and she moved back, close up
against me, leaving the passenger door ajar. I kissed her
and then hugged her more tightly than I had intended.
     "Sharon, when I count down to one, you will no longer
be in a trance and you will forget ever having been in a
trance, but you will remember everything I've told you. And
you won't forget to write regularly and tell me everything,
now, will you? And I want you to remember something else,
sweetheart, because it's very important." I held her face in
my hands and stared hard into her eyes. "Always remember
that you're a special person, Sharon. Very special." Her
beaming smile was dazzling.
     "Five,... four,... three,... two,... one." She blinked
and sighed deeply. Gathering up her bag again, she slid back
to the half-open door but paused halfway out and looked back
at me steadily.
     "I don't care: I still love you," she said softly and
with great conviction. "I think I always will." And then she
was out and sprinting silently across the street as the car
door clicked shut.
     I could make out the upper part of Marilyn's kitchen
door over the surrounding shrubbery and I sat and watched as
it swung open and closed again. I imagined the two girls
tiptoeing upstairs, Marilyn whispering excited questions at
her friend and my little lover displaying that knowing grin
in reply. What a sweetheart she was -- and what a sweet
fuck.
     I let off the brake and coasted fifty yards past
Marilyn's house before I restarted the engine; the
headlights remained off until I'd turned the far corner. All
the way home, I thought about the evening's unbelievable
events. I hated to have to give up Sharon, but safety came
first. Relative safety, anyway. There were lots of other
hypnotic subjects out there, and I already had a couple of
interesting experimental candidates in mind.

     I awoke after 10:00 the next morning with a partial
erection. I couldn't remember my dreams but I was sure I
knew what they'd been about. I attempted experimentally to
masturbate but stopped almost immediately. My cock was as
sore as if a dump truck had run over it -- twice. When I
finally climbed out of bed, I groaned because of the
stiffness in my lower back. Sharon was probably feeling even
more wasted, despite her youthful resilience, but I knew she
didn't regret it.
     I had to wonder how she might have behaved through all
this had I simply removed her overriding inhibitions and not
added all the extra guidance. Would she still have been such
a hot little girl? It was impossible to know. My quest for
someone who could be shown to have done something under
hypnosis that they would never have done otherwise was still
incomplete. But this had certainly been a delightful
experiment!

        ***

     Fall of my senior year was interesting. Loads of work,
but interesting. All my coursework now was in psychology and
pre-grad counseling and I was starting on my senior thesis
-- the subject of which was (of course) the theoretical
aspects of hypnosis.
     My advisor was Prof. Andrea DiMucci, a very attractive
woman in a Mediterranean sort of way. About forty, I
guessed, probably under 120 pounds, perhaps five-foot-three
in her stocking feet -- which probably none of her students
had ever seen, since she favored heels of significant
height.
     The heels didn't seem to go with her dresses and suits,
which were of conservative cut though they concealed what I
estimated was a very nice, almost voluptuous figure. Her
gleaming black hair was always up in a restrictive knot atop
her head.
     Dr. DiMucci was a very knowledgeable and very
professional instructor, but that didn't keep her male
students from exchanging speculative looks when she came out
from behind her desk to pace back and forth across the front
of the classroom as she lectured.
     She didn't wear a wedding ring, either, and the
scuttlebutt was that she'd gone through a messy divorce a
few years before and simply had no interest in dating -- or
so a couple of the younger single male profs had confided.
     Dr. DiMucci was also rather conservative in her
attitude toward the therapeutic uses of hypnosis -- not that
she'd had any personal experience with putting people under,
but the dogma of whatever school of psychology she
subscribed to had a low opinion of it (so there).
     This meant that I was forced to spend several
afternoons in her office, perched on an uncomfortable wooden
chair in front of her obsessively tidy desk, trying to
explain my interest in hypnosis and the possibilities my
reading and experience had suggested -- and without giving
away my personal experiments.
     Late one Friday afternoon in September I was leaning
against the wall in the hall outside her office, waiting for
the good professor to show up. I'd received a letter from
little Sharon, telling me how much fun she'd had with her
friend Marilyn. "She put two fingers up inside me and it
really felt nice!" she'd written -- and all the I's were
dotted with tiny hearts.
     I was imagining the scene and smiling when Dr. DiMucci
arrived and murmured an apology for being late. I watched
from behind as she tried to get her key to work in the door
lock; this involved shifting her compact weight from foot to
foot and jiggling her hips just enough to keep my attention
focused. Sharon... DiMucci... Why hadn't it occurred to me
before? Would it be possible to prove the validity of my
graduation thesis by putting my advisor into a trance?

     "Professor," I began as I settled into the familiar
hard chair, "how would it be if you allowed me to perform a
little demonstration to prove my point about hypnotism?"
     She raised her eyebrows and shot me a calculating look.
I knew she had a pretty good opinion of my academic
abilities and she generally considered seriously anything I
had to say. "What did you have in mind?"
     "Well,... if I were to hypnotize you, for instance...."
     She stared at me and then broke into a musical laugh.
"Me? You think you can 'abracadabra' me into a hypnotic
state? Not a chance, sir!"
     "Then you shouldn't object if I at least attempt it,
right? If I'm wrong, then I'm the one embarrassed by
failure. You have nothing to lose, have you?"
     Her smile became more serious. "Look -- you're an
excellent student, you're very people-savvy, and I have no
doubt you'll become a first-rate psychological counselor. I
have no interest in causing you embarrassment, really."
     I took a deep breath and jumped in. "Dr. DiMucci, I
have the greatest respect for your knowledge and
abilities,... but I have to say that hypnosis is one subject
in which I'm pretty sure I have more practical experience
than you have." If you're going to hang yourself, you might
as well tie the noose good and tight, I always say.
     I could practically see the thought process spinning
around in her head. If I failed, I'd have to drop the
subject of hypnosis in favor of a topic she approved of. And
she was an experienced professional psychologist: As far as
she was concerned, there was no way she was going to be
affected by some musical hall mumbo-jumbo. And she was
genuinely sympathetic to my enthusiasm -- she just hated to
see it misdirected.
     "If I let you attempt this... experiment,... where and
when are we talking about? Here and now?"
     Well, it was getting late and the halls were quiet.
Most of the other faculty offices were dark and locked.
Prof. DiMucci seemed tired from the long week, so her
defenses were probably low. And, of course, she was
absolutely confident of her own resistance to my "powers,"
which gave me an additional edge. "Yes, here and now would
be fine, I think. Professor,... are you willing to trust me
in this? I mean, I *will* need your cooperation, whether you
buy the idea or not."
     "Sure, I promise, I'll cooperate. Besides, I'm your
senior advisor -- and that gives me a certain amount of
authority where you're concerned, and I know you're not
stupid." I wouldn't do anything I ethically shouldn't if I
ever wanted to receive *any* degree from *any* university,
was what she meant. She smiled again and I decided not to
worry about it.
     I stood and looked around the small office. There was
an unused desk lamp on a bookcase in the corner and I
retrieved it. I switched it on and turned off the overhead,
aiming the lamp off to one side to provide only a dim
background illumination.
     Moving around in front of her, I could see her pale
face highlighted by her glossy black hair. She was a much
greater challenge than the kids I had worked with; I had to
make her feel relaxed.
     "Would you mind taking off your earrings and your
wristwatch?" She complied as I contemplated the neatly
buttoned high collar of her blouse. "Umm, could you also
undo that top button? Also the buttons on your cuffs?" She
looked at me for a moment, then nodded agreeably and did as
I asked. One last thing. "And would you slip off your shoes,
please?" Off they came, no questions or complaints. I
considered asking her to take out her contact lenses --
being a little out of focus would help her concentrate on my
voice -- but I decided that would be pushing it.
     "Now, professor, just look off in that direction; don't
focus on anything in particular." I gestured toward the far
side of the dim office. "In fact, you won't think about what
you're seeing,... you'll only pay attention to my voice.
You're thinking this is all a bit silly though you're
willing to be tolerant of it. But that's not necessary,
because you're already allowing yourself to slide off into
that comfortable, warm, relaxed place in your mind where you
have nothing to worry about, nothing that has to be done
right away, no phones ringing, no student papers to read,...
just you in your favorite chair at home, lights turned down
to a comfortable level, sipping a glass of your favorite
wine--" (I making an assumption there, but not much of one,
not with a woman named "DiMucci") "-- listening to your
favorite music playing softly in the background...."
     I edged around in front of her again so I could see her
face. Her posture had dissolved and she slouched in her desk
chair, eyes half-closed, a peaceful, serene expression on
her face.
     "Professor, I imagine your friends call you 'Andrea,'
don't they?" She murmured her assent and the expression on
her face never changed. "Has anyone ever called you 'Andy'?"
     "Not since I was a little girl; my uncles used to call
me that, to tease me. When I got older, I insisted on being
called 'Andrea' because it was more grown-up." Her tone was
calm and unsurprised that I would ask such a question. The
Eagle had landed, as someone once said.

     Twenty minutes later, I was the only person in Dr.
DiMucci's adult life with permission to call her "Andy," at
least when we were alone. She would always be absolutely
candid and honest with me. And I had established a back door
and given her certain instructions. Then I told her to
forget she'd been hypnotized, but to remember what she'd
been told, and I brought her out of it.
     When she blinked and took a breath, I was again sitting
in the chair across the desk from her. She gave me a small,
sympathetic smile. "I guess it didn't work, did it? Well, I
told you it wouldn't. I'm sorry you had to find out the hard
way."
     "That's all right, Andy. But would you write out a
little statement on your pad there?" She didn't even blink
at the name. "Please write 'Hypnotism doesn't work.' And if
that's a true statement, sign your name below."
     She scooted up to the blotter and wrote out the three
words. But when her pen moved to add her signature she
paused and looked blankly at the paper. "That's odd. How the
hell do you spell 'DiMucci'...?"
     She looked up sharply and the machinery in her head
cranked up again. Carefully, she scratched out "doesn't" and
printed "DOES" above it, then signed her name: "Andy
DiMucci." As she reread what she'd written, her eyebrows
popped up into her hairline and she shook her head slowly.
"Well, I will be dipped!"
     That got a smothered laugh from me. "I beg your pardon,
professor?"
     "You did it, didn't you? You put me under! Damn -- I
don't believe this, I just don't believe you did it. No
pendulum, no drugs or anything, just your voice; you really
did it!" She leaned back in her chair and eyed me with new
respect. "Well, what can I say? You go ahead and write that
senior thesis, mister, and if it's as impressive as this
little demonstration, I'll guarantee you a very high grade."
She smiled and shook her head again. "I just realized: You
called me 'Andy,' didn't you? Let's keep that between
ourselves, shall we...?"
     "Of course, professor. I was just making my point, you
know. Oh -- one other thing..." She gave me her attention.
"Dive, Andy, dive." And she was under again.
     "Andy, did you know the guys in your classes think
you're a very attractive woman? Especially for someone twice
their age? You do know how pretty you are, don't you?"
     "I guess so.... Walter always told me how beautiful I
was, and I loved hearing him say that -- but then he treated
me like shit. How you look has nothing to do with who you
are, I found *that* out all right."
     "That's a sad thing to hear, Andy. Your students and
the younger male faculty members have a lot of respect for
you as a teacher and as a psychologist -- but they also
think you're a lovely woman. They believe it's possible to
be both. So do I. I think you should begin to change your
mind about that, don't you?"
     I rose and strolled around the office, noting the
squash racket in a worn case in one corner and the running
shoes peeking out from under one side of her desk. "You keep
in good shape physically, don't you? You get plenty of
exercise?"
     "Sure. I play tennis and squash, I jog when the
weather's nice, I swim a couple times a week. And I have an
exercycle in my bedroom that I ride while I'm watching
recorded soaps on my VCR. It's good for you, especially when
you're in the classroom most of the day."
     "Oh, I agree entirely. But regular exercise also means
you've kept your body looking young. I think you should show
off some of the results of all that exercise, don't you? I
think you should begin wearing fewer drab suits and more
flattering dresses and skirts. Stand in front of a
full-length mirror naked, Andy, and look closely at what you
see. You look very good, especially for a woman of nearly
forty, and that will give you pleasure and satisfaction. You
should share that pleasure with the men around you. You
don't have to come on to them, or strut in front of class,
or behave in an unprofessional manner -- just let people
share the pleasure of looking at you. Take it as the
compliment it is, okay?"
     "Maybe you're right.... I *am* in good shape. And
'nearly forty' isn't quite accurate, I'm afraid, though it's
nice to hear. I'm really forty-two. Yes, I should dress a
little more frilly, the way I did when I was a teenager. I
have good legs -- that's why I wear heels so often -- but
shorter skirts wouldn't hurt, either.... You're right: Why
should I give a damn about Walter?"
     I assumed Walter was her ex-husband, but she was on a
roll and I didn't want to inquire just then. "One other
thing, Andy. You have beautiful, thick, dark hair that goes
with your dark eyes. Why don't you try wearing it down? Let
it swing freely, let it bounce when you walk." Her hand
moved up to the "Gibson Girl" topknot and she got that
thoughtful look. In fact, she was so agreeable about my
suggestions, I took a bit of a chance.
     "Have you ever gone out in public without a bra, Andy?
When you were younger?"
     She chuckled sexily. "You bet I did! When I was in
college, I used to wear tee-shirts and sweaters with no bra,
and the boys noticed, too! But I haven't done that in twenty
years. You think I still could?" She seemed almost hopeful.
     "Well, take a look in your mirror. I'll bet you don't
have much sag, not with all the exercise you get. What the
hell -- take a chance, Andy!"

     Dr. DiMucci's first class on Monday morning caused
quite a stir. I took my usual seat at the window-end of the
first row and observed both the professor and her effect on
her students.
     She was turned out in a rich forest-green wool skirt
that ended four inches above the knee and she wore the
sheerest dark gray hose I'd ever seen. Silver-gray heels
showed off her lovely legs and a wide belt emphasized the
narrowness of her waist. Above that was a snugly-fitted
burgundy cashmere sweater with long, tight sleeves -- and it
was obvious from the way her bustline shifted in several
directions at once that there was nothing between her
nipples and the wool.
     She'd had her hair done and it cascaded over her neck
and curled around her ears, glossily reflecting the light
from the windows. Large silver hoops shimmered at her ears
and her lips shone a dark, luscious red. Her dark eyes were
already large and riveting but she'd even improved on that
by thickening her long lashes even further.
     More than one undergraduate sat with his mouth open,
mesmerized by Andrea DiMucci's re-invention of herself, and
even several of the girls stared in fascination and envy.
She was obviously aware of the class's electrified reaction
and basked in the attention even as she took up the day's
lecture. There was a clatter of pens and a rustle of paper
as students unfroze and hurried to get their notebooks open,
but many of them continued to steal glances at their
instructor.
     Dr. DiMucci stayed out in front of the desk for the
entire lecture period, strolling up and down, consciously
posing with one leg stretched out, and occasionally leaning
back against her desk with her back slightly arched. The
longer I watched her subtle performance, the more I began to
consider the possibilities, and the hornier I got. The other
guys in the class could fantasize, but I might be able to
fulfill my growing fantasies.
     Two days later, I stopped by Dr. DiMucci's office --
"Andy," as I now thought of her to myself -- to drop off my
revised thesis outline. She was conferring with another
student and I waited discretely for my turn, leaning against
the outside of the doorframe. When the other guy left, she
motioned me in and shut the office door behind me.
     "Did you see me in class the other day?!" she squealed
under her breath and grinned broadly. I could only grin
back. "I wasn't sure I could go through with it, but I
*loved* it! I haven't had boys look at me like that in a
long, long time. You're responsible because you made the
suggestion -- and I can't tell you how grateful I am for
that!"
     She was wearing a thin red silk blouse with a short,
straight black skirt, and I was extremely aware of her
swaying nipples beneath the fabric and the shifting of the
flat muscles in her thighs. She did a slow pirouette, arms
raised above her head. "How do you think I look? Seriously?
Not too young-ish, not trying too hard?"
     Was she kidding? "Andy, I think you look absolutely
gorgeous. You sure don't look forty-two anymore, but not too
young, either. You look like you've rediscovered yourself."
     "Maybe I have. The self I've tried to bury for too
long. Well, that's over: Andrea DiMucci's back!" She giggled
-- a sound I wasn't used to hearing from mature women, but
she did it very well.

     I sat and handed her my outline. She scanned it for a
few minutes, made a couple of notes, and then began asking
questions. *Lots* of questions. Having discovered that
hypnosis wasn't just a joke, she was suddenly and intensely
interested in everything she could learn -- and I apparently
was the only practitioner she was acquainted with at the
moment. When she asked about my previous hypnotic subjects,
however, I became cautious. And I reminded myself that I
still hadn't proved to my satisfaction that I could convince
someone to do something they were dead-set against.
Now-or-never time.
     "Professor, how would it be if I came over to your
house some evening this week? We could discuss my thesis in
more comfortable surroundings...."
     Dr. DiMucci had been relaxed and friendly -- "mentor
mode" -- but at my unexpected suggestion she shifted
instantly to cool, steely academic superiority. Her back
stiffened, her gaze narrowed, and she radiated disapproval.
     "Certainly not! That would be unproductive, not to
mention quite unprofessional; it would also be a very bad
idea personally, for both of us. In fact, you're being
rather presumptuous." Her frown made me uncomfortable. She
looked away and I scrambled to recover my wits. I hadn't
really expected such a strong reaction!
     "Dr. DiMucci..." She glanced back. "Dive, Andy, dive."
It took perhaps thirty unnerving seconds longer than the
last time, but finally she was under.
     "Andy, I sincerely apologize for making such a
suggestion; am I forgiven?" She looked at me thoughtfully,
apparently deciding to go with youthful stupidity, and
smiled slightly as she nodded. "Very well," I continued,
"since it *was* such a bad suggestion, you will now forget
completely that I ever made it, won't you?" She nodded
agreeably and, from the change in her expression, I could
practically see the incident disappear from her mind. Now, I
would need to probe a little.
     "Andy, when you were in your early 20s, say, recently
out of college,... was there some one guy you absolutely had
the hots for? Someone you practically dragged into bed, or
tried to?" I was interested in mature female lust, not
adolescent passion. "C'mon, now, Andy; you know you can tell
me absolutely anything and it won't go any farther. In fact,
you *want* to tell me, don't you? You *need* to tell me all
about the one guy you were really, uncontrollably horny
over. If there was ever such a guy. Was there?"
     I thought I already knew the answer to that one: Dr.
DiMucci had begun turning bright pink around the ears and
she seemed to be gazing hungrily at someone who wasn't in
the office with us.
     "Yes, there was someone like that -- Dr. Evans. Sam
Evans, who was in charge of us residents at the clinic. I
was twenty-four and he was thirty, I think. God, just
listening to him talk nearly made me wet my pants." She
licked her lips and squirmed a little. "It's funny, too: He
wasn't really a hunk or anything, though he was
good-looking. Only a little above average height, wore
glasses, had ordinary sandy brown hair -- not very different
from a dozen other guys I'd known and sometimes dated. But
there was something indefinable about Dr. Evans...." Andy
sighed deeply and gave me a rather shaky smile. "The very
first time we were introduced, I fell all over my tongue
because this... this big cannonball of lust hit me square
between the eyes. I wanted to rape him right there in the
office. 'Course, I didn't know yet that he was married."
     She paused, apparently replaying old memories. But I
wanted to share those memories. "Tell me what you're
thinking about, Andy. Tell me about Sam Evans. Did you have
an affair with him?"
     "An affair? No, never. But not for lack of trying.
Every other married man I've ever been physically attracted
to, I've been careful to avoid that sort of thing. I'm
simply not capable of deliberately throwing a monkey wrench
into someone's marriage. I couldn't sleep nights if I did
that, I really couldn't. But Dr. Evans was the exception. I
would have fucked him breathless in the middle of the dining
hall if that's what he'd wanted." She shrugged helplessly.
     "I met his wife a few weeks after I first met him. A
very nice woman named Cheryl, only two or three years older
than me. He obviously loved her, and vice versa. But that
wouldn't have stopped me, not with him. She was a nurse
supervisor, sometimes had to work Saturday evenings. After
about six months, Dr. Evans and I had gotten acquainted well
enough that I took a chance one of those Saturdays and
invited him to a chamber music performance at the university
-- just for the company, I said, and since his wife was tied
up with work. All a lie;... God, I wanted him! So we went
and we enjoyed the music, and that was all. I tried every
way I could think of -- subtly, of course, because I didn't
want to repel him entirely -- to let him know that I was
available. Either he didn't catch on or he was being
diplomatic. I probably should have just grabbed his cock in
the car and climbed onto his lap! I ended up going back to
my quarters in a state of sweating frustration and I
masturbated and cried for several hours...."
     I was fascinated by the good doctor's revelations. I'd
been privy to assorted adolescent female fantasies under
hypnosis but this was the first "older" woman who had
divulged such things to me. Her nipples were invitingly
stiff and elongated beneath her blouse, and from the way she
moved restlessly in her desk chair, it seemed likely she was
flexing her thighs below an increasingly damp crotch. But
there were still people about out in the hall and I couldn't
risk taking a peek. "So you were never able to satisfy your
desire for Dr. Evans?"
     "No. My residency was up in January and at the
Christmas party, I got desperate and brought my own
mistletoe." She smiled at the memory. "No kidding, I really
did. Dr. Evans was the person who really galvanized me, who
convinced me I could really *make* it in this profession; a
marvelous and inspirational teacher. And then I cornered
poor Sam in a stairwell and dangled that little green sprig
over his head. He kinda laughed -- we'd gotten to be good
friends and colleagues as well that year -- and he gave me a
friendly sort of peck on the cheek. Then I grabbed his face
and kissed him on the mouth, and... well, all that pent-up
sex boiled up and I pushed myself against him -- I think I
was moaning by then -- and he reacted,... but only for a few
seconds. God, it was so great while it lasted. I was hanging
around his neck and he finally pulled me off, almost
roughly, and whispered 'Andrea, this is not a good idea!' I
literally wanted to haul up my skirt and make him screw me
right there, standing up against the wall on the landing. I
can imagine what my face looked like. The poor man took one
look and practically flew back up the stairs to the
party...! I sat on the steps and felt miserable.
     "I was sure he'd denounce me, unprofessional conduct or
something, but he seemed to take the blame himself. He
avoided me for a couple days, and then he tried to apologize
to *me* -- as if it was him doing the coming-on. I'm ashamed
to say I let him go on thinking that; it sort of guaranteed
my own safety. And then I finished my residency -- with an
outstanding report from Dr. Evans, I might add -- and went
off to a good counseling position. I had several brief
affairs in the next year or two, and every time I was
fucking some guy, Sam Evans's face would appear in my mind
and I'd go into unbelievable orgasms. Then I'd feel guilty
about the guy who actually had his cock in me, but I
couldn't help the fantasizing. Then I met Walter and after a
few months we were married."
     I wasn't concerned with Walter right now. "Andy, if you
were to meet Dr. Evans again tomorrow, and he was divorced
and free for the taking,... how would you feel? Would you
still be interested in him? Would you still want to fuck
him? He's only about five years older than you, remember."
     Her expression went blank for a moment and then she
answered slowly and thoughtfully. "They say you can't ever
go back -- but I think I'd want to find out if he still
affected me as strongly as he did when I was younger. God,
that would be fantastic, wouldn't it?" She shivered a little
and smiled. "I could make him sorry he didn't take his
chance when he had it, back at the clinic. Not revenge--"
Her eyes sparkled. "But he'd sure regret missing that
opportunity if I fucked him good and proper now. I know a
lot more about sex than I did then. Wow...."
     It startled me a little that her "wow" sounded so much
like Sharon's, but that was just what I wanted to hear.
"Andy, during the remainder of this week, you will think
about Dr. Sam Evans at random intervals when you're awake,
and you'll dream about him when you're asleep. It won't
interfere with your teaching or driving or anything like
that, but your memories of that year in his company will
drift back at unexpected moments and you'll think of all the
things you might have done together -- especially with the
knowledge and experience you have now and the youth and
enthusiasm you had then." Her face had brightened.
     "This Friday night, you will dress very sexy indeed.
You won't wonder why you're doing it -- you simply will want
to. You won't make any dates, obviously, and you will avoid
visits by anyone -- except me. I'll knock at your door about
9:00 and you'll invite me in. It won't seem unusual or
unprofessional to you. It will just be a friendly visit. But
when you close the door behind me, Andy, and lock it, you
will look back at me again and you will see Dr. Sam Evans as
he was when you were a resident. And you will be twenty-four
again. And you will be even hornier for him than you were
originally -- but this time you'll be absolutely convinced
that he's equally aroused by you. Do you understand, Andy?"
     Her respiration had increased and she was visibly
excited. "Yes, yes, I understand. Oh, Sam...."

     I admit to being a little nervous as I walked up Andrea
DiMucci's front walk that Friday night. This wasn't like
putting the make on a high school or college girl. If I got
this one wrong, it would basically be the end of my career
before I'd even got started.
     I rang the bell and Dr. DiMucci must have been waiting
with her hand on the knob because it opened instantly. "How
nice! You know, I had a feeling you might stop by this
evening. C'mon in!" She smiled broadly and stood aside as I
entered. She was wearing a blue jersey micro-mini that
barely concealed her crotch and instead of hose, I saw
sky-blue, lace-topped thigh-highs above silver heels so high
I was amazed she could stand upright. Her white,
off-the-shoulder chiffon blouse was cropped short,
shimmering above her bare midriff. On top of everything
else, Prof. DiMucci had a very sexy navel.
     "I've looked over your thesis outline." She looked away
as she closed and latched the door, and then turned back to
me. "I believe the only area that needs work is perhaps more
source material for the historical practice section; you
need to beef that up a little, but--" She stood frozen,
staring at my face. Her pupils dilated like stereo camera
lenses and she sucked in a deep, shaky breath.
     "Dr. Evans,... you came after all. I waited and I kept
trying to get you to notice me, but you never did." Her
voice was fifteen years younger, throatier, hungrier, but
less sure of herself.
     "I noticed," I said softly. "I just couldn't do
anything about it. But Cheryl and I broke up a while back
and I can do as I please now; there's no guilt involved. I
wanted you all along, you know. I still do, Andrea."
     She blinked and moved closer. In those high, high
heels, she was only two inches shorter than me. I set my
hands carefully on her bare waist and she pressed up against
me with a long sigh. Her arms slipped around my neck and she
shifted slightly into the classic silver screen kissing
position. I accepted the invitation and lowered my mouth to
hers. At the first touch of our lips, she moaned and pressed
harder, grinding her body against me, clutching at my neck,
pushing her knee between my legs. My cock was already
climbing the inside of my chinos. This woman's touch -- even
as her younger self -- was much more practiced and assured
than I was used to and she already had me breathing hard. I
realized I was gasping and took a long, slow breath for
stability.
     "Tell me what you want, Andrea. I want to hear you say
it."
     "Are you kidding?" she purred. (I'd always thought a
woman "purring" was just a rather cliched metaphor... until
I heard Andy DiMucci doing it.) One hand unfastened itself
from my neck and glided between our bodies to stroke my cock
through my slacks.
     "I can tell you *exactly* what I want, Sam. I want you
to put your hands and your mouth on my breasts. I want to
suck your cock, cram it completely into my mouth. I want to
feel your fingers in my pussy and on my clit. I want to feel
-- oh, God! -- I want to feel your lovely cock sliding into
me, far, far in, filling me up. I want you to fuck me in
every position ever invented, slow and gentle, hard and
fast. I want thunderous orgasms until we both pass out. I
want enough of your semen in me to last me a year. And, Sam
-- I want it now!" She growled her last demand softly in my
ear.
     Jesus God. My hands were trembling. What could I do
against such insistence? Not that I had any intention of
resisting, of course. My hands moved from her hips down over
the swell of her ass and cupped her firm cheeks through her
tiny skirt. She plastered herself against my front, moving
up and down against me as she nibbled at my neck. When I
slipped my hands up under the back hem of her skirt, I was
surprised to find only smooth, warm flesh; she chuckled
throatily as I realized she was wearing only a very slender
thong. I squeezed her ass and she flexed her muscles in
response.
     It was a little astonishing -- or perhaps I was just
more naive than I realized. I'd expected an unavoidable bit
of flab here and there on Dr. DiMucci's body, no matter how
well she maintained it, but throughout that evening I never
found a square inch on her frame that might not have
belonged to someone my own age. It might have been partly
because she'd never had children -- I don't know. But with
the throttle wide open and the governor off, that steaming
body ran like Casey Jones's express train. All I had to do
was hang on.
     During the two or three seconds it took me to think
those thoughts, Andy had yanked her chiffon top off over her
head and stood half-naked, back arched and nipples extended.
My hands went to those earth-mother tits like magnets and
when I cupped them and squeezed she let her head loll back
and closed her eyes.
     I led her over to the sofa and sat with her straddling
my lap, her breasts pushing into my face, and I feasted,
sucking and nibbling one tit and then the other. Andrea
clutched at my hair and murmured "Sam, Sam,..." and I felt
no guilt at all.
     After an infinite few minutes, my own shirt was gone
and she was lying sprawled across my lap, licking and
sucking at *my* nipples. That was a new experience -- at
least they way she did it, slurping and tugging with her
teeth -- and small electrical jolts ricocheted across my
ribcage. Her miniskirt was a rolled-up band around her waist
and I kept one hand busy stroking her thighs and caressing
that smooth, silky ass. She hunched her pussy at me but I
was trying to take my time getting around to that.
     She finally abandoned my chest and nearly broke my
zipper getting my pants open and pushed down. My cock
bounced up and she grabbed it like she was piloting a Spad
XIII. Then her face was burrowing in my lap and my cock was
disappearing down her throat. I hoped I'd get it back; the
combination of enthusiasm and expertise was almost more than
I could take. The very last thing I wanted to do around this
tigress was to climax too quickly so I finally wrestled my
penis away from her clutches and more or less fought my way
to my feet.
     Andy grinned and adjusted herself on her back on the
sofa while I pushed my slacks and shorts off. I walked
around to the front of the sofa, though, staying just out of
reach. She gave me a puzzled look... until I grasped her
ankles and hauled her down the sofa toward me. She got the
idea almost immediately and draped her legs over the sofa
arm, her bare ass jutting up over the edge. When she spread
her knees, the dividing strap of the shimmering blue thong
nearly vanished between the lips of her pussy. She still
wore the sky-blue hose and the silver heels, and the image
from my point of view was much sexier than if she had been
completely naked.
     I squatted and buried my face in her crotch, licking
her labia on both sides of the crotch strap as I eased the
thong down her thighs and off her legs. Then I spread her
pussy with my fingers, her creamy skin set off by the inky
curls of her thatch, and dived in, sucking at her twitching
clit and poking my nose far down into her fragrant depths.
     Hooking my arms around her thighs, I scooted her up
even farther until her glistening cunt pointed straight up
-- the only full professor I'd ever seen in that position.
Spreading Andrea's legs wide, silver heels waving in the
air, I crouched over her crotch and resumed my feast. She
was almost sobbing and I wondered if she was capable of
tearing the sofa cushion in two behind her head.
     My cock was straining so hard it was beginning to ache,
but I still wasn't ready yet to fuck Dr. DiMucci. Instead, I
moved into a more-or-less sixty-nine position, kneeling on
the sofa behind her head. When I leaned forward, she tilted
her head back and again stuffed my penis into her eager
mouth while I went back to sucking on her clit. Her hands
roamed over my butt as I thrust down her waiting throat and
felt my balls jiggle against her nose and eyelids.
     In fact, Andy turned out to be such a talented
cocksucker that I was soon fucking her esophagus as
vigorously as I would have her cunt. Finally, she made a
kind of tossing motion with her head and I was hazily aware
that she had engulfed the entire Trinity within her lips.
Her mouth clamped down just a little and I experienced a
jerking spasm while her nails dug into my rigid ass muscles.
I was half afraid she was going to choke but she didn't
struggle to escape -- quite the opposite. And when I came a
half-second later and shot what felt like a quart of cream
down her throat, I also sucked in her clit and bit down a
little harder than I had intended.
     Andrea went as rigid as I was -- she had no way of
producing a sound but I knew she would have moaned rather
than shrieked -- and we lay like joined marble statues for
several long seconds. Then I took a deep breath and levered
myself up, and my penis and balls slithered from her mouth
as she gasped for her own breath. She lay panting while I
milked my cock and dripped sticky white threads across her
face in artistic patterns.
     "Oh, Sam," she whispered hoarsely, "that was wonderful.
God, I've wanted you for so long...." That brought me around
in a hurry. I'd nearly forgotten I was supposed to be
someone else.
     "Raise up, Andrea." She curled up out of the way so I
could sit down (before I fell down) and then snaked her way
around so her upper body was draped across my lap. Her dark
eyes gazed up at me adoringly and we both ignored the drying
semen in her lashes and eyebrows. "Andrea, tell me what it
was that happened between you and your husband. Would you
confide in me?"
     She sighed and grimaced. "I guess I need to tell
someone, don't I? And who better than you, Sam?" She shifted
to a more comfortable position and I lightly traced my
fingertips across her breasts and around her nipples. She
smiled and cuddled closer, and sighed again.
     Walter seemed like a good catch at the time," she said.
"Or maybe I was just getting desperate. God only knows why I
thought I had to 'catch' someone in the first place. But he
was really nice-looking and he flattered me with attention.
I couldn't have you, Sam, and he was available, so I took
second-best. But he wasn't even that, of course, and I lived
to regret it...." She shifted uneasily and I stroked her
hair.
     "Things went okay, I guess, for maybe a year. But
Walter was in sales, not an especially educated man. He got
annoyed because the books I read at home were generally
beyond his comprehension. He began to feel threatened by me,
unable to compete intellectually. So he got even in the
traditional, 'acceptable' ways." She laughed rather
bitterly. "He complained if supper wasn't ready when he got
home -- even though I'd been teaching all day. Or if his
laundry wasn't done. Eventually, he went from complaining to
pure ugliness. Especially when it came to sex. He demanded
that I accommodate him whenever he happened to feel horny --
like at 3:00 in the morning, with him drunk and me
exhausted. Or it might be just as I had finished getting
ready for work in the morning, so he could mess up my
clothing and makeup. Finally, he became... physically
abusive. A couple of times -- well, basically, he raped me."
Her voice was so low now I had to strain to understand her.
     "But, Andrea, you're a psychologist! Didn't you see
what was happening?"
     "Not for quite awhile, no. That sounds odd, perhaps,
but a psychologist is seldom the best person to analyze her
own problems." She gave me a quizzical look and smiled
slightly. "You know that, Sam: That's why shrinks go to
other shrinks." I reminded myself to stay in character more
carefully.
     "So? What happened? You finally just had enough, I
hope."
     "Oh, yeah.... I had more than enough -- but I was
unwilling to accept that my marriage was a failure, afraid
to admit I'd married the wrong person entirely, and for the
wrong reasons. I've never handled personal failure very
well, Sam." And she gave me another Significant Look.
     Dr. DiMucci was beginning to depress me. I'd had no
idea her marriage had been so traumatic. Moreover, I was
beginning to feel guilty for having rejected her all those
years ago -- and I wasn't even who she thought I was.
     "Andy," I said, "it's time to stop beating yourself up
about Walter. You were the victim, not the abuser; it wasn't
your fault that it happened and it's not your fault that the
marriage fell apart as a result. I know you understand that
intellectually." I remembered her acid tone when she talked
about her ex in her faculty office. "Emotionally, though, it
sounds like you're still blaming yourself. Pay attention
now, Andy: The only mistake you made was in not getting out
of a bad marriage sooner. But you're out of it now, so just
put it behind you. A 'learning experience', as they say."
     She gave a ladylike snort and patted my chest. "That's
the line I use on my students when they groan about a
research assignment. But I understand what you're saying,
Sam, and I know you're right. I have to stop being bitter
and just get my life back." She leaned her head back against
my shoulder and gave me a very searching look. "Are you
going to be part of that life, Sam...?"
     If I wasn't careful, this was going to get too
complicated. I felt sorry for my professor's unhappiness in
her marriage, and I understood (now) her desire to reclaim
the one man she had really desired in her life, but
still.... Well, there was always an escape hatch: "Dive,
Andy, dive."
     She twisted around on my lap and gave me her full
attention. I took a deep breath while I thought quickly
through what I wanted to say. This lovely naked woman who
had sucked my cock and swallowed my semen was nevertheless a
fully-tenured professor and a major factor in my life just
then. One false step and my life as I knew it was over.
     "Andrea, listen to me carefully. Your ex-husband,
Walter, is still too great an influence in your life.
Rationally, you already know you have nothing to feel guilty
about regarding Walter. Little by little, over the next year
or so, every time you think about Walter, your feelings of
guilt will give way to professional comprehension. After
awhile, Walter will no longer seem especially important in
your life, do you understand? The time you spent with him
will lose its trauma and you will come to regard your
marriage to him simply as a mistake, Andrea, a mistake
you've since corrected.
     "Your marriage did not *fail*; it ought never to have
taken place at all. You and Walter should never have married
to begin with, you understand that now, don't you? Day by
day, month by month, your natural common sense will take
over when it comes to the subject of Walter. It will be a
natural healing process -- your own training will tell you
that -- and you'll not only accept it, you'll welcome it,
won't you, Andrea? Within a year, Walter will be a fading
memory who means very little to you. You'll have difficulty
remembering his face or the sound of his voice. And you
won't care. Right?"
     She smiled in relief. "Right.... What do I care about
Walter -- the bastard...." It would take awhile, obviously,
but I was sure I could rid Prof. DiMucci of at least the
memory of her bad experiences with her ex-hubby. I wanted to
do that much for her, in exchange for being her "Sam" for
the evening. Speaking of which....
     "Andy, what sexual act have you always speculated about
but never performed? Maybe something 'kinky' that
embarrassed you or made you uneasy, but that you were still
curious about?"
     She licked her lips. "Anal sex, I think. All kinds."
     "All kinds?" (How many kinds could there be?)
     "Well,... ass-fucking, of course. I've seen that in,
ah, porno films -- you know. It looks like a real turn-on...
but it also seems unhygienic. Probably painful, too -- at
first, anyway. There's also 'rimming', which looks like it
could be exciting to have done to you,... but I don't know
if I could do it to someone else."
     This sounded promising. "You've never done any of those
things, then?"
     "Uh,... no -- not really. Sometimes, when I masturbate,
I put one finger up in, uh, up my ass. I wiggle it and it
feels really sexy, but it's kind of awkward."
     "Wal-- Your ex-husband never tried any of this with
you?"
     "Sure, he tried -- several times. But to him, anal sex
was just another way to try to degrade me, Sam. I didn't
like it because he was about as gentle as an alley cat and I
always pushed him away...." She glanced at my face
surreptitiously and a bit hopefully, I thought.
     "Do you think you'd like to try some of those things
with me, Andy? You'd trust me to do it properly and gently,
wouldn't you?"
     "Of course, Sam -- I'd always trust you." She was still
deep in her trance.
     I thought about continuing out fuckfest right there on
the sofa but screwing my professor in her own bed suddenly
seemed a lot more interesting. "Andy, what color sheets do
you like?" Her eyes lit up and a moment later I was being
led by the cock toward the back of the house. The sheets
were zebra-striped. And she began to remove those sexy heels
and blue hose, but I insisted she leave them on. Besides,
from her hip-swinging gait, I was sure she felt more wanton
in them.
     I whispered quiet encouragement to her all the while we
were arranging ourselves in another 69 on our sides. Andy
sucked lustily on the head of my revived penis and then
licked it like a lollipop. Her labia had become extended
from her arousal and I sucked the soft, damp flaps into my
mouth and teased them with my front teeth. Then I buried my
nose in her fragrant cunt and sucked hard on her rigid clit,
which was protruding like a tiny red cock. She moaned and
squirmed and began to lick my balls.
     After a few minutes I upped the ante, getting my middle
finger nice and slick in the depths of her pussy and then
rubbing it across the tight pucker of her asshole. She
shivered and when I eased my finger into the snug opening
she squeezed my cock and poked her butt out a little more.
She sucked at her lower lip and continued to moan throatily
while her rectal muscles tugged at my finger. I wiggled it
about and she jerked slightly and croaked "Gawd...!"
     She was still entranced so I began making suggestions.
"Andy, your anus is very sensitive now; it feels like it has
ten times as many nerve endings as usual, doesn't it? Now,
you'll copy everything I do until I tell you to stop, do you
understand? You won't worry about it and you'll feel
extremely sexy. You'll follow my suggestions because they'll
seem so obvious and so erotic. Start with your finger in
*my* asshole -- gently, though!"
     She did as she was instructed, working her slender
middle finger up into my ass and licking at the head of my
cock at the same time. When I wiggled my finger again, she
wiggled hers, and we both shivered.
     "I think you're ready to try rimming, Andy, but I don't
think we can both do this at the same time, so I'll go
first." I nudged her hips around and buried my face in the
cleft of her ass but it was too awkward in that position.
Finally, we untangled ourselves and I got Andy up on her
knees, her lovely bottom jutting upward at an interesting
angle. I spread her cheeks to expose the puckered brown
target, took a deep breath, and began running my tongue
round and round the ridged muscle. Andy quivered and sobbed
and made fists in the sheets. When I stabbed into her
waiting anus, she jerked and smothered a cry. A half-dozen
additional incursions and her hips were shaking, her knees
bouncing spasmodically on the bed. Without warning, I shoved
two fingers into her dripping pussy and she jerked wildly
and went rigid for a moment.
     Andy finally rolled loosely onto her back and stared at
me for a moment with glowing eyes. "I've *never* come like
that," she whispered hoarsely. "Now, get up on your knees,
Sam! I'm gonna get even...."
     It was a strange and highly vulnerable position for a
heterosexual male to find himself in, but I got up on my
knees with my ass in the air. Andy smiled and licked her
lips as she moved around behind me, out of sight.
     First, I felt her hands, fingers spread, moving lightly
over my butt. Then her fingertips traced a vertical path
across my asshole, as I had done to her. She teased the
opening a bit and I felt my rectal muscles flutter. That was
followed my her soft breasts; she breathed more rapidly as
she rubbed her erect nipples against the opening.
     Then there was a pause of a few seconds and I suddenly
became aware of a soft, warm, wet something mopping and
swabbing my anus. An exquisite sensation. Andy's increased
respiration suggested she was getting off on this, too. As
her tongue explored, her hands crept between my parted
thighs, one grasping my rigid penis and the other lightly
squeezing my balls. Her tongue finally began poking into my
asshole while she tugged my cock back between my legs. I
found myself balling up the sheet in my fists, just as she
had.
     Perhaps her tongue was longer and stronger than mine,
but she seemed able to drill much deeper than I had,... or
maybe it just *felt* deeper. She stroked my cock and
squeezed my testicles alternately and I could feel the
internal pressure building. I was pretty sure that if I
climaxed again so soon, I'd never be able to manage what I
was beginning to think of as "The Test": Fucking Dr. Andrea
DiMucci in her professorial ass.
     "Andy, whoa!" I fell on my stomach on the bed to escape
that electric tongue. "I think we're ready for the next
step. And you're really looking forward to having your ass
plowed, aren't you?" (Reinforcement of hypnotic instruction
never hurts and the crudity was calculated.) She looked a
little less certain as she nodded her head, but she
evidently was still willing.
     I got her up on her knees again and moved around behind
her. I slipped my rigid cock into her overheated pussy,
stroking in and out a few times for lubrication. Then I told
her to relax her muscles and began pressing the head of my
cock against her sphincter. She kept tensing and then self-
consciously relaxing; she was trying hard to go through with
this -- partly for herself and partly for "Sam."

     And that uneasy situation, in fact, was exactly what I
wanted. I was convinced that Prof. DiMucci, her curiosity
not withstanding, almost certainly would not submit to being
ass-fucked by anyone other than her beloved and trusted Sam.
This was, I thought, the ultimate test of my control over a
hypnotic subject. Could I convince Andy to do something she
ordinarily would be loath to do -- especially with one of
her students -- by doing an "end run" around her conscious
self? I'd never been sure about my previous subjects; I'd
always felt I'd merely loosened social and psychological
inhibitions that kept them from doing what they really
*wanted* to do. I hadn't made them go against their
fundamental grain. But my earlier subjects had all been more
or less my own age, or a good deal younger, like little
Sharon. At that age, they probably could be expected to open
themselves up to sexual adventure with very little prodding.
Dr. DiMucci was another story altogether. I realized I was
holding my breath.

     Andy whimpered and bit her lower lip as I slowly but
relentlessly eased myself into her rectum. "Think of this as
losing your *other* virginity," I said softly. "It may hurt
a little the first time but it'll feel so good afterward,
you won't mind...." (Of course, I wanted this fuck to hurt a
*little*, since I was deliberately "pushing the envelope.")
Her ass wasn't as tight as those of the very few younger
women I'd done this with, but it was tight enough, and
smooth and warm besides.
     It took several minutes, but I eventually was buried in
her completely. My balls pressed against her crotch and my
pubic hair seemed to sprout directly from her anus. "How
does it feel?" I asked.
     "Big. God, it feels huge. And very strange." She took a
shuddering breath. "Please be careful, Sam...."
     "Can you tell me what you want me to do, Andy?"
     "I... I want you to fuck me, now, Sam. Go ahead, I can
do it, I'm sure I can...."
     I withdrew a couple of inches and pushed back into her.
She groaned but held her position. My pre-ejaculate helped
moisten the passage and I increased the tempo a bit, fucking
harder and deeper. She made mewing sounds in counterpoint
but she didn't protest. I had to exert enormous self-control
to keep from coming before I was ready.
     A dozen strokes, then twenty, and I was pistoning
nearly all the way in and out of her, clutching her hips to
keep from losing my balance. She was breathing loudly
through her mouth and gulping air every few seconds. This
was the crucial moment.
     "Andy, I want you to imagine that it's not Sam fucking
your ass but one of your undergrad students. Tell me how
that makes you feel!"
     "No! God, no! I'd *never* do that, Sam! Don't ask me to
believe that!"
     "It's important, Andy -- tell me how you would react if
you knew this penis belonged to a twenty-one-year-old
student whose senior thesis you were supervising. His cock
is slamming into your asshole, Andy! What's your reaction?"
     "God, I feel so ashamed! I'm so embarrassed -- no, I'm
mortified! It's not only completely unprofessional, Sam,
it's disgusting! Why are you saying these things?" she
wailed as she tried to pull away from me.
     "No, Andy, listen to me! Dive, Andy, dive! Dive, do you
understand? It's me, Sam! That was just a little
psychological experiment, Andy. I'm sorry, and you will
forget I asked you to imagine those things, won't you?
You'll forget all about them and concentrate on the
enormously sexy sensation of feeling my penis in your
asshole. Just think about that, Andy, okay?"
     She stopped pulling away and her tears ceased. Her
breathing became heavier and she began thrusting back
against me. That was all I could stand and I geysered deep
into her. I doubted she could feel my semen but she could
certainly register my pelvis jerking and contracting, and
that set off her own orgasm.
     We ended up stacked two-deep on the bed, my cock still
buried in her ass, both of us gasping for breath. I was done
for the evening, in every sense, and now I had to make as
unobtrusive an exit as I could manage.
     "Andy," I whispered close to her ear, "I want you to
doze off now. You're exhausted and you'll sleep for a few
minutes until you hear my voice again, do you understand?"
     "Yes, Sam,... g'night...." And her eyes were closed. I
pulled out of that lovely ass without awakening her and
padded into the master bathroom to wash off my sticky cock.
Then I went downstairs and dressed, making sure I had
everything I'd come in with. I gathered up Andy's scattered
outfit from around the sofa, took it back upstairs, and laid
it out on the end of the bed. Her shoes had come off during
our last pounding encounter and I set them neatly side by
side on the shoe rack in her closet. I unrolled the blue
stockings down her sweaty legs and stuffed them in the net
washing bag in the bathroom, which already had several sets
of underwear and hose in it.
     Back at her bedside, I stood for a minute and thought
carefully about what still needed doing. Kneeling beside
her, I spoke softly in her ear again.
     "Andy, you came home very tired and rather edgy today
and you stripped down and lay on your bed for a nap. Do you
hear me, Andy?" She mumbled an affirmative. "In a few
minutes, you'll wake up, look at the clock, and realize
you've slept much longer than you intended. But that doesn't
matter, does it? You were tired and you obviously needed the
rest. But you will remember *nothing* about my being here
this evening, will you? It will all be just a wonderful,
romantic, nostalgic dream you had during your nap, do you
understand? You know better than to think Sam was really
here, don't you, Andy? You're a professional psychologist
and you recognize an unfulfilled dream fantasy when you have
one. It will amuse you and you won't feel sad about it. You
have only nice thoughts about Sam, even though you regret
you were never able to make him understand your feelings
about him. But he was never here -- no one was here this
evening. That's impossible, isn't it?
     "You will get up from your nap and go into the bathroom
and you will sit on the toilet and take a long, satisfying
shit." (I didn't want my semen oozing out into her underwear
on onto the sheets.) "Then you will take a hot, soothing
shower and that will relax your tense muscles. When you get
out of the shower, you'll feel much, much better -- in fact,
you'll feel kind of hungry. You'll put on whatever you
ordinarily wear around the house, you'll go downstairs, and
you'll fix yourself a little something to eat,... whatever
sounds good, okay?"
     "'Kay," she muttered and smacked her lips.
     "Then, you'll relax with the TV or a book or something
for an hour or two. You'll get really sleepy while you do
that and you'll decide to go to bed for good. When you come
back up here, you'll hang up the outfit that's lying on the
bed -- and you won't wonder why you got it out, will you?
You'll sleep soundly and undisturbed tonight, won't you,
Andy? Maybe you'll dream about Sam again. But you'll awake
in the morning feeling much better, very refreshed, and
you'll continue with whatever you had planned for the
weekend. Do you understand all that, Andy?"
     My sexy professor, who had done with me what she was
convinced she would never do -- and certainly not with a
student! -- rolled over on her side and sighed. "Sure,..."
she murmured under her breath.
     I left the bathroom light on and pulled the door
halfway closed so she wouldn't wake up in the dark wondering
where she was. Then I slipped quietly out of the bedroom and
down the stairs and out the front door, making sure it was
locked behind me. I hadn't even taken a souvenir polaroid.

     Ordinarily, I had complete confidence in my ability to
plant posthypnotic suggestions, but this was a very
different situation. I spent Saturday and Sunday anxiously
wondering if I had tempted the fates one time too many.
     On Monday morning, the male psych professor who taught
my first-period class passed me a sealed envelope with my
name typed on it. My stomach started to churn. I went to the
last row of the room, sat down, and took several deep
breaths before I could make myself open the flap. It read:

     "Would you please come by my office
     this afternoon at the usual time?
     There's a little matter I'd like to
     ask you about.
     Andrea DiMucci"

It was a very long day. I went through three Alka-Seltzers
and half a bottle of Pepto-Bismal.
     Dr. DiMucci's last class was over at 3:30, so at 4:00
that afternoon I tapped on her office door, wondering what
the academic equivalent of a court martial would be like.
     She opened the door personally instead of just telling
me to come in, and went behind her desk again while I felt
as wooden as the chair I sat down in.
     She cleared her throat and said, rather seriously,
"First things first. Your senior thesis outline is not only
acceptable--" (She broke into a broad smile) "--it's bloody
excellent! I have every confidence your full research and
writing will live up to it. It had better -- I expect
perfection, you know!"
     My intestines were unknotting with relief and I
discovered I'd been holding my breath. She continued,
"There's something else I'd like to discuss with you,
though. I've looked at your full transcript and it doesn't
surprise me that you will probably graduate next spring with
honors. If you don't already have plans for next year, I'd
like to offer you a Research Assistantship in this
department next fall, contingent on you beginning a master's
degree in psychological counseling. What do you think?" She
looked at me expectantly and then laughed musically and
added, "Don't you think you'd better pick up your jaw? I
think this is the first time I've ever seen you at a loss
for words, sir!"
     "Yes, ma'am! I'd like an R.A. position very much! Uh,
can I ask what brought all this on so suddenly? I mean, the
research and teaching jobs aren't usually offered until
summer, are they?"
     "Yes, that's true,... but I just have a feeling about
you. You remind me of an excellent psychologist under whom I
did my clinical residency -- about the time you were getting
out of diapers, I imagine! I had rather a special
relationship with him--"
     She stopped and looked away and I was sure I detected a
blush around her earlobes. "In any case," she went on, "he
did me a good turn and I've been thinking about him a lot
lately. I think I owe him a return favor,... by giving you
the kind of boost he gave me. Simple as that. But don't
think I won't work you till you drop, sir! I promise you,
you'll earn that measly stipend the department pays." She
smiled again and I couldn't help smiling back. It was going
to be a good year after all -- a *really* good year.

     In the event, it took me a year and a half to complete
my M.A. and another six months to pass the state exams and
be licensed. The following fall, two things happened: First,
I joined the staff of the university's student psychological
counseling center and began thinking seriously about doing
my Ph.D. after all. Second, little Sharon, recently turned
eighteen, entered the university as a freshman.
     I'd kept in touch with Sharon irregularly but
carefully. She wrote me periodic affectionate letters and
included lengthy, steamily detailed accounts of her sexual
maturation. She had even called me at school a couple of
times for advice about one thing or another -- and I'd
always had the feeling that it wasn't my advice she wanted
so much as just to hear my voice. I certainly enjoyed
listening to her. And we were careful not to let her
brother, Jeff, discover our long-distance relationship that
had previously been very close-distance indeed.
     But I hadn't actually seen Sharon for nearly three
years when she came knocking at my cubicle door in the
Counseling Center office. I looked up to see a tall,
graceful girl with long, wavy blonde hair and large violet
eyes. She was wearing tight chinos and a sleeveless knit
shirt that emphasized her long limbs and small waist, and
she was watching my face with a solemnly mischievous
expression. She was such a knockout, I actually didn't
realize who she was for several seconds. I just stared. Then
she lost it and had to smother a giggle. "You should see
your face!"
     I stood up so fast I almost knocked over my chair.
"Sharon? My god, I don't believe it! I used to think you
were the cutest thing around, and now you've gone and turned
beautiful on me...! I mean,... wow!"
     She had intended to make an impression on me, of
course, but I'm sure I exceeded her expectations. There was
a subtle shift in her expression. She glanced behind her to
make sure no one was watching and then took two quick steps
forward and flung her arms around my neck. "Oh, I've missed
being with you so much!" she breathed in my ear. "Did you
think I'd forget that evening we spent in your friend's
townhouse?"
     I hugged her tightly, both delighted to see her and
bedazzled by the radiant young woman she'd become. I think
that hug relieved her of any doubts about her re-entry into
my life because she placed her nose an inch away from mine
and licked her lips before continuing. "Do you remember what
I said just before I got out of the car at Marilyn's house?
I said I thought I'd always love you. Turns out I was right.
I don't care if you have a girlfriend or a fiancee or what:
I *do* love you. And I'm eighteen now, so we don't have to
worry about Jeff or my folks or anyone interfering, either."
She hesitated, then added, "I'm here if you want me; do
you?"

     That was six years ago. Sharon's married now and
teaching elementary school. She's also four months pregnant.
I see her every afternoon, actually,... except when she has
to stay late for a teachers' meeting, in which case *I* have
supper waiting when *she* gets home.
     The frame on my doctoral diploma is still shiny but I
have excellent prospects in the private practice I share
with Dr. DiMucci (whom Sharon and I have asked to be
godmother to our firstborn). We use hypnosis quite a lot in
dealing with the problems of troubled teenagers. Andy also
found herself a new love interest a couple years ago -- a
law professor who moved here from California -- and though
she's still resisting a second marriage, they have a close
and loving relationship.
     Funny how things work out....

                          THE END
                        (whew....!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 1994 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and
posted elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial
rights are reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~