(the first Tom LeBlanc story)

Disclaimer: All the usual caveats apply. You must be of legal age, and fond (or at least tolerant) of the topics of erotic hypnotism and male/male sexual activity, in order to be permitted to read this. It is fiction, and no resemblance to actual persons or events is intended. All characters are over eighteen (when it matters). It takes a while to set the stage. Bear with me.

The bruises around his eye were beginning to heal, but not the invisible ones on his soul. Fifteen-year-old Tommy LeBlanc felt as though his life were over, even before it had a chance to start. He waited in agony for the first sign that Jimmy had revealed his secret, that he was doomed to the hell of being a known “queer” to be ostracized and tortured by his intolerant classmates, that he would never again feel friendship or acceptance. The small midwestern farming community in which he lived presented him with no examples of any other possible future.

When Tommy had finally screwed up his courage to approach Jimmy Tatum in the first place, it had only been after years of yearning in secret. Jimmy had been his best friend since grade school. He was a beautiful boy with jet-black hair, changeable hazel eyes fringed with the thickest, darkest lashes Tommy had ever seen, and a face and body that were as fine as those of any model or actor. (Indeed, he greatly resembled one of the current teen idols but with a less extravagant haircut, as well as resembling Tommy himself although Tommy never had much of a sense of his own attractiveness). And he was a class act, never seemingly vain about his good looks, his brains, his athletic prowess, and always polite. Jimmy didn’t abuse poor effeminate Bobby Whitaker, the only openly “different” boy in town; he was civil when he couldn’t just ignore him. For Tommy it was love, practically from first sight, but fear of the possible reaction held his tongue until, at last, he could no longer contain his feelings.

But Jimmy had not reacted with his customary cool or tact to Tommy’s declaration of love. He flew into a rage, punched the boy in the eye, knocking him down (and giving him an extravagant shiner), and then stalked off, snarling over his shoulder, “Keep away from me, faggot. If you ever try to talk to me again, I’ll douse your lights but good!” Tom felt as though he could almost hear an audible crack as his heart broke. He almost didn’t make it home he was shivering so badly from sorrow and, as the thought of the probable repercussions set in, fear.

Tommy could only tell his parents that he and Jimmy had a terrible fight and were no longer friends. Fortunately they at least were willing to let it go at that, providing sympathy instead of a third degree. He settled in to wait, rigid with misery, for his world to come crashing down as soon as Jimmy told his tale.

After a few weeks, the black eye had cleared, and it had become apparent that, whether from belated kindness, or simple embarrassment, Jimmy wasn’t going to spill the beans. Tommy was finally able to let go of his paralyzing fear, but he still felt hopeless and miserable. The boy he loved hated him, and he saw no likelihood of any other desirable young man ever having any different reaction. He moped through the rest of the school year like a zombie, becoming more and more withdrawn and isolated. Indeed, young Tom might have ended up as another gay teen suicide statistic, but that summer an event completely changed the course of his young life.

The one yearly family outing that the elder LeBlancs considered sacrosanct, was their pilgrimage to the county fair. They held a good selection of blue ribbons from pickles and preserves (Mrs. LeBlanc) and champion hunting dogs (Mr. LeBlanc). Tommy tried to beg off, not wanting to socialize, and dreading the possibility of running into Jimmy (whose parents also would never miss the fair), but his folks wouldn’t hear of it.

Sure enough, they hadn’t been at the fair for more than an hour when Tommy spotted Jimmy’s unmistakable, handsome profile from across the fairgrounds. He was at an angle, and hadn’t seen Tommy and his family yet, but he and his friends were heading in their general direction. Tom excused himself immediately and ran to the special events tent. Without even looking to see what the current presentation was to be, he slapped down his money, snatched the ticket, and ran inside, wondering miserably if he could afford to stay there out of sight until it was time to go home. He sat towards the back in as dark an area as was available at that time of the afternoon. On the stage there was a row of empty chairs and a microphone stand. “Oh great,” he thought, “Not even a musical act; some kind of boring talk fest.”

The tent was beginning to fill up when, to Tommy’s consternation, Jimmy Tatum walked in with a couple of his pals. Tom shrank back into his seat, praying for invisibility, but Jimmy didn’t even glance in his direction. He made a beeline for one of the few remaining chairs towards the front, his face alight with anticipation.

Then the lights on the stage went up and a voice over the public address system announced, “Please welcome the renowned master of mental manipulation, hypnotist extraordinaire, the Great Mesmero!” A tall, dramatically tuxedoed, white-haired man swept onto the stage and took a bow.

He picked the microphone from the stand and addressed the audience. “Welcome to the entrancing, the fascinating world of hypnotism,” he said, his voice rich and arresting. “How many of you have ever seen a hypnotism show?” Only a couple of hands went up. “Well then,” he smiled, “All of you have a most intriguing new experience in store.” He then went on to explain a little bit about hypnosis, what it was, how it felt, his voice taking on a curiously soothing, rhythmic cadence, and then he asked for volunteer subjects. A number of the crowd, mostly younger people (and Jimmy among them), hopped up onto the stage to get one of the available chairs. With his ex-best friend now facing out towards him, Tommy hunkered even lower in his seat, but he couldn’t help but feel curious about what would happen next, and in spite of himself, he couldn’t resist the pleasure of looking at Jimmy.

“In a moment, I’m going to ask all of the volunteers on stage to look at my eyes, and then we will begin the process of hypnosis,” Mesmero announced, again in that mellow, calming intonation. “However, any of you who chose not to come up on stage can still have the experience if you wish. Merely select some other point on which to focus, and then listen to my voice and follow along.” Then the hypnotist began his standard induction patter.

Tommy watched, his eyes riveted on Jimmy’s handsome face, as, in accordance with Mesmero’s instructions, Jimmy took deep, slow breaths, keeping his eyes locked on the hypnotist’s, as his expression began to grow blank, as his eyes began to flutter and blink. He thought he could understand what Jimmy must be feeling, because the warmth in the tent seemed to be making him feel a little sleepy too. Tommy continued to watch, never taking his eyes off Jimmy for a second (except maybe to blink a couple of times?), as the boy’s eyelids stayed down for longer and longer periods between his less and less reliable efforts to hold them open. He scarcely even noticed how Mesmero’s voice seemed to have faded from his conscious awareness, so focused was he on what was happening to Jimmy. Tommy’s last memory was of seeing Jimmy’s eyes close and stay closed, only moments before his own eyes slammed shut and his mind plummeted into darkness.

Tommy came to himself with a start, as one would wake up from a dream of falling. The audience was laughing and applauding. Had he slept through the whole show? He shook the grogginess from his muddled head, and looked around in confusion. Jesus!! He was on the stage!!! What the hell had just happened?!! He nearly gave himself whiplash as he shot a panicked glance around. The other subjects had apparently been returned to their seats, for only he and the hypnotist remained on stage.

“Please give this extremely talented young man another round of applause,” said Mesmero. As the audience renewed their efforts, he shook Tommy’s hand, saying, “Thank you for taking part in my show. You are an exceptional trance subject, and you may take that as a compliment, for it requires a good deal of concentration and great imagination to go as deeply under hypnosis as you have gone.” Then, with a wink, he handed Tommy a shirt, Tommy’s shirt!

Tommy grabbed it, blushing furiously, realizing for the first time that he was bare to the waist. Shit! What else couldn’t he remember? He pulled the shirt back on as quickly as he could and fled from the tent.

But a few moments later on, Tommy got to thinking. He couldn’t get the image of Jimmy, eyes helplessly closing, out of his head. It was giving him a hard-on. And that annoying gap in his own memory was driving him nuts. He had to find out more about what happened! His folks were still busy in the judging venues, so he went to the nearest information booth. “Can you tell me where I could find the hypnotist, Mesmero?” he asked. “I was in his show this afternoon, and I think something went wrong with how he woke me up. I feel really strange, and I need to talk to him.” He was quickly directed to a trailer on the opposite side of the fairgrounds. (It wasn’t policy to let the fairgoers bother the stars, but the information lady was obviously afraid of a lawsuit.)

Tommy knocked on the trailer door, and Mesmero, now dressed in ordinary street clothes, opened it. “Why hello, young Tom,” he said with some surprise. “What can I do for you?”

“Please, Mr. Mesmero, I… I need… I need to know what happened while I was hypnotized,” Tommy managed to stammer. “I can’t remember anything and it’s really bothering me!”

“Didn’t your friends tell you?” the hypnotist asked smiling.

He was astonished at the bitterness of Tom’s reply. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Oh, surely you’re exaggerating,” he said, “A fine young man like you? But I can let you remember easily enough.” Mesmero touched him on the forehead, and instantly Tommy was filled with a peaceful, very odd, yet somehow familiar feeling of being both awake and yet not quite awake. The hypnotist’s voice seemed to fill his whole head. “When I count to three, you will once more be wide awake and feeling fine, and you will remember everything that happened while you were under hypnosis this afternoon. One. Two, three.”

Instantly Tommy’s world was back in its usual focus. And now he remembered every moment from the time his eyes had closed to the time Mesmero had awakened him; remembered his body walking him up onto the stage at the hypnotist’s command in spite of his wish to the contrary; remembered all the silly stunts, the sad and happy movies he’d imagined watching, the cold, the heat (which had stripped him of his shirt), and finally being stretched out like a plank between chairs. Most of all, he remembered, with a surge of lust-filled horror, dancing a slow dance with an equally hypnotized, equally shirtless Jimmy Tatum, who was under the spell-induced impression that Tommy was a beautiful girl! Oh my God! If Jimmy had his memory, Tommy was dead meat!

Hesitantly Tommy said, “That other guy… the… the one you made me dance with? Was… was he a good subject?� I mean… he wouldn’t be able to… to remember, would he? Oh hell, if he remembers he’ll kill me!”

“He was almost as deeply hypnotized as you were,” said Mesmero, “So he probably won’t recall either. But unless he’s as friendless as you claim to be, someone else will have teased him about it by now, so I’m afraid he will know. Why would he want to ‘kill’ you over a harmless bit of fun? For that matter, why would he want to kill you at all? Rather than me, I mean. After all,” he chuckled, “I’m the one who made him dance.”

Tommy thought, “Hell, I’m fucked anyway,” and for the first time told his tale, fully expecting the hypnotist to recoil in disgust. After he finished, his head hanging down in shame, the silence stretched uncomfortably. Finally Tommy couldn’t stand it. He looked back up to see what the hypnotist was making of it all. Instead of the expected censure, though, he saw an expression of almost infinite understanding and sympathy.

In a soft, compassionate voice, the hypnotist said, “I’m so sorry. I know how rough it can be, young fellow like you, small town like this. But, son, you’ve got to stop beating yourself up. You haven’t done anything wrong that I can see. You offered someone a precious gift, and it was just your bad luck that he didn’t see its value. Maybe that boy can’t love you back, but that doesn’t mean you’re not fit to love. Give yourself a break!”

Tommy tried unsuccessfully to force a reply past his constricted throat, and then, like ice breaking up on a river, suddenly, for the first time since Jimmy had hurt him so, he was crying, deep wracking sobs that pulled at the pain that had been frozen inside him for so long, and finally expelled it. The old man opened his arms and held the weeping boy, murmuring words of comfort and encouragement, until the storm finally subsided. He handed Tommy a handkerchief.

“I… I’m sorry to make such a fuss,” Tommy began as he wiped at his tear-stained face.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about. Hell, boy, sometimes you just have to cry. It’s a shame more men don’t understand that. Now you take my card. I don’t live all that far from here, and if you need to talk to somebody just give me a call.”

Tommy accepted the card, feeling an overwhelming rush of gratitude for the old man’s kindness. “Thanks, Mr. Mesmero, for everything,” he said.

“Nothing to it. And you can call me Gordon or Dr. Tanner, whichever makes you comfortable. Mesmero’s just a stage name.” He ushered Tommy out of the trailer and waved goodbye.

Tommy, with a fast-growing case of hero-worship, managed to wangle rides to the fair twice more before it closed. Both times, he went to the hypnotist’s show (the second time, once again inadvertently joining it) and then visited with him in his trailer, becoming more and more fascinated with both the man and the subject. Dr. Tanner seemed to understand how badly the boy needed a friend, and treated him like a favorite grandson, listening to him, giving him advice and support. During their last visit together, Tommy brought up what had quickly become almost a fixation for him. “Your job is so cool! How do you learn to hypnotize somebody? I mean… how could I learn to be a hypnotist?” he asked, the image of Jimmy’s helplessly closing eyes leaping unbidden into his mind, followed almost instantly by that of the shirtless, mind-fucked Jimmy slow-dancing spellbound in his arms. He quickly crossed his legs to hide his sudden erection.

The old man smiled indulgently. “It’s not really very difficult. As a matter of fact, it’s a lot easier to hypnotize than to be hypnotized (which does require certain innate abilities). The tougher part of the job is the show business part. That takes some nerve! If you’re serious about learning, then the first thing you need to do is read. There are a lot of books on the subject, and I can give you a list of the better ones. After that, the next thing you need is practice. Supervised practice,” he added as Tommy’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “There are a few aspects of hypnotism that can be dangerous (for the subject, at least), so until you really know what you’re doing, you need to have someone around who does. If you can get over to my office once or twice a month, I’ll be happy to tutor you.”

And so it was done. Over the next couple of years Tommy worked with single-minded intensity to master everything he could about “the entrancing, the fascinating world of hypnosis”. He was a natural. During his last summer before college, he even traveled the show circuit as Dr. Tanner’s assistant. And all the time, he learned…

Tom (no longer Tommy) was eighteen and a freshman in college, and, although he was still boyishly handsome (and still pretty much unaware of it), and, at his full growth, still not very tall, he otherwise bore little resemblance to the tortured adolescent he had been at fifteen. Tom’s growing expertise in hypnotism had given him a new self-confidence and purpose (not to mention popularity); the classes for his major in psychology were opening his eyes to all sorts of previously unconsidered aspects of human behavior (including his own), engendering for the first time a true sense of self-acceptance; and, best of all, he was no longer a virgin. In the larger world of the university, Tom was discovering that there were other good-looking young men who were like him, and who obviously thought Tom was just fine. He wasn’t the least bit in love with any of them, but he was enjoying them to the fullest. Sometimes he even stacked the deck in his favor with a little covert hypnosis, having discovered a Machiavellian knack for getting his way around determined young men’s resistance. Life was much improved.

Tom had come home for Christmas break. After a week of catering to his parents plans and, admittedly, enjoying the nurturing, he was beginning to feel restless, a little bored, and somewhat horny. He missed his freedom, his college fuck-buddies, his cute roommate Joel (one of the first who had fallen prey to Tom’s skills early in the semester, and who could now reliably be made to mistake Tom for his girlfriend at a word).

The other shoe finally dropped at a party on New Year’s Eve. Tom hadn’t originally planned to go, since it was to be a sort or high school reunion party (except they had only been a few months out of high school), and there was no one he was that eager to see. (Well, there was one person; Tom still carried his useless torch for Jimmy Tatum. But he wasn’t especially interested in subjecting himself to yet another round of fruitless wishing.) However, Stacie Feldman, the self-appointed social director of this particular gathering, made a point of calling him personally. Word had gotten around that he was learning to be a hypnotist, and she wanted him to entertain. Tom instantly saw the possibilities in this and allowed himself to be persuaded.

So it was that Tom found himself performing his first solo hypnotism show for his ex-classmates, and discovering in the process that he loved it. Being the center of attention was not something he’d ever really experienced before, but he was taking to it like the proverbial duck to water. All the young men and women were dressed in their sexy best, trying hard to show off their new sophistication as collegians. And they pulled it off pretty well, managing, for the most part, to look very good (and none better than Jimmy and, had Tom realized it, himself). The handful of kids who had volunteered to be hypnotized were going to make for a most appealing show, although, to the young hypnotist’s minor disappointment, but not surprise, Jimmy wasn’t among them, having elected just to watch. However, Tom wasn’t giving up yet. He still remembered his own experiences at the state fair; how he had tended to end up on stage in spite of himself. And he knew that Jimmy had been almost as good a trance subject. So, while he performed his hypnotic induction spiel to the volunteers, he made sure to stand where Jimmy was also in his line of sight. He timed every change, framed every suggestion, to take advantage of whatever reactions he noticed from his real intended victim. It was working. Jimmy, expecting to be entertained, was both attentive and completely unwary. His beautiful thick lashes were already fluttering at half-mast before he ever sensed that something unusual was happening to him, and by then, his relaxation had progressed much to far for him to muster any significant resistance. His conscious mind quickly lost the struggle to save itself from the soothing, fathomless darkness into which it was being drawn, and he helplessly yielded up his will to the irresistible voice of the hypnotist. Tom counted it as one of the greatest moments of his young life when, at his command, Jimmy, blank-faced and completely under his control, walked zombie-like to the front of the room to join the rest of the entranced subjects.

Because his audience was expecting it, Tom made his show a little risqu�. However, he was less interested in the semi-outrageous behavior he was evoking, than in making sure that every suggestion contributed to trance deepening, and most particularly to deepening the trance of his selected subject. As a result, young Jimmy was more or less the star of the show. Tom used him for a number of individual games, and never abandoned any of the group suggestions until the boy had responded as profoundly as possible. Fortunately, since Jimmy was both incredibly handsome and a great little trancer, this didn’t spoil the entertainment value of Tom’s show. If anything, it made the show.

By the end of the performance, Jimmy was the only subject left hypnotized. He was stretched, rigid as a plank, between two chair backs, sleeping peacefully. Tom had planned this carefully, so as to be able to leave a post-hypnotic trigger in place. “Jimmy,” he said, winking towards the audience, “I am going to give you two last instructions. They’re very important, and you’re going to listen and obey without question. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes,” whispered the mesmerized plank.

“Good boy. First, after you are awake, whenever you hear someone say, ‘What time is it?’ you will feel uncomfortably hot. You’ll feel so hot that you’ll have to remove one article of clothing. You won’t notice that you’re doing this, nor will you miss said piece of clothing once you’ve removed it. This will continue until you’re down to your underpants, which you won’t feel any need to remove, no matter what anyone says to you.” (There were a couple of disappointed, feminine groans at this.) “And, when you do finally notice that you have no clothes on, you won’t be angry or embarrassed. You’ll just think it’s hilarious. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Again, the sleepy, unresisting agreement.

“Very good. Second, whenever I, and only I say to you, ‘One, two, three, sleep!’, you will instantly go back into deep trance, ten times deeper even than you are now. Repeat that instruction.” As Jimmy obeyed in a hypnotized drone, Tom added in an aside to his audience, “That’s important. I need to be able to re-hypnotize him to make sure all the other suggestions are removed before I can allow him to leave.” It sounded so responsible, so likely, that no one realized how boldly he was lying.

Tom stood Jimmy upright again, relaxed his rigid body, and then woke him up, first instructing him not to remember the post-hypnotic suggestions. Jimmy, much as Tommy had done at the fair three years ago, woke with a start and stared about in confusion. As soon as he realized that he must have been hypnotized, his expression darkened. Obviously he was not best pleased to think that he’d been under Tom’s influence, even briefly, but his applauding, hooting pals made it impossible for him to do anything too ungracious, so he smiled (if a little sourly), and tried to be a good sport about it all.

It wasn’t long before Jimmy was shedding clothes. The partygoers couldn’t wait to try out his programming, and the bewildered young stud absentmindedly removed one item of clothing after another each time the fatal phrase fell on his ears. He never registered what was going on, although about the seventh time (when he was lighter by a jacket, a tie, both shoes, and both socks, and beginning to unbutton his shirt) he complained, “Why is everyone asking what time it is? It won’t be midnight for another hour!” Then he finished removing the shirt. To Tom’s delight (and to that of most of the girls present), he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt underneath, so his toned and sculptured torso was on full display. The shoulders were a little more muscular than they had been the last time Tom had seen them three years ago at Mesmero’s show, and there was a little more chest hair, the treasure trail darker and more defined, but the buttery tan skin and the succulent little nipples were just as Tom had remembered and dreamed about.

“What time is it, Jimmy?” It was like a Greek chorus from nearly every girl in the room.

“Two minutes later than the last time somebody asked,” Jimmy growled. He unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his slacks, standing naked now except for a pair of silky midnight-blue briefs that left precious little to the imagination in the way they clung lovingly to his perfect ass and formidable basket. Feminine gasps of excited appreciation ricocheted about the room, and Tom felt as though he wanted to bay like a wolf. Jimmy looked so outrageously sexy. Jimmy’s buddies, however, were laughing so hard by this time, that Jimmy couldn’t ignore it any longer. “What the hell is so damn funny, you hyenas?” he asked with asperity.

Ben Dreyer spluttered with mirth, “Dude, that’s some fashion statement you’ve got going there!” At the same time Mark Newhouse chortled, “Aren’t you a little chilly?”

Jimmy looked down at himself. “Holy shit!” he yelped, snatching up his fallen trousers. But then, as he frantically pulled them back on (to the boos of the assembled girls) and buckled his belt, he too began to giggle, then to guffaw, until he was nearly bent double with merriment. “Man, have I ever been had!” he gasped. “Tommy, that was the prank of the year… of the decade, you sneaky little…” he began to laugh again. Tom almost melted. Jimmy’s infectious grin… it was as if their dreadful rift had never happened. Almost immediately, however, a more guarded look came into Jimmy’s eyes. No, there was not going to be some eleventh hour reconciliation. Tom would be proceeding with his plan as he had first devised it.

When Jimmy had finished reassembling his clothing, Tommy approached him. “Jimmy,” he said, “Come with me for a minute, will you?” As Jimmy’s expression immediately closed down, Tom hurried on, “I need to de-program you. Otherwise, every time somebody asks you ‘What time is it?’ you’re going to start doing the strip act again. See what I mean,” he added. Jimmy looked down at the sport jacket that he had already removed once again.

“Okay,” Jimmy muttered, “But remember, after this you stay away from me. Got that? I don’t know why the hell I let myself get hypnotized in the first place.” Tom nodded, thinking, “You let yourself get hypnotized because I didn’t offer you a choice; just like I don’t intend to now,” and pointed towards the currently unoccupied side room that was being used for coats. Jimmy followed him.

As soon as they were out of earshot of any of the other partygoers, Tom said, “One, two, three, sleep!” Jimmy was instantly fast asleep on his feet, eyes staring unseeing from his vacant face, wide open to the young hypnotist’s orders. “You will hear and obey, got that?” Tom commanded in a stern voice.

“Yes, sir,” Jimmy responded helplessly. (Apparently the tone of the command had elicited some memory of another authority figure.)

Tom began to speak softly and very quickly, in order to finish before someone might interrupt. “From now on, the phrase ‘What time is it?’ won’t mean anything out of the ordinary to you when you hear other people ask it. You’ll know that they only want to know the time, and feel no need to remove your clothing. However, when you hear me say that phrase, you will instantly feel compelled to take off all of your clothes including your underwear. You’ll continue to respond to the phrase ‘one, two, three, sleep!’ whenever I say it, by returning to your trance state, always ten times deeper than before, just as you have now. It won’t matter when I say it, or what you happen to be doing at the time. Your response will always be immediate, unthinking, and unavoidable. When you leave the party tonight, you will be certain to be alone.” (Jimmy was dating a girl at his college, so he had come to the party stag, but Tom didn’t want to chance him deciding to take one of the ladies up on an offer to cheat, and after their view of Jimmy’s awesome body, there were likely to be some offers.) “You’ll drive to the bluffs” (the local lovers’ lane, sure to be deserted in mid-winter) “and you’ll park. You’ll instantly be back in deep trance, and you will wait there, feeling your trance deepen with every breath you take, until I join you and give you further orders. Nod if you understand.” Jimmy’s head bobbed up and down mechanically. “Now I’m going to snap my fingers, and you’re going to wake up, feeling fine, and then no one but me will ever be able to hypnotize you again. You’ll go straight to the bathroom, and as soon as you’re there, you’ll be convinced that was the only reason you left the others. You won’t remember anything we’ve talked about here, you won’t even remember that we have talked, but you will obey… you will obey… you will obey!” Tom paused for just a moment to admire his motionless conquest and then snapped his fingers. “Wake up.” Jimmy’s eyes suddenly came back into focus, animation returning to his handsome features. Without a glance at Tom, but not so much rudely as simply seeming to be unaware of his hypnotist’s presence beside him, he turned and walked purposefully towards the john. Tom shivered with anticipation, and then, composing himself, went back to the party.

With sardonic amusement, Tom watched Jimmy, during the remainder of the evening, adroitly fending off one tipsy girl after another. Much to his surprise, the young hypnotist found himself the target of not a few propositions as well. Apparently the ladies were almost as interested in the guy who’d stripped Adonis as they were in Adonis himself, and Tom was, even if he didn’t realize it, a very handsome boy. Fortunately, the most persistent of these was a young lady who had been one of the other subjects in the show, so Tom was able to take her aside, and, in a low voice, use her residual suggestibility to discourage her permanently without having either to insult her or to reveal his secret.

Not too long after midnight had come and gone, Jimmy made his farewells and left the party. Tom followed less than five minutes later. He drove to the bluffs and parked beside Jimmy’s waiting car. Inside the car, Jimmy sat still as stone, like a statue of a driver. His eyes were closed, dark lashes curling softly against his cheeks, his handsome face was blank and sleepy, his mouth was slack, lips slightly parted, and his almost imperceptible breaths sent little plumes of mist into the rapidly cooling interior of the car. Tom locked his own car and then got in beside Jimmy. The mesmerized boy didn’t stir in acknowledgement of his presence.

“Can you hear me, Jimmy?” Tom asked.

“Yesss…” The soft voice sounded as though it were coming from miles or years away.

“By coming here, you have given up your will to me. You have yielded any capability to resist or disobey me, regardless of what I ask. You can’t argue, even in your own mind, with anything I tell you, because you know that whatever I say is the truth, as soon as I say it. You can’t help yourself but to believe, to do, to be whatever I command. Now, tell me that you’re ready to do anything I tell you.”

“An’… thing….”

“Good boy. I’m going to touch you on the forehead, Jimmy, and when I do you’ll open your eyes. But you won’t wake up. Instead, you’ll go even deeper to sleep.” Tom brushed Jimmy’s forehead gently with his fingertips, and the boy’s eyelids slowly, slowly lifted. Nothing else changed in his demeanor. Even though his eyes were now open, it was obvious that he wasn’t registering anything they took in. “Start your car,” Tom commanded, and, as Jimmy did so, continued, “You’re going to take us for a drive, Jimmy. You’ll drive safely and well, and you’re going to drive us to the Plainview.” (The Plainview was the town’s “no-tell” motel, and Tom, knowing his parents expected him to stay out very late, had already secretly booked a room for the night in hopes of just this outcome.) Like a robot, Jimmy put the car in gear, and off they went. As they drove, Tom feasted his gaze on the flawless, frozen profile of his hypnotized new toy. His cock grew almost painfully hard in his pants. When they reached the motel, he said, “Park in front of room six and turn off the engine.” The hypnotist got out, fished the room key from his pocket, and went over to Jimmy’s side of the car. “Get out of the car, make sure you have your keys, and lock it,” he ordered. Jimmy obeyed and then came to a standstill, unable to take any further action without more instructions. “Come with me,” and Tom led him by the hand, unresisting, into the motel room.

Tom had Jimmy sit on the edge of the bed while he pulled the drapes, set out the “do not disturb” sign, and locked the door. Then he said, “What time is it, Jimmy?”

The hypnotized boy mumbled, “I don’ know,” stood, and began to pull off his clothes, moving as slowly as if under water. Tom found it all the more erotic in that Jimmy’s expressionless face betrayed absolutely no comprehension of what he was doing. The hypnotist couldn’t get out of his own clothing fast enough. He felt as though, if his cock rubbed against his underwear just one more time, he’d cum then and there. By the time they were both naked, Tom had to wait quietly for a moment before he even trusted himself to speak. Jimmy in the buff was so overwhelming to the young hypnotist that his throat tightened, near tears. The boy he had been in love with since junior high was finally his! Those strong arms would hold him; those tender lips would press on his; that gorgeous, perfect ass (even at midwinter, its creamy paleness well defined between tan lines) would yield to his passionate thrusts! When Tom had regained some control of himself, he set about casting his love spell.

“Jimmy,” he said, “I want you to close your eyes.” Down swept the thick lashes. “Imagine that you see before you a picture in a frame. It is a picture of the most sexually, romantically desirable person you can imagine – your ideal lover. See this picture very, very clearly… so clearly that you don’t miss the smallest detail. When the picture is as clear to your inner eye as it can possibly be, your right hand will rise up in the air, all by itself, and that will cause you to go even deeper into trance.” After a few moments, Jimmy’s hand drifted slowly up from his lap until it floated above his lolling head. At the same time, something else was rising too. Obviously, the hypnotized boy really liked what he was imagining.

Tom continued, “As you look at this wonderful picture, you can feel all of your desire, all of your lust, all of your need to give yourself, of your love, becoming centered in the framed image. Do you feel it?” Jimmy nodded vacantly. “Those feelings are locked in the frame. They can never be transferred from there… will never change. They compel your heart, your mind, and your body.” He paused to allow Jimmy to assimilate this. “But now, the picture itself is changing. You can’t stop loving, wanting, needing, whatever image is in that frame, but now it’s a different image. You see the new picture growing clearer and clearer… see the dark hair, the slim, masculine body, the boy’s face you know so well from childhood on, the ruler of your desire and of your will… see Tom LeBlanc… Tom LeBlanc… Tom LeBlanc!” Jimmy had turned extremely pale. His eyes darted restlessly behind his closed eyelids, and his breathing accelerated. He was obviously conflicted by these orders. But Tom was ruthless. Suggestion after suggestion, command after command, he piled one reinforcement upon another, battering away at Jimmy until he had utterly smashed any last remnants of resistance.� Tom even wondered, fleetingly, if he might have gone a little mad, but, in the grip of his own compulsion, he was almost as powerless as his hypnotized slave. He had to exorcise this demon or lose himself forever!

Finally the struggle ended. Jimmy sat vanquished, once again calmly sleeping. His hand, which had never left its position during the whole contest of wills, still floated above his conquered head, and his erection had returned.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” Tom said softly.

“I love you, Tommy,” He responded, but his defeated voice held no emotion. He might have been reading the phone book.

Tom sighed. “You do love me. Make me believe it.” Jimmy repeated his protestation, this time with more warmth, but still in an unnaturally stilted fashion; now he just sounded very hypnotized. It would have to do. The young hypnotist sat down beside him, for a moment burying his nose in Jimmy’s exposed right armpit, inhaling the heady fragrance of cologne and drying sweat from the boy’s stress reaction. “Lower your hand, open your eyes, and make love to me.”

Tom thought he had never felt anything so right as the sensation of Jimmy’s arm coming down around his shoulder. Jimmy’s eyelids opened a crack, and, from underneath those devastating eyelashes, he gazed dreamily at Tom, a shy, adoring little smile playing upon his lips. Then his embrace tightened, and he pulled the hypnotist over backwards onto the bed and began to kiss him. It might have been that Jimmy was a particularly gifted lover, or simply that Tom had never before made love with someone he had feelings for, but whatever the reason, the young hypnotist felt as though he’d never really had sex until this moment. Every touch, every caress, every change of position or pacing, all seemed so perfectly in tune with Tom’s desire that it was almost as though Jimmy were reading his thoughts, or as though he, not Jimmy, were the hypnotized one, programmed to respond with ecstasy. And when his rigid cock took possession of those creamy buns, and he was pumping away, looking down in rapture at Jimmy’s beautiful face, flushed and mindless with passion, staring up at him, it was Tom, and not his enchanted slave, who was moaning over and over, “Oh, God, I love you, Jimmy! I love you! I love you! I love y… Ai-i-i-i!!! They came as one.

Afterwards, they lay for a long time exchanging drowsy little kisses, feeling the sticky dampness of Jimmy’s cum drying between their bellies. But a wise ancient had written ‘post coitum triste’. Tom, looking at Jimmy’s beloved face, sleepy and satisfied, but with eyes that focused blankly on nothing, knew he would have to free him, not because he didn’t love Jimmy, but because he truly did. He couldn’t just keep this boy on a hypnotic string, to be reeled in whenever he felt like it. That would never be enough for him. And he could never permanently alter Jimmy’s personality. Even if it were possible (which was doubtful, from everything he’d learned so far), it would be destroying something he valued too much, and that something was what made Jimmy himself. Almost unable to make himself form the words, Tom whispered, “One, two, three, sleep.”

Tom watched through a haze of tears as Jimmy, all his hypnotic conditioning and his memory of the night’s events carefully erased, drive away from the bluffs. Then he got into his own car and pulled out. He knew that, for the rest of his life, he would be searching for the reality of what he had fabricated, ever so briefly, that night. Then, brusquely drying his eyes, he smiled a strange, bleak, rather sinister smile. “But until I find my love,” he thought to himself, “Hypnotic sex will do. It’ll do very well indeed.”