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Trances part 3
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
[If you haven't read Parts 1 & 2 of this saga, the 3rd part will make very
little sense to you!]
TRANCES -- part 3
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 hypnotism 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 something, 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 cock's awful small, but--"
"Small? Smaller than other guys' cocks 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?
* * * * *
[...Part 4 of TRANCES -- coming in November 1993!]
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