Moving Day (hypno)

They say that besides getting married, moving house is the most stressful event in anyone's life.

Well, seeing that as a gay couple, we don't believe in marriage, I guess that makes moving day the most stressful day in my life. And it was.

A little background:

My name is Drew Fremont, registered veterinarian. My partner, my love, my soul mate is Henry Willows, a regular pain at times, but the guy I've chosen to go through life with. He's handsome, well built, a semi-successful writer (he writes articles for a lot of the magazines that only a certain snobbish class of people have even heard of).

He is incredibly anal, which can be great in the bedroom, but not anywhere else. Everything has to be just so, from his hair to his shoes, from the kitchen to the garden. Remember the neat guy in the Odd Couple? Felix Unger? Well, just like him. But much, much more Pierce Brosnan looking.

Me? I'm no slob, but I'm also not so fanatical. Where I was raised, I had any 'queen' tendencies knocked out of me - literally. Henry had no such education, and he knew he was better than most people and let them know it. He was big enough and handsome enough and confident enough that most people let him get away with it.

Enter Pete, the moving man.

I had decided to move my practice to the posh Upper East side, and Henry agreed. He could write anywhere, and he thought it would be charming to live near a country club, or marina, or both. I wanted to buy a house, but he had his family money, so we built one, with a surgery attached so I would be in easy reach if he needed me. He also spent weeks shopping, and furnished the place so well that you really couldn't live there, just invite photographer's from Better Living magazines around occasionally to gasp in awe.

The day came when we were to set out from the apartment, taking all those last minutes objects and antiques he hadn't been able to live without until the last minute. We hired Pete and his van, assuming it was just a small job. It turned out to be a lot more than that.

I hadn't realised how much stuff still had to go, and I suggested we get another man in to help Peter. Henry got into a huff and insisted that one labourer was all we needed. (You see, when 'Pete' turned up in his tight, knee-torn jeans and tank top, I had commented about his buns, or biceps, or chin, or something, that immediately struck every jealous bone in Henry's body).

So Pete lugged large boxes and over-wrapped objects down four flights of stairs, under the over-critical eye of Henry. Actually, the two of them were outwardly alike, broad shouldered, handsome, solid, but Pete was down to earth and didn't suffer fools (or drama queens) lightly, while I think Henry was jealous that anyone could have such muscle tone and definition without spending an hour a day at the gym.

By lunch time, I had tuned out from the bickering. Well, actually, Pete suffered in relative silence, but anyone else but Henry could see he was ready to explode. Henry kept up a running commentary on how Pete should be careful, and avoid dropping things, and did he really have any idea of what he was holding.

By the time we left, I was thankful that Pete hadn't thrown some valuable objects d'art at Henry's head. The few moments I had alone with Pete while Henry was called away on the phone confirmed that I liked the guy, but that he was also straight. Well, it never hurts to ask, eh?

Henry and I arrived at the house first, and Pete and the van pulled up a few minutes later. I wasn't particularly looking forward to another few hours of the two glaring at each other, so I suggested we go inside for a drink first. Big mistake.

Pete didn't wipe his boots. So what, you say? Well, Henry hit the roof. He started in on a very class conscious discussion of the merits of Pete's upbringing, and Pete finally let out the anger he had been holding in all morning. As I said, they matched each other for size and macho posturing, but I knew that Pete would have used his muscles in a fight before, whereas Henry kept his muscles pretty much for show.

So I stepped in with the 'magic word'. This is where it starts getting complicated.

After I first met Henry, I could tell that our life together would be fairly short if he kept up the level of stress his perfectionism demanded, and he would end up with a series of heart attacks like his father. So, like and good lover, I doctored his food with a few good doses of a hypnotic serum I keep for controlling possibly vicious dogs, and programmed him to respond to certain key words that would automatically relax him. There were also phrases that allowed him to be more adventurous in the bedroom than his upper class dignity allowed.

This word just dropped him into the nearest chair like a sack of potatoes. He went into a deeply relaxed state. I explained the situation to Pete, and he was only too glad to be able to unload without the constant nagging of Henry. He took a beer and went out to begin the process. I told him to just dump everything in the front room, and we'd sort it out later.

While he was out lugging in the furniture and knick knacks, I looked at my semi-comatose lover, and wondered what I was going to do with the guy. If I kept him out all afternoon, he was going to wonder what happened, so I planned to leave some false memories. That's when this other idea popped into my head.

Now, my only excuse for what happened next is that I was extremely stressed out by the move, and spending all my time negotiating between the two studs. I know, it's really not a good excuse, but it's all I've got, okay?

When Pete was halfway through unloading, I went out to him with what seemed like an ordinary, everyday bottle of beer, which he gratefully received. Then he started feeling strange. Then drowsy. Then he relaxed completely and the bottle dropped from his hand. Perfect.

I ended up with two hypnotised guys on the authentic King Louis divan. Henry I had had under several times, and he was extremely responsive to my commands. Pete I had just put under, and it was going to take a little bit of processing before he was where I wanted him to be.

Okay, so Henry first.

"Henry, can you hear me?"


"Henry, we're going to play a game. You like playing my games, don't you."


"This is like some of the other games we've played, but you have to be ten times better at this one. You really want to be a good player, don't you."


"Okay, then here's how the game is played. When I wake you up, you will think you are the moving man, the man who owns the van out front. You have been hired by me to move some furniture. Do you understand?"


"You'll think of yourself as 'Hank', not Henry, and you will think and act and behave just like you've seen Pete do all day. As far as you're concerned you've always been a moving man called Hank, and this is just another job."


"When you wake up and see Pete, you will think that he's really my lover, one of the guys that hired you. His name will be Peter, and you will behave toward him just like Pete acted toward you. See, in the game, you become Pete and he becomes you. Doesn't that sound like a great game?"


"Okay, now you just sit there and think what it will be like to be Hank the moving man."

Then I started work on Pete, getting him to go further down into a trance and respond to my commands. It didn't take long, as the drug was extremely effective. (Actually, you weren't allowed to use the drug on humans, because of just this side effect. However, being a vet does have some advantages.)

"Pete, you're now deeply relaxed, and ready to obey my instructions."


"Pete, wouldn't it be nice to be a rich snob like Henry for awhile."


"You're just as good as he is - actually, you're even better, aren't you?"

"Damn right." Pete had a half smirk on his face.

"What were you going to do after you finished this job this afternoon?"

"Check into a hotel. Stay the night. Drive back to the city tomorrow."

"Anyone expecting to hear from you tonight, or tomorrow?"

"No, don't think so."

"That's okay, Pete. Now, we're going to have some fun. When I bring you out of this trance, I want you to take the place of my lover, Henry. You will think like him, talk like him, be as much like him as possible. Anything you aren't sure of, you can make up, but for all intents and purposes, you will be just like him."

"Just like him."

"That's right. We'll call you Peter, but you will remember being my lover, and you'll behave just like Henry did today. Do you understand?'

"Kind of."

"Okay, that's all right. It'll only be until tomorrow. For twenty-four hours you will be Peter the spoiled queen, and then you can go back to being your true self. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's okay, like a game."

"Yes, that's right. You'll spend twenty-four hours pretending to be my lover, and then you'll go back to being normal."


"When you see Henry, he'll be pretending to be a moving man called Hank. You'll treat him like Henry treated you today. You will really enjoy playing this game, won't you."


Then I talked to both of them. I got them to strip, which was exciting in itself, and had 'Hank' dress in Pete's jeans and tank-top. He looked great in the clothes, although he was still a bit too 'clean'. I tousled his hair a bit, pulled the jeans down a bit further, and he looked a bit more like a mover. The clothes smelled of Pete's sweat, but Hank would soon be adding his own.

Instead of just dressing Pete in Henry's discarded clothing, I sent him upstairs for a shower and a shave. I told him that during the shower he would come out of the trance, and start being 'Peter'. I sent him off, and then woke up Hank.

"Sorry, must of dozed off there. Better get back to work." And he did. It was pure pleasure watching my lover carry in boxes from the truck, and the way the torn jeans hugged his butt wasn't bad either. He never wore clothes like that normally, but they showed off the body that I only usually got to see in the bedroom.

Then Peter made his entrance.

He had made himself at home completely, and used Henry's after shave, deodorant, and was wearing one of the better Armani suits. On the way down the stairs, he started straight in on Hank, warning him to be careful of the door, the walls, the carpets - in fact everything.

I spent the rest of the afternoon watching the parade. Hank tried to work, and Peter just kept nagging him and watching his every move. I thought it was just a bit of harmless fun, and it did do wonders for my tension.

At one point, while Hank was off moving a particularly heavy armoire, Peter walked over and kissed me. It really threw me. I mean, I had told him to pretend, but he was taking the whole thing literally. And his kiss was quite a turn on. He even looked at me with intense affection, as if we truly were lovers. Okay, so I shouldn't have got hard, but watching him walk away with his butt held tight in Italian wool made my heart skip a beat or two.

The truck was almost unloaded, and I debated what to do next. I knew what I wanted, but I had to go through the whole process of listening to my conscience, pretending to agree with it, lulling it into a false sense of security, and then locking it in the deepest basement of my subconscious.

I had left Peter with the same key words as Henry, so when the job was finished, I sent them both back into trance, and sat them down again.

I convinced them both that there was no need to dislike each other so much, that they actually could be good friends. I then suggested that Peter might like to invite Hank for supper and to stay the night, so he could drive back tomorrow. When I woke them up, the animosity had gone, and Peter actually thanked Hank for the work he had done.

I suggested Hank stay to eat, and Peter backed me up with enthusiasm. He even offered to cook, I suppose because he thought that was what Henry would do, and I had my doubts about letting him near the kitchen. But Peter turned out to be an excellent cook. When I joined him in the kitchen, he was quick to give me a kiss and rub my butt, and was generally more affectionate than Henry usually was.

I brought Hank a beer, and thought that he must feel a bit underdressed for the occasion. I suggested I find him a shirt (which was a shame, 'cause the muscles looked so good) but he refused, probably because he believed that working class men always walked around in singlets. Who was I to argue.

We had a great meal, and then sat around chatting for awhile, with Peter sitting close to me, still in crisp white shirt and silk tie and his arm affectionately around my shoulders. Hank had a few more beers, and then politely excused himself. We showed him to the spare room, and asked him to join us for breakfast. We left him there, and made our way to the bedroom.

I was wondering how far Peter would take it, but his energy caught me off guard. As soon as the bedroom door closed, he was all over me, kissing and rubbing and trying to get my clothes off. I was flattered and willing, and did my best to free his own cock before he wasted any of his juice down the inside of his slacks.

It was a great session of sex, with Peter being very straightforward, and open to suggestion. He probably had no idea how two men made love, so he was doing his best to improvise. When I suggested something, he seized on it like it was a revelation. I had a ball.

When he finally fell asleep, I just lay there in his arms thinking how great it was to have sex with someone who was your lover but wasn't at the same time. Then I got up and decided to check on Hank.

I walked quietly down to his door, and gently opened it. He was lying on top of the sheets, buck naked, jerking off like mad. This made me horny as well, but then he looked over and saw me. Before he could react or do anything rash, I used the key word to put him under.

"Henry, you're still Hank now, aren't you? We're still playing the game?"


"What were you doing when I came in?"

"Jerking off."

"What were you thinking of when you were jerking off?"

"I was thinking of naked girls."

"And was it working?"

"Nah. I've been rubbing my cock for over an hour, but I still can't cum."

"That's okay. Let's change Hank a little bit. Hank likes to jerk off, but he likes it when someone watches him. Let's say that he had a brother that watched him jerk off, and then at camp this other boy would watch him while he did it."


"So now, Hank likes to jerk off when he's being watched. That's why you couldn't cum. You were trying to think of girls instead of some guy watching you."


"So when I wake you up, you will still be Hank. You will still want to jerk off. You'll notice me watching you from the doorway, and that will really turn you on. It'll make Hank really excited. You'll really put on a show for me, and all the time you'll pretend I'm not there. Okay?"


I moved over to my position just inside the door, and then gave him the cue to wake up.

What a show! Hank pretended first off that he was asleep, and then slowly moved his hand down to his groin. The other hand moved to tease his nipples, and what followed was a wonderful session of solo sex. Henry actually had an advantage over Peter, in that he'd seen enough gay porn to know exactly how to act out a voyeur session.

When he finally came all over himself, and then rolled over to go to sleep without even cleaning it off, I thought of how different Hank was to Henry. I made my way back to the main bedroom, and climbed into bed beside Peter. The seen with Hank had aroused me all over again, so I reached down and started massaging my own balls.

Peter woke up, and when he saw what I was doing he smiled, and we began another session. This time, though, it was slow and sensuous. The kind of lovemaking that flowed easily into sleep.

When I woke up in the morning, it took me a while to remember what had happened. I looked at Peter sleeping soundly beside me, and wondered how I was going to give him up. Oh, I still loved Henry, but Peter had something special that I found equally attractive.

I put on a robe and went downstairs, where Hank was already making himself some coffee. He had had a shower, but his hair looked like he'd just run his fingers through it, and he was wearing the same outfit as yesterday. I was worried that he didn't have any clean clothes, but he said he had packed an overnight case anyway, and had got it out of the van first thing. So it wasn't for a lack of razor that he hadn't shaved, but again part of Henry's idea of the working class man. Actually, in all the years we had been together, this was the first time I had seen him with anything resembling stubble. He usually woke up before me, and by the time I saw him he was already shaved.

Hank offered to get us breakfast in return for our hospitality, so he produced a stack of waffles and a mess in the kitchen. Peter came down dressed immaculately in clean shirt and grey suit. He was freshly shaved, and smelled of the fragrance I bought Henry last Christmas that he refused to use because it reminded him of his father.

Breakfast went well, but then Hank started talking about leaving. I was at a loss for what to do, so just sent them back into trance.

"Henry, did you enjoy the game of being Hank?"

"Yes." That surprised me.

"Be honest with me, Henry. Did you really enjoy it?"

"Yeah. I felt relaxed. Better than I have in ages. Didn't have to think, worry. Good." That was worth thinking about.

"Pete, did you enjoy being Peter?"

"Yes." That surprised me even more.

"Are you really telling me the truth?"


"Did you enjoy making love to a man? But I thought you were heterosexual, er, straight?"

Peter looked a bit confused for a minute, and then explained in a slow voice, as if he were just figuring it out for himself.

"Pete is straight, but Peter is gay. It just seemed more natural. Peter is gay, so he loved making love to his lover."

Well, I was confused. I had a moving man who loved being a gay socialite, and I had a lover who wanted to be working class. Go figure.

To make a long story short, this is what I decided to do:

Peter went back home as Pete, and tidied up any loose ends. Luckily, there was no close family to worry about, and he was back within a week. I then took him deep into trance and he became permanently Peter. Henry taught him how to write, and as none of our neighbours knew us, I introduced him as my new lover, Peter, who was going to take over Henry's job as journalist, as Henry had had a nervous breakdown (which everyone apparently already expected) and had retired to a remote Tibetan monastery. Peter moved into the main bedroom, and became my perfect lover.

Henry sent in his resignation, made a few odd remarks in public that made people think he was losing it, and then disappeared, only to reappear as gardener, driver and general handyman at our place. He moved into the room over the garage, and became my secret affair. He seemed perfectly happy with his new life, and Peter was with his.

Me? You better believe I'm happy. Ecstatic.