I had three more nights to complete my work with Hanson. Since it was obviously too dangerous to continue meeting him at the office, I had arranged to have him come over to my condo. Tuesday at eight o'clock sharp the doorbell rang; Scotty-boy was carrying out his hypnotic instructions to the letter. I was curious to see what explanation his mind had concocted for this unprecedented appearance at my door.

"Hi, Jerry."

"Scott! This is a surprise--what are you doing here?"

"Hope you don't mind. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to take a look at some of the graphics I'm planning to use for the Anderson presentation. You have a good eye for this kind of stuff." He was carrying a large portfolio under his arm.

"Couldn't it wait 'til tomorrow?"

"Well, you see, Production needs the roughs by Thursday morning but I won't be able to work on them tomorrow since I have that meeting with Foster so I thought . . ."

I cut him off. "How did you find out where I live?"

"I looked up your address in the phone book."

"I'm not listed."

"Oh, right, now I remember--I asked Carol to check your personnel file, and at first she said it was against company policy, but after I explained that . . ."

"Never mind, Scott. C'mon in."

I invited Hanson to make himself comfortable in the big easy chair in the living room and placed a smaller chair for myself a few feet in front of him. I still had on the suit and shirt I had worn to the office that day, but I had changed my tie. I was wearing the red-and-gold Sulka again.

When we were both seated and facing each other, I brought out my "gun." "Bang!" Hanson slumped heavily in his chair, eyes closed. We were ready to begin the night's work.

I used a "fractionation" technique--rapidly awakening and rehypnotizing my blond friend, over and over--to bring him into his deepest level of trance so far. Then I continued laying the groundwork that would eventually make the behavior I was after inevitable.

"Sleep deeply, Scott. Very, very deeply. And as you sleep deeply, I want you to open your eyes without waking up. Stay in a deep trance and open your eyes now . . . Good. Now look right here. Look at my tie . . . Good. Just keep looking at it. Don't take your eyes off it even for a second. Now I want you to think back to last night in my office. I want you to remember what happened with my tie. You can remember it all perfectly now, can't you."

Despite his trance, Hanson tensed up noticeably.

"Yes," he said.

"You remember how this tie affected you. It affected you very strongly, didn't it."

"Yes."

"Now I want you to understand something about ties, Scott. I want you to understand the significance of a man's tie. Think about it. Men all over the world wear ties, don't they."

"Yes."

"All over the world men wear ties. But why? What's the point? Ties don't do anything. They don't keep you warm. They don't keep you dry. They don't cover anything up or hold anything up or keep anything closed. They have no function at all. And yet men all over the world wear ties. Why should that be, Scott? Do you know?"

"No."

"I'll tell you. A tie is a symbol. A very powerful symbol. A tie is a symbol of . . . maleness. A man's tie is a symbol of his masculinity. Think about it. What is a tie? It's a long thing that hangs down in front. A long thing that hangs down in front. Think, Scott. Make the connection. What other long thing does a man have that hangs down in front?"

"His penis."

"Good, Scott. That's right. His penis. A tie is a symbol of a man's penis! It's a representation of a man's maleness! It's a way of showing the world that you've got a dick! A TIE STANDS FOR A DICK! SAY IT! A TIE STANDS FOR A DICK!"

"A TIE STANDS FOR A DICK!"

"That's right, Scott. A tie stands for a dick. And now I'm going to show you just how strong the connection can be between a tie and a dick. First we're both going to stand up. Go ahead, stand up now . . . That's good. Now just keep looking at my tie. And as you look at it, you notice that I'm beginning to play with it a little. I'm playing with it kind of absent-mindedly. I'm feeling it, rubbing it, stroking it. Just kind of absent-mindedly.

"And as I play with my tie, you begin to notice a funny feeling in your body. A funny feeling in your groin. Your balls are beginning to tingle a little. They're beginning to tingle. In fact, they feel pretty good. Your balls feel pretty good. And now that good feeling is moving into your cock. Your cock is starting to feel pretty good now. As I continue to play with my tie, kind of absent-mindedly, your cock just feels better and better. It feels all tingly. And it's beginning to grow. As I stroke my tie, your cock is beginning to grow! It's getting bigger, longer, harder! It keeps feeling better and better! Because every time my fingers stroke my tie, it's like fingers stroking your dick! Wonderful, magic fingers that stroke your dick so sensually, so voluptuously, you can hardly stand it, it feels so good! And you're getting a really big hard-on now! A really big boner! Your cock is hard and stiff and erect and it just keeps getting bigger and harder!! BIGGER AND HARDER! BIGGER AND HARDER THAN IT'S EVER BEEN BEFORE!! JESUS CHRIST IT FEELS GOOD!!"

Hanson's mouth had fallen open. He stood there breathing hard, eyes transfixed on my tie as I continued to play with it. I looked down at his crotch and realized I had underestimated him. An astonishing bulge was straining against the gray gabardine, forcing it forward obscenely. He looked like a cartoon caricature of a man with a giant erection in his pants. I felt a rush of excitement, a torrent of power surging through my body.

"And now as I stop, Scott, as I stop playing with my tie, your hard-on goes down. The feeling is going away. Your dick is getting soft again. It's getting soft and limp. The feeling is gone. It's all gone."

Once Hanson's crotch had returned to normal, I gave him a posthypnotic suggestion that I repeated and reinforced until I was sure it was permanently cemented into his unconscious. At any time in the future, any time at all, my playing with my tie would have precisely the same effect on him it had just had. His conscious mind wouldn't notice me doing anything special, but his unconscious would receive the signal and cause his body to respond. He would be aware of nothing but his hardening dick. He would have no idea why it was happening and no way to stop it. As his dick stiffened and grew, he would be unable to continue whatever he had been doing, but would have to give himself over completely to the incredible feelings he was experiencing.

At this point I had already laid the foundation that would enable me to achieve my primary objective. I could have stopped right there. But I wanted more. There was the matter of nailing Cindy, of course. As I pictured what I wanted to do with her and in exactly what circumstances, my own dick began to respond as Hanson's had moments before. But there was also the question of Hanson himself. I knew I could go a lot further with him; to stop now would diminish my sense of accomplishment. I also craved a definitive image that I could add to my trophy collection--something I could "take to the bank," so to speak. Besides, I had worked damn hard with Scotty-boy and deserved a little personal satisfaction for my efforts. So I decided to go all the way with him. Call me greedy.

But I had to advance carefully. To go further meant to set foot on very delicate terrain. Despite Hanson's hypnotic conditioning, a misstep now, an assault without adequate preparation, could cause his battered will to rally and rebel, allowing him to throw off the trance and seriously compromising my influence over him. Land mines were everywhere. I needed to proceed with caution.

"You can sit down again now, Scott. Just sit down and relax. That's good. Just relax and let your eyes close. Relax and sleep. Sleep very deeply. Deeper and deeper. And as you sleep, you listen carefully to my voice. My voice is crystal clear. My voice fills your mind. Every word I say penetrates your mind like a laser beam.

"Now listen very carefully. I'm going to explain some important things to you about yourself. Things you don't know. Things that are hidden deep in your unconscious mind. Things that are making you sick. Because you ARE sick, Scott. There's a terrible sickness inside of you. A sickness that's at the root of all your problems. A sickness that's the reason you get paralyzed with fear when you have to speak to a group. The reason it takes you so long to get your work done. The reason . . . things aren't the way they should be between you and Cindy."

A shadow played across Hanson's features as he attempted to shake his head from side to side. I knew I was taking a chance here, since other than the message I had seen in Cindy's eyes, I had no conclusive evidence for problems in their marriage. But when are things ever "the way they should be" between husband and wife? I suspected it wouldn't be hard to turn this into something Hanson's unconscious would accept.

"Deep, deep down you know it's true, Scott. You've known it for years. Cindy smiles and tells you she's happy. But you can see the truth in her eyes. You're not making her happy the way she deserves to be. Because of your sickness, you're not giving her what she really needs. You love her but you're failing her."

Scott looked stricken.

"There's a terrible conflict inside you, Scott. A hidden conflict that's festering, that's making you very sick. The only way for you to get better is to expose the conflict, get it out in the open, resolve it. I'm going to help you do that. I'm going to help you resolve the conflict. Because I want to help you get better. I'm your friend and I want to help you get better. You want me to help you, don't you, Scott?"

"Yes."

"And you're not afraid of facing the truth, are you?"

A slight hesitation. "No."

"Because the truth shall make you free. You've heard that before, haven't you, Scott?"

"Yes."

"And you believe it, don't you?"

"Yes."

"That's right. The truth shall make you free. So I'm going to tell you the truth, even if it's hard for your mind to accept. But you will accept it, because you know that everything I say is true. Everything I say is 100 percent true. I'm your good friend--the best friend you have--and I only tell you the truth. You believe that, don't you, Scott?"

"Yes."

"Now listen carefully. I want you to think back again to yesterday. Think back again to when you were so attracted to my tie. You can remember it very clearly. You were so attracted to that tie. You had to touch it. You had to feel it. You couldn't stop yourself. You remember the feeling you had, don't you, Scott."

"Yes."

"Yes, you do. And you also remember what I taught you about the significance of a man's tie. A tie stands for something. What does a tie stand for, Scott?"

"A dick."

"That's right. A tie stands for a dick. You had an irresistible compulsion to touch that tie, to feel that tie. And a tie stands for a dick."

Through the mask of his trance, Hanson looked confused, troubled.

"Listen closely now, Scott. I want you to think about what you're attracted to. You're attracted to girls, aren't you? You like women, isn't that right?"

Hanson seemed to relax a bit. "Yes!"

"Of course you do. And that comes from the basic nature of your sexuality. The basic component of your sexuality. Your heterosexual component. Your heterosexual component is primary, because you're a heterosexual man. That's what it means to be heterosexual--your heterosexual component is primary. You are heterosexual, aren't you, Scott?"

"Yes!"

"Of course you are. And because of that, the feelings of attraction that you're most aware of are heterosexual feelings, feelings for women. That's true for every heterosexual man, Scott. It's true for me and it's true for you. But Scott, I'm going to tell you something you don't know. Every man--EVERY MAN IN THE WORLD!--has two components to his sexuality, a primary component and a secondary component. For you and me, the primary component is heterosexual. But the other component is still there. It's still important. And at some point in your life it has to be acknowledged and dealt with. If you deny it, if you pretend it's not there, it creates a conflict. It festers inside of you and makes you sick."

Hanson's unconscious seemed to be swallowing this crap without gagging. There was tension and apprehension on his face, but not panic.

"Now listen carefully. All men need to deal with this other component of their sexuality. Most men confront it at an early age. They act on it. They get it out of their system. And then they can get on with their true nature, their true sexuality, without conflict.

"But you never did that, Scott. You never confronted the other side of your sexuality. You never acted on your secondary desires. Think, Scott. You've never in your life done anything sexual with another man, have you?"

I was confident of the answer. Hanson didn't have a queer bone in his body.

"No."

"Not even when you were a boy? Not even in your teens?"

"No."

"That's right, Scott. You never gave yourself the chance. You never allowed yourself to act on your natural urges so you could eventually put them aside and assume the role of a normal heterosexual. You never touched another man's cock and you never let another man touch yours. You've kept your same-sex urges suppressed, and it's made you sick.

"Now you finally understand, Scott. Now you understand the real reason you were so attracted to my tie. Because now you understand that a tie is a symbol. A man's tie is a symbol of what, Scott?"

"His dick."

"That's right. And so my tie is a symbol of my dick. My tie stands for my dick. And when you were so attracted to my tie, your unconscious was really sending you a message. A message that you didn't want to hear, a message that had to be disguised. But now you can finally accept that message. You can accept it calmly, and you can even accept it gratefully. Because you now understand that accepting this message is the first step on your road to wellness! The first step to your salvation! You do want to get better, don't you, Scott."

"Yes."

"And because you know that the first step toward wellness is to acknowledge your deep, hidden feelings, you can accept the message of your unconscious calmly and gratefully. When you wanted to touch my tie, what did you REALLY want to touch, Scott? What did you REALLY want to hold and feel and caress, Scott?"

No answer.

"Say it, Scott! You want to get well, don't you? Get it out of your system! SAY IT! SAY WHAT YOU REALLY WANTED TO DO! WHAT DID YOU REALLY WANT TO FEEL, SCOTT?"

"Your dick."

"That's right, Scott. My dick! You really wanted to feel my dick, hold my dick, caress my dick! And the feeling is still there, Scott! It's not going away! It's getting stronger and stronger! You can feel it, Scott! And you have to acknowledge it! You have to say it! SAY IT, SCOTT! SAY IT LOUD! WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?"

"I WANT TO FEEL YOUR DICK!!!"

I paused for five seconds, then continued calmly. "That's right, Scott, you want to feel my dick. And by admitting that to yourself, you've taken the first step towards getting well. But it's only the first step. Only the first step.

"Now in just a moment I'm going to wake you up. And as usual, you won't remember anything at all. You won't remember being hypnotized. You won't remember what we talked about tonight. But your unconscious mind will remember. It will remember everything. It will keep going over all the things you learned tonight, over and over. And the truth of what you've learned will become clearer and clearer to your unconscious mind. Clearer and clearer. And it will be clearer and clearer that to get well, you have to take the next step. The next big step. And your unconscious mind will think and think about that next step. Think and think. Think and think."

I gave Hanson several more posthypnotic suggestions. Then one-two-three-snap and he was again asking me to take a look at his graphics. I complied perfunctorily, but my mind was elsewhere. I thought about how far I had brought Hanson in two days and how well I had prepared the road he was yet to travel. I smiled to myself, enjoying the sense of accomplishment that comes from knowing you've done good work.

The next day in the office, Hanson was uncharacteristically edgy and irritable. He couldn't seem to concentrate on his work, but kept leaving his desk and pacing the halls. I overheard Cheng say to Morris, "Jesus, Scott sure is wound up about his presentation."

I had decided that I could afford to give Hanson the night off. When I left the office around five to head to my athletic club, he was still pacing the halls. I got to the club a little before five thirty, changed quickly, and hit the weight room. Wednesdays I usually do chest, shoulders, and back only, but for some reason I was overflowing with energy. So I wound up doing my entire body. It was a workout to remember. I was a madman. I zoomed through the doubled routine using super-heavy weights and set new personal bests in four exercises. A young semi-pro bodybuilder I occasionally train with smiled conspiratorially as he passed by and asked under his breath, "Hey, Jerry, what the fuck are you on tonight?" "Nothing at all, Jim, I swear to God," I answered with a matching smile. "All it takes is clean living."

Hanson was even worse on Thursday. The only time he seemed to calm down was when he came into my office in the early afternoon. As soon as he closed the door, he became himself again. In fact he was perfectly relaxed, and even more charming and affable than usual.

"You know, Jerry," he began, "Cindy and I were talking last night, and I mentioned that you and I have become really good friends and that I'd like to get to know you better outside the office. Well, turns out Cindy was thinking the same thing--she'd like to get to know you better too! So I said, why don't we invite Jerry over for dinner, say Saturday night, and Cindy thought it was a great idea. Now I know it's really short notice and you're probably busy, but if you could make it, we'd love to have you. It'll just be the three of us, and we'll all have a chance to really get to know each other."

You'd better believe it, I thought.

"Oh, and Cindy makes a pot roast that's to die for! What do you say?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm not busy Saturday night and I'd love to come. Thanks a lot. Can I bring anything?"

"Just yourself." He gave me elaborate directions to his place and set the time at eight o'clock. As he left my office, I could see him revert to the bundle of nerves he had been for the past two days.

I had decided to hold our last "therapy" session in my office. For what I had in mind, the office surroundings suited my purpose better than my condo. It was a risk, but I was in a risk-taking mood.

My plan was simply to stick around until everyone had left but Hanson, who I knew would not be leaving. By seven o'clock there were only three or four additional people still there. I ate a turkey sandwich at my desk and downed a protein drink.

Eight o'clock. Only Cheng's assistant Bernice, a pretty brunette in her early 30s, was still hanging around. Eight thirty. Bernice was still at her desk. I decided I'd better check things out.

"Hey, Bernice, how's it goin'?" I asked as I poked my head into her paper-strewn cubicle.

"Jerry Corsaro, you still here? At eight thirty? Next thing I know, pigs'll be flying!" Bernice and I had a playful, bantering relationship. I liked her spirit as much as her looks. No question, Bernice was a babe. But right now I wanted her gone.

"I've turned over a new leaf. I'm trying to follow your example," I said with a grin. "I see you're keeping busy as usual."

"Busy isn't the word. I'm so backed up it's a joke. Victor's been screaming at me to get my backlog cleaned up, and he's right. I've got to make a dent in this paperwork tonight."

"How long do you think you'll be?"

"If I get out of here by midnight I'll be lucky."

Shit! This was trouble. I had taken a gamble--a reckless gamble, it now seemed--and lost. I had to think fast.

I sat on the edge of Bernice's desk and looked at her with concern. "Say, Bernice, I hope you don't mind my asking, but are you feeling OK?"

"Aside from being tired as hell, yeah, I'm OK. Why?"

"Maybe that's it. Maybe you're just tired. Forget it."

"Why? Do I look funny?"

"Tell you the truth, you don't look well. You don't look well at all. I'm saying this as a friend, Bernice. I've never seen you look this way. I'm concerned."

"Hey, Jerry, c'mon, you're scaring me!" Her playfulness was gone. "I told you, I'm just tired, that's all!"

"I suppose you're right. You're just very, very tired. I can see it in your eyes. Your eyes look like you can hardly keep them open. What time were you here this morning?"

"Eight o'clock, as usual."

"Eight o'clock, as usual. So you've been working over twelve hours. Bernice, I'm saying this as a friend . . . because I'm concerned. I'm concerned that . . . you're endangering your health. No wonder you look the way you do! No wonder you're so tired! No wonder . . . you can't keep your eyes open. I can see that . . . your eyes are beginning to close. Listen to me. You've got to . . . get some rest. You've got to . . . close those tired eyes. Why don't you . . . close those tired eyes . . . and take a little nap. Your eyes are so tired and heavy . . . why don't you . . . close your eyes now . . . and take a little nap. It'll be so refreshing. You're so tired . . . so tired . . . and your eyes want to close so badly . . . just let them close now . . . and take a little nap. You'll feel so much better. Your eyes are already beginning to close. They're already beginning to close. Closing more and more. Just let them close all the way. All the way down. Let those heavy, tired eyes close down all the way now. All the way. And just sleep. And just sleep. And just sleep."

I watched Bernice's progress intently, as her puzzled expression evened out and smoothed over, as her mascara-heavy eyelids slowly closed down over her eyes. As she drifted off, I felt my cock and balls react to her developing trance; just for a moment, I considered making the most of the situation. But I quickly rejected the idea. I had other things to do.

"And now you're asleep, Bernice," I whispered. "Deeply asleep. And it feels so good to sleep. It feels so refreshing. And you need your sleep so badly. But you know that this isn't the place to sleep. You should be home in bed. Home sleeping in your own bed. Because you need your sleep so badly. You need your sleep to stay healthy. You need your sleep so that you won't get sick. If you get sick, you can't be of any use to Victor, can you? No, you have to take care of your health. Your work can wait until tomorrow, when you'll be rested and refreshed after a good night's sleep. And that's what you need so badly, a good night's sleep. And you need it as soon as possible. So you'll just sleep here a few minutes longer. You'll wake up in just a few minutes. And when you do, maybe you'll remember this little dream about sleep and maybe you won't. But you'll know that you're still very, very tired, and that you need a good night's sleep to stay healthy. And you'll go home and go to sleep. You'll go home and go to sleep. Go home and go to sleep."

I left her there and returned to my office. When I checked on her fifteen minutes later, she was gone. She hadn't even said good-bye.

I went back to my office, closed the door, and changed my tie. I was finally ready for Hanson.

"Hey, Scott," I buzzed, "could you come in here a minute, please? There's something I want to show you."

He was at my door almost immediately, with a "What's up, Jerry?"

"C'mere for a sec. I want you to see this."

As he came closer, I got out my "gun" and pointed it at him. For ten or fifteen seconds I savored the quizzical, disoriented expression on his face as I played with him, aiming my index finger elaborately but delaying the actual "shooting." Finally I relented and said the magic word. His eyes snapped shut.

"Deeply asleep, Scott. Deeper and deeper. Now listen carefully. This is an important night for you. In fact it's the most important night of your life. Do you know why?"

"No."

"Tonight, Scott, you're finally going to come to terms with your problem. The problem that's been eating away at you for so long. The problem that's been messing up your life. Tonight I'm going to help you overcome that problem. You need help so badly, Scott, and I'm going to help you. You want me to help you, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And you trust me completely, more completely than you've ever trusted anyone, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And you know, don't you, that whatever I do--or have you do--is for your own good."

"Yes."

"Fine, Scott. Now open your eyes but remain deeply asleep. . . . Good. Now walk with me over to the mirror."

He followed me to the full-length three-way mirror I had installed opposite the window. We stood side by side in front of it, looking at ourselves.

The contrast was profound. There I was, the sharpest-looking exec in the entire city. I had on my new dark-gray double-breasted Italian pinstripe, Sea Island tab-collar shirt that was still crisp and blindingly white even at the end of the day, gold-and-onyx cufflinks, black leather braces, white linen hank in a double peak--and of course my red-and-gold Sulka. And there was Scott: no jacket, rumpled shirt, rolled-up sleeves, cheap-looking tie hanging loosely from his open collar. He was a mess.

"Look into the mirror, Scott. You can see both of us there, can't you?"

"Yes."

"Now I have a lot to teach you tonight, Scott, a lot to teach you about things you don't understand. The first lesson is one you very much need to learn--the importance of appearance. The importance of appearance, Scott. Look at the two of us there in the mirror. Go back and forth from me to you, from you to me. Compare, Scott. Compare the two of us.

"You'll notice that one of us is the image of the perfect executive, Scott. One of us looks the part. Perfectly dressed. Perfectly groomed. Perfectly confident. An image that brings credit to the firm. Who would that be, Scott?"

"You."

"That's right, me. And in contrast, one of us is totally disheveled. One of us is dressed not only cheaply but also sloppily. One of us doesn't look like he should be working in a prestigious office. One of us looks like a slob. Who would that be, Scott?"

"Me."

"That's right, you. Look at yourself. You're a disgrace! You're bringing discredit to this company! You're an executive, dammit--look like one! Roll down your sleeves! Tuck in your shirt! Straighten your tie!"

By this time I was shouting at him. In considerable agitation he tried to fix himself.

"Now go get your jacket and put it on. Hop to it, boy! You have 20 seconds."

He flew out of my office and quickly came running back in wearing his suitcoat, a single-breasted navy that looked fairly decent on him. Navy is a good color for blonds.

"That's better, Scott. That's a start. Now you're at least beginning to look like an executive."

Throwing him this bone made his face light up. If he had had a tail it would have been wagging like crazy.

"Of course there isn't much you can do right now about your wardrobe. Take your tie, for example. Look down at your tie and then look over at mine. Examine the two of them carefully. There's no comparison, is there, Scott?"

"No."

"Keep looking at my tie, Scott. Do you like it?"

I had begun to play with my tie absent-mindedly--feeling it, rubbing it, stroking it. I looked down at Scott's crotch. Boing! Just as if a spring had released inside his pants, his trousers were tented hugely. Damn, this guy was good!

"Yes, I like it."

"That's right, Scott. You like it a lot. And the more I play with it like this, the more you like it. You have a big hard-on now, don't you, Scott?"

His jaw had gone slack and his eyes were half closed.

"Yes," he said, almost inaudibly.

Partly as a result of watching Scott respond and partly in anticipation of what was to come, my own crotch was now bulging as well.

"And the more I play with my tie, the bigger and harder you get. Bigger and harder, Scott. Bigger and harder. So big, so hard, that it's really uncomfortable now, isn't it. Your dick is straining against your shorts, against your pants, and it's really uncomfortable, isn't it, Scott."

"Yes!"

"There's only one thing to do. You've gotta take out your dick, Scott. Take it out. Unzip your fly and take out your dick. Leave your belt tightened, just unzip and take out your dick. Go ahead. You'll feel much better."

He hesitated.

"Take out your Dick, Scott! It's perfectly OK--there's no one here but the two of us. Unzip and take it out! Here, I'll do the same."

Watching me unzip my own fly neutralized the conflict in his mind, and he quickly followed suit. We both struggled awkwardly for several moments as we worked to free our hard-ons from the confines of our underwear and trousers. Soon, though, our cocks were out in the open, standing at attention.

Christ! The guy was hung like a fucking horse! My heart sank as I considered the possibility that he might be bigger than I was. But a careful visual comparison gave me the edge. While he was my equal in thickness--which is to say damn thick!--I bested him in the length department by about half an inch. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's good, Scott. You feel much better now, don't you."

"Yes."

"Of course you do. Now just continue to look at my tie. Keep on looking at my tie as I play with it. It's very stimulating to see me play with my tie, isn't it, Scott. Your cock feels better and better, doesn't it."

His huge hard-on was pointing to the ceiling. As I continued to play with my tie, Scott's cock made little involuntary jerking motions. His jaw had now fallen completely open, and he appeared to be in a kind of stupor.

"Yes. Oh yes."

"Now listen carefully, Scott. I've already explained to you why you're feeling this way. By now you understand perfectly why my tie is having this affect on you. Repeat what you've learned, Scott. What does a man's tie stand for? What does it stand for?"

"It stands for his dick."

"That's right. A man's tie stands for his dick. And when you're attracted to and stimulated by my tie, when my tie makes your dick hard as a rock, what are you really attracted to? What are you really stimulated by?"

"Your dick."

"Right again. My dick. And now you understand, Scott. You finally understand what you need. What you need so badly. What you need to make you well. What is it, Scott? What is it? Say it out loud. Tell me what you need."

The foundation work had paid off. To Scott's addled brain, all of this bullshit now had the force of irrefutable logic.

"I need your dick."

"That's right, Scott. You need my dick. You need it very badly. And because you're my friend, Scott, because I like you and want the best for you, I'm gonna let you have it. You're gonna have my cock, and it's gonna start you on the road to wellness.

"Now look down at it. Look down at my big dick, Scott. It's one helluva dick, isn't it. One helluva cock. Much bigger and thicker and harder than yours, isn't it, Scott. A real man's cock, isn't it, Scott? And as I stroke it, it's affecting you like crazy, isn't it, Scott. In fact it's affecting you ten times as much as my tie ever did! As I stroke my dick, it feels like a thousand magic mouths are sucking you off, a thousand hot wet slippery tongues are caressing your hard-on, running up and down the length of the shaft, licking the head. Man, it feels fucking incredible!!"

My friend in the navy suit was by now totally zoned out on the waves of pleasure rolling over him. Shifting my gaze from his face to his dick, I could see little drops of clear fluid oozing out of the tip. It was time to keep this boy from blowing his load before I wanted him to.

"You feel so good watching me stroke my dick that you're close to cumming, Scott. But you won't cum. Not yet. You can't cum unless I give you permission. You'll get closer and closer, closer and closer, but you won't cum until I give you permission. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now think back to the first time you noticed my tie. The first time you commented on my tie. You remember, Scott. What did you want to do?"

"I wanted to touch it."

"Right. You wanted to touch it. And as you now understand, that meant that you really wanted to touch my dick. You needed to touch my dick. Just as you do now. Except that now the real thing is right here in front of you. Right here, Scott. And your need is very great. The hidden need you've never acknowledged. The repressed need you've never understood. The overwhelming need you can finally act on to make yourself whole! Go ahead, boy! Do it, boy! Grab my cock!"

Scott obeyed eagerly. As he reached out and encircled my hard-on with the fingers of his right hand, I felt myself jerk involuntarily in his firm grip.

"Good boy. Now move your fist up and down. That big dick of mine feels awesome in your hand, doesn't it. Keep moving it up and down. That's it. And as you're doing that to my dick, it's just like you're doing it to your own. It's making you even harder, isn't it, Scott! Jerking off my big dick is making yours even harder!"

Sure enough, his erection was even more vertical than before. And, I have to admit, so was mine. But this was just the opener. The main act was about to commence.

"That's good, Scott. Very good. You've finally felt another man's cock, and you've allowed yourself to enjoy it, to receive pleasure from it. It's a big step, Scott, an important step. But it's only a first step. It's not enough. Deep down you know it's not enough. There's something else. Something else even more important. Without it you'll never exorcise your demons! Without it you're still lost! Without it you're still a fucked-up mess!! You know what it is, Scott!! You know what you have to do!!"

He had released his grip on my dick and was looking at me with bewildered apprehension.

"Suck my cock, Scott! Get down on your knees and take my cock into your mouth! Blow me, Scott!!"

He shook his head violently from side to side, apprehension having turned to terror. I grudgingly gave Scotty-boy a couple of points in my mental ledger for this last rallying of his will, this valiant attempt to ward off a mortal blow to his masculinity. But there was no question about the outcome. I lowered my voice and spoke slowly and deliberately.

"Listen carefully, Scott. I know you want very much to get well. And you can. But this is the only way. The only way to cure your sickness, to become the man you want to be. Your unconscious mind needs it. Wants it. Craves it. It's the only way.

"But you know, Scott, whether you understand that or not is irrelevant. It's irrelevant because you have no choice. You're going to suck my cock because you have no choice. You're so deeply hypnotized that you have no choice. Just as your arm floated up that first time; just as you couldn't lift that silk square though you almost busted a gut trying; just as you had to touch my tie--you have no choice. No choice at all, Scott."

Now I raised my voice and sped up my delivery.

"Look! Your knees are already starting to bend! You're starting to sink down onto your knees! Lower and lower, Scott! Lower and lower! You can't stand up on your own two feet! You're sinking down, kneeling before me! There you go, Scott! There you go! Lower and lower!"

As his knees began to bend, I looked at his face. The terror was gone. In its place were resignation, surrender--and almost a kind of peace.

"That's it, Scott. Down on your knees. That's a good boy. Very good. Now bring your mouth up to my dick. That's right, boy. That's good, boy. Now open your mouth and get ready to suck my cock! Get ready to receive my big dick into your throat! Get ready to give me the best blowjob I've ever had!! DO IT NOW, SCOTT!!!"

This was the moment I had been waiting for. I was standing sideways to the mirror, Scott on his knees in front of me. As he took my cock into his mouth, I looked into the mirror rather than down at him so that I could see the whole tableau. The background of the composition included my floor-to-ceiling window and, beyond that, the glittering lights of the city. It occurred to me that anyone in the next building with a pair of binoculars could have observed the scene as well. For some reason I found that very exciting.

What was not exciting was Scott's fellatio technique. Fuck, this jerk was the worst cocksucker in the world! OK, it was his first time, but there was still no excuse for such ineptitude! All he could manage to do was move his lips up and down on the head of my dick, every so often letting me feel his teeth. Cocksucking lessons were in order, and pronto.

I extricated myself from his mouth and tilted his head up.

"No, Scott, that's not it! That's not how to suck a big dick! You've gotta caress it with your cheeks and tongue! You've gotta protect it from your teeth! And you've gotta take it deep, Scott! Deep into your throat! Way down deep into your throat! You've gotta loosen your throat muscles, Scott! Loosen them up so you can take my dick all the way! All the way, Scott!"

As I said this I slapped his face rapidly and continually with alternating hands, throwing his head from side to side--right, left, right, left. His pale cheeks reddened satisfyingly. Then I reached down, grabbed his neck, and kneaded his throat muscles like a baker kneading dough.

"Loosen up, Scott! Loosen up! Now get ready to be a real cocksucker. Get ready to take my big dick all the way down your throat. All the way down. Your throat is a sheathe for my big cock. A nice warm wet slippery sheathe for my big cock. You're gonna take my big cock all the way down, like an expert cocksucker. It'll feel so good, you won't even gag. And the deeper my big cock goes into your throat, the deeper you go into hypnosis. And the deeper you go into hypnosis, the harder your own cock gets. Now do it, cocksucker!! Take it all!! SWALLOW MY DICK, COCKSUCKER!!!"

I grabbed the back of his head with both hands and forced him down onto my straining hard-on. This time my cock slid all the way in. The guy was a quick study.

As Scott swallowed my bone, I looked down with satisfaction at the bulge I was making in his throat. I could just about see the outline of my dick each time I thrust forward as it bowed his throat out rhythmically. Watching that pulsation got me even hotter.

Scotty here was finally getting the hang of it, deep-throating me like a dick-hungry queen. I felt I would explode any second. It must have been getting good to him too, because without being instructed he had grabbed his own dick and was jerking himself off in time to my thrusts.

I looked over into the mirror. Almost perfect. I adjusted my pocket handkerchief slightly, straightened my tie, and positioned my shirt cuffs so that precisely half an inch of starched white fabric emerged from each sleeve, the links square to the edge of the cuff. Perfect.

Now I could survey the scene. I closed my eyes for a moment and then reopened them to get the full effect. There was the corn-fed, navy-suited blond on his knees, head bobbing up and down, throat bulging, serving and pleasuring his hypnotic commander while masturbating his own big erection. Here was the hypnotist being serviced--tall, handsome, built, superbly attired, his giant torpedo alternately hidden and revealed by the cocksucker's art. The full moon shone brightly through the window; the only sound was the occasional slurp of the blond's ministrations. This was it--the trophy I had been craving, the image I could "take to the bank." I regretted not having set up a camera beforehand. But I clicked off frame after frame of mental snapshots that I could pull out and enjoy whenever I desired.

"That's it, Scott. You're a good cocksucker, boy. A fine cocksucker. Just keep it up, boy. Deeper and deeper. Deeper and deeper. And you're getting me close, boy! You're gonna make me cum, boy! And when I cum, you're gonna take it all! Drink it all down! Swallow every last drop! And it's gonna be the biggest thrill of your life, boy! The biggest thrill!"

I was almost there.

"But you won't cum yourself, Scott. You'll get very close but you won't cum. This is my time, not yours. Yours will be soon. Very soon. But not tonight. Tonight is my time. Tonight I'm the one who cums. Tonight you suck me dry, boy."

I held on to his head as I rammed my rigid cock faster and faster into his throat. Jesus it felt good!!! With a long moan I exploded, sending spasm after spasm of hot cum into Scott's esophagus. I could see his eyes rolling up into his skull as he tried to cope with the flood.

"SWALLOW IT, SCOTT!! SWALLOW IT ALL!! DON'T WASTE A DROP!!"

Hanson swallowed noisily again and again, devouring my semen. He did a pretty good job, too, except for a slight trickle that escaped out of his mouth and dripped down to the floor. Not quite to the floor, actually, but rather onto the toe of one of my shiny black wingtips.

"It's over, Scott. It's over. You're cock is deflating now, getting soft again. Soft and limp. Stand up now. Put your cock away. Put it away and zip yourself up."

I pulled a clean handkerchief out of my left trouser pocket, wiped off my own deflating tool, and retired it back into my pants. We both zipped up, two pictures of decorum once again--except for the milky white splotch soiling my right shoe.

"Look down at my shoe, Scott!" I commanded. "Look what you've done! Look how you've messed up my shoe! How will you clean it up, Scott? What'll you use to clean it up?"

Scott looked totally bewildered.

"Take off your tie, Scott. Take off that cheap rag of a tie and use it as the rag it is. Use it to wipe up my cum, boy. I want that shoe clean as a whistle."

Afterwards I gave Scott his instructions for the next two days and then put him to sleep in his own office. He would wake up in 30 minutes thinking he had dozed off, remembering nothing of the night's events. As soon as he was snoring I left the building.