Doors in the Mind (MMF MC, Hypn, 1st)

   It started as a party trick. I'd been into mysticism, sacred geometry, and mentalism for 
a long time, and one of my friends asked if I'd hypnotize her on a lark. My manipulative 
streak kicked in, and soon, my friends watched as I had her take off all her clothes, and 
dance around the room naked. 
   Granted, this wasn't the most modest girl knew, and we'd seen her do similar things under 
the influence of alcohol. Still, it was a rather impressive demonstration. It Impressed two 
of my friends particularly. They'd been going out a couple years, and in all that time, he'd 
talked her into letting him touch her breast when they where kissing. 
   She was vying for the dubious distinction of the most modest girl I knew, her prudishness 
bordered on Erotiphobia. She didn't even masturbate, needless to say, she was a virgin. 
After the party, he asked if I could hypnotize her into putting out. He didn't use those 
exact words, but that was it, in a nutshell. 
   I didn't make any promises, but was intrigued by the challenge. As I told him, hypnosis 
just doesn't work without trust, and any she had for me hit the floor with every stitch of 
clothing I'd talked that girl out of. I'd also have to basically put her under without her 
knowledge, since she sure as hell wouldn't consent. All the literature I'd read stated 
unequivocally that it couldn't be done. They also stated as unequivocally that you couldn't 
make someone do something against their character, and this seemed to apply as well. 
   I still agreed to try, but had him promise to follow my directions. The first was when I 
said "Phrenology," he must be as quiet, and unobtrusive as possible. This'd be hard enough 
without any distractions. The first step was to gain her trust. She didn't even want to be 
alone with me, because "I freaked her out" even before the strip tease incident. 
   She still tolerated my presence, because I can be charming, and entertaining. I'm also 
highly intelligent, but I don't make a big deal out of it. The way I see it, it makes up 
for some physical limitations. I may come off as a creepy little freak, but that didn't 
keep people from coming to me for advice, and answers. 
   She was having trouble in math, Euclidian geometry to be precise, and I agreed to help 
her study. I'd been hanging out with them a while, and she started getting used to me. Her 
boyfriend was there the whole time, but now it was because he didn't want to leave me alone 
with her. Like I said, I sometime have that effect on people. 
   As it turns out, our little math study sessions provided the perfect opportunity. All the 
numbers, variables, and abstract concepts lulled her into the right frame of mind. It was 
especially effective as I tended to recite formulae like "L time W times H divided by two" 
(area of a corner) in a singsong monotone of equal measured beats. I nonchalantly commented 
that she was getting stressed out in frustration, and he moved in to rub her shoulders like 
I'd arraigned beforehand. It would help her relax, and get comfortable with the situation. 
Sure enough, she started to loll a little. Next, I pointed out that one of the formulas was 
used in "phrenology." 
   He nodded behind her, and kept rubbing. She asked about it, and I made up some bullshit 
about how it was a ratio of facial features thought to be the prime of beauty. She swallowed 
it, and went back to her study. "That reminds me," I went on, "Have you ever heard of a 
memory house?" 
   She'd seen Hannibal, but not read it, so she hadn't. I'd known about it before the book 
was even written, but was pleased when I'd read it. (in case you're wondering, I remembered 
Lecher referring to psychology as "on the level of phrenology," and that'd brought it to 
mind earlier. That's just the way my mind works.) 
   "It's a Mnemonic device," I droned on, "An imaginary construct where you can keep 
memories. It helps you organise your thoughts." the wording was deliberate. Phonetic 
repetition is an effective technique in hypnosis. 
   "How does it work?" she wondered fascinated. 
   "Lean back, and close your eyes," I instructed, but she balked suspiciously, "I'll help 
you make one." 
   "Don't try anything,," she warned me. 
   "I wouldn't dream of it," I lied, and nodded with a slow blink. The dream suggestion, 
and visual cues would work much better than saying something suspicious like, "You are 
getting sleepy, Verry Sleeeepy." 
   She relented, and closed her eves, but refused to relax. Her forgotten boyfriend stopped 
rubbing until I waved him on. "Now," I returned to her, "Visualize a room. it's empty now, 
but we can come back later to decorate. There's a door on the wall there, with the Pi symbol 
on it, open it, and look inside." 
   "Okay..." she said sceptically. 
   "Pi is the ratio of a circle's radius to it's circumference," I recited in my droning 
monotone. 
   She opened her eyes, "I know." 
   "Of course you do," I leaned in to intimate, "You just studied it. We're putting it in 
here so you can find it again when you need it." 
   "Oh," she says, and closes her eyes again. 
   "The area is equal to the pi times the radius squared," I went on, "It's also the ratio 
of the diameter to the circumference. Two times pi times the diameter equals the 
circumferences. The diameter is twice the radius, so the circumferences is twice the radius 
times twice pi." 
   "Uh huh," she concentrated, but with a slight smile on her face. 
   "Now," I shifted slightly, "Turn around, and there should be another door across from 
this one." She nodded silently, and chewed her lip. "It has a right triangle on it, the 
sides three inches, four inches, and five inches. Open the door, and look in." She nods 
again. I took her through Pythagorean theorem, using the 3/4/5 triplet for example. "Three 
and three is nine, four and four is sixteen nine plus sixteen is twenty five. Five and five 
is twenty five, so three squared plus four squared is five squared. For every right triangle, 
the sum of the squares of the legs equals the square of the hypotenuse." 
   The repetition of numbers was incredibly effective. She repeated them silently, burning 
them into the floor of her brain. I judged her just about ready, and decided to try and put 
her deeper. she was under, but I didn't want to jerk her through the gears fast enough to 
snap her out of it. 
   "Now, there's many halls here. with many doors, leading to many rooms. It's as infinite 
as knowledge, all you know is here, and all you will know will fit. there's another floor 
below this one, a warehouse of the everyday thoughts that don't need rooms, or halls, or 
walls. Deeper than that, below the surface of your thoughts is your heart. It beats with 
blood, but it also holds emotions. everything you feel is down here, and everything you 
will learn to feel." She didn't respond at all. She was too deep under, entranced by this 
hitherto unknown vastness within her. 
   "You haven't even scratched the surface of feeling yet, never truly loved, never felt 
the warmth of knowing you're loved." 
   Finally, she responded, her face fell with a deep sadness that I could almost feel out 
here. Even her boyfriend was affected, blindly massaging her back with his eyes closed. 
   "There's much for you to learn," I went on, "Great things too far off for you to 
understand, and little things like the fact that massages feel better without a shirt in 
the way." 
   That brought him back, he looked up with a grin. "Do you want to try that?" She nodded, 
lazily, "Alright, turn right, and go through the door with the hands on it. This is the 
massage room, and shirts aren't allowed in here." 
   Slowly, mechanically, she pulled out her shirt, and we helped her out of it. Meanwhile, 
I motioned for us to switch, and took over rubbing her back. "That's better," I thought for 
her, and I must admit with no false modesty that it was true. I was a better masseur than 
him, hell I knew the word. 
  I will point out that you can't learn everything there is to know about massage from a 
book. On the other hand, we had about the same amount of experience, plus the knowledge I'd 
read. 
   I knew Shiatzu, and Tantra, or at least I could pick them out of a line-up. Reaching up 
to rub her neck with one hand, I reached down with the other, and unhooked her bra. "your 
chest looks tense," I suggested, "would you like it massaged too?" She nodded as I gave her 
boyfriend his first glimpse of her bare breasts. He reached in, entranced, and began to rub 
them. "That's better," I supplied for her again, and she nodded again. I wasn't expecting 
that, and that worried me. At that point, I decided to pull her out as gently as possible, 
so I could sweep up behind us. 
   "It's quiet in here," I noted, "You cannot hear a thing." I hoped that would let me talk 
to him, and convince him it was time to call it a night. "All right, that's it." 
   "Whuh?" he looked up confused. 
   "We've been at this at least twenty minutes," I warned him, "I don't know if I can go any 
further, and she'll notice the time discrepancy if I do." 
   He finally concented, so I started the long journey back to reality. "This is but one 
door in the long hall of sensuality," I whispered in her ear, "We can delve deeper, when 
you're ready, but for now, let's go up, and explore some more." 
   She nods again, a bit more forcefully, so I get her going back. "The corridors are long, 
and dark, so you don't think you'll be able to find your way back again. In fact, as you 
climb back out of the darkness, you forget what was down there, and what you did there. 
Eventually, you forget that you where even there, that it's there at all." 
   I never new all those hours palying D&D in middle school would ever be useful. We dressed 
her as I bought her back, "up past your everyday concerns, past even the math room is a tower. 
At the top, you can see the world around you, and that none can get in but you. Open your eyes." 
   We'd switched our places back, so everything was back to normal when she came back to us. 
"Now," I say in a conversational tone, "You should be able to remember all the stuff we 
studied tonight. Pi is about 3.1415926535, but with the nine there, you can just round it up 
to 3.1416." She glanced up, and mumbled under her breath. 
   "I'll remember that, " she said to me.
   After that first session, I had it out with him. He'd nearly messed everything up for us, 
and gotten us busted, if you'll pardon the expression. "What do you think you where doing in 
there?" I confronted him. 
   "What?" he asks hurt. 
   "You nearly made me snap her out of it," I point out, "If she came too, half naked, with 
both of us touching like that, she would never have gone out with you again. She could've 
called the cops, and brought us up on assault charges, sexual assault charges!" 
   He hangs his head, and nods it dejectedly, "You're right, I'm sorry, won't happen again," 
he mumbles. 
   "You're damn skippy it won't," I cut in, "None of it will. You'll have to be satisfied 
with what you got tonight." 
   "Hey," he looked up a little miffed, "We had a deal." 
   "Bullocks," I contradict, "I said I'd try. She's too resistive, and you're too distracting." 
   "Cummon," he pleaded, "Give it another shot, I'll be good." 
   "What do I get out of it?" I sneer. 
   "I'll owe you," he attempts to lend. 
   "You already owe me," I remind him. 
   "What do you want?" he offers. 
   Now's my chance, "I let you touch her tits, it's only fair I get the same." 
   "No way," he doesn't seem convinced. The possibility of getting more no doubt clouded 
his judgement. 
   I laugh, "Fine, you might be able to talk her into taking her shirt off next time you 
give her a back rub, but she'll stay on her chest, and in her bra." I prognosticate. 
   "How do you know?" he doubts me. 
   "Try it," I leave. 

********************************************************************************************** 

   The next day, she calls me. "I got a math test comming up," she informs me, "You think 
you could help me study?" 
   I concider, "What's Pi?" I decide to give her a pop quiz. 
   "Three point one four one six," she recites almost instantly. 
   "Close enough," I judge. 
   "Well," she can't resist showing off, "It's closer to 3.14159, but you said I could round 
it up." 
   "When do you want me to come over?" I wonder. 
   "Can I go over there?" oh, yeah. 
   "Sure," I curb my enthusiasm, "When?" 
   "I'll be there in a few," she hangs up without another word. 
   In the interrum, I set the stage. The sheet gets pulled down over my window, and I light 
some candles to balance the illumination. Going through the room, I hide most of the 
incriminating stuff, books by Crowley, La Vey, Tarot cards, my Athame, Pentacle, Chalace, 
and Rod. I also pick up some magazines, and shove them under the mattress, 10%, Yin&Yang, 
ATM, ETC. I leave out the cauldron/ braesur, because it's too big too hide, and deniable. 
   It's not much of a walk, but he drives her up sooner than I anticipated. Apparently, she 
got a ride from her boyfriend. He would, of course, want to tag along to be in on it, and 
keep an eye on me. That changed my plans slightly, though. 
  I let them in, then lead them up to my room. I live with some other guys at my school but 
it isn't a fraternity. I put PSI, and PHI up over the door as a joke. They weren't around, 
but that wasn't unusual, they came by to sleep, or fuck the girl du jour, and didn't study 
from what I could tell. I barely knew them at all, and they pretty much left me alone. 
   "Got the study sheet?" I wondered. She nodded, and got it out of her backpack. Fairly 
basic stuff, regular polygons, Pythagorean proof, phi ratio... I tore off some sheets, 
folded over the corners to a right icosolese triangles to make a square, and trimmed it 
back while I taught her. She kept her eyes open, and watched what I was doing, glancing up 
occasionally to store some thing away. When I had six squares of paper, I folded them over 
again, then again, and again until I had four lobed shapes like pyramids with the sides 
flattened into wings. Then, I wove them together, tucking ends into each other until they 
became the six points of a collapsed octahedron. Finally, I started offhandedly spinning 
it between my palms with my fingers. She watched raptly, the spinning vanes cause a little 
air to be thrown out like a centripetal pump, but I was really going for repetitive cyclic 
motion. Again, it wasn't stereotypical, and suspicious like swinging a pocket watch in front 
of her face. It worked, she was entranced, so I didn't have to get mine out. 
   Finally, her face went slack, eyes staring off to infinity in the general direction of 
the spinning candle-lit Euclidian solid. I moved to set it aside, but her eyes followed. 
"Close your eyes," I directed gently. She did, but I saw them glaze over, and roll up as 
the lids came down. 
   "Now," I went on, "You are in the foyer of your mind, the spacious place without walls, 
or halls, or doors. A spiral staircase leads up to your memories, and a hatch in the floor 
goes down to the dark corridors of your heart." I almost said 'trap door,' but didn't want 
to make that association. 
   "Open the hatch," I basically tell her to open her heart, "and climb down. It's dark, but 
you don't need to see. None knows your heart better than you," I lie, "so you easily navigate." 
She breathes some more. 
   "The way is long, and winding, but you eventually find your way to the Hall Of The Senses. 
Here is the massage room, do you want to go in?" 
   "Yes," she answers in a flat inflectionless tone, and starts for her shirt. Though my 
post-hypnotic suggestion stated that she wouldn't remember, it doesn't work like that. I 
basically closed, and locked the door behind us last time, but once we came back, so did 
the rules. 
   "Where would you like to be massaged?" I ask gently. I usually don't prompt like this, 
but I wanted it to be "Her" idea. It makes it more natural, so I'm not trying to get her to 
do something against her inner inhibitions, but reprogram them. 
   "Everywhere," she sighs. My heart races, and I notice him getting excited too. 
   "Lie back," I direct, and the two of us help her down. 'till now, we'd been sitting 
equilaterally, but now, I moved up to her upper body, and he stayed down where he was 
interested in. I reached for her bra, and he moves to stop me. 
   "Again, you can hear nothing in here," I quickly shut us out of her. To him, I state, 
"We had a deal." 
   He shook his head, "She's mine." 
   "Is she?" I raise my hands over my head dramatically, as if to clap them. 
   "No, wait!" he tries to stop me. 
   "I control her," I remind him, "You'd get nothing without my help. Allow me this, or I 
end it now." He sighs, unsure, so I offer, "I can get you in her pants, if you do exactly 
what I say." 
   "Fine," he gives in. She's got nice breasts, a bit small, but perky. The bra, and gravity 
pressed them down, creating little curved creases between. Thankfully, it was a front clasp, 
so I was able to open it without reaching under. It popped open, but didn't slide off. 
   I murmer to her, "Now, you can go deeper into the room, where they massage you deeper on 
your body," I reward him for his acquiescence. But no clothes are allowed at all." she balks, 
just lies there not moving. 
   "It's alright, noone is in her to see you, noone can even come in here but you." Finally, 
she slowly reaches down to undo her jeans. He happily helps her out of them, exposing her 
blue cotton panties. I note a little perturbed that it doesn't match the white tafetta of 
her bra, but let it pass. To compensate a little, I spread my hands across her chest, 
brushing the open bra aside. Her hard little nipples scrape across my palm to appear on the 
other side. They're tiny, and dark with blood. Pinching them gently between the web of my 
thumbs, she arches slightly, a small smile on her equally plumped lips. Looking back, I see 
him rubbing the slight mound of her pubis. She lets out an unconscious sigh. Briefly 
removing my hands from her chest, I wave for his attention, make an "OK" with my fingers, 
and slip another through it while shaking my head. He opens his mouth to protest, but I 
shake my head explicitly "NO!" and glare at him. He resigns, and nods dejectedly. This is 
"massage," so penetration would be going too far. 
   "You can come back here whenever you please," I permit her, "Whenever it's private, and 
you want a little pleasure for yourself." If I could get her over her inhibition against 
masturbation, maybe I could get her ready to accept sex. 
   I had a similar place in my mind, connected to the hall of dreams through a fantasy 
shortcut. Here, I remembered all my fondest erotic wishes, and experiences. I was there 
now, watching with some interest as we molested her. Taking notes, and recording every 
detail. She felt so good in my hands, her soft smoothe breasts, the harder warm nipples. 
   Mimicing their response, more points stood out on her chest, goose flesh pebbling her 
despite the warmth of the room. A flush followed, spreading up to her neck, and her lips 
darkened further with blood. A rosy glow suffused her cheeks as well. Her breathing got 
shallower, and the unique scent of her arousal started overpowering the burning wax in the 
room. 
   He'd pulled her panties down, and was running a couple fingers between her other lips. 
I'm sure her button was out by now, so it must've been running between them. Sure enough, 
a shudder rolled across her, then again. They kept comming, in time with his slow strokes. 
   She also hunched forward, like I do when I brush my tip after an orgasm. It's reflexive, 
so I didn't take it as a sign of her comming out of it. Finally, her belly rippled. She 
gasped, and sighed, but didn't cry out. Muscle stood out in her jaw as it clenched, and 
her eyelids rippled. 
   "That's good," I thought for her, "That's so good. Now, there's no further you can go in 
this room. Come back, though, when you want to feel like this again." Finally, she subsided. 
   I talked her out while we dressed her again. Retaking our positions, I lit a stick of 
incense to cover the smell. It positively reeked in there. She came out of it early, at the 
acrid scent. She sighed, sucked in a lip, and chewed on it thoughtfully. "I'm hot," she 
commented, and I couldn't argue, "You mind if I go out for some air?" I didn't argue with 
that either. 
   As she headed down, I moved to open the windows, and let the lovely scent out. "She 
should start masturbating soon," I informed him, "After that, it's only a matter of time 
until she's ready. 
   Speaking of which, "I have to go to the bathroom," he lied, and rushed out jerkily. 
Unfortunately, I felt the same way, but couldn't risk running off to relieve myself. Instead, 
I went down to talk to her. 
   "You alright?" I came out behind her. She'd tucked her shirt back in, but didn't seem to 
think anything of it. 
   Nodding, "I feel great," she grinned, and spread her arms. I lit a cigarette, and she 
asked me, "Could I have one of those?" 
   "I didn't know you smoked," I held out my case anyway. 
   "I don't," she commented, "But I thought I'd try one." 
   "Take it easy," I warned, "Don't inhale right away, and take small tokes to start." 
   "You really aren't that bad a guy," she lied unknowingly. I had to lower my head to hide 
my reaction, she took it as modesty, "No really, I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance when I 
first met you." 
   "It's alright," I commented, "I'm used to it." 
   "We should study together more often," she mused. I had to agree. 

********************************************************************************************** 

   She came by again the next day. "I passed! 87!" she squealed excitedly. 
   "Good for you," I encouraged her, "Did the memory house help?" 
   "You bet!" she utters excitedly, "I just had to look it up, and it was all right there!" 
   "Glad I could help," I comment, "You wanna come in?"  She nods, and steps in. "Want a 
drink?" 
   She shakes her head, "You wouldn't happen to have any cigarettes, though would you?"
   "Sure," I lead her back to the patio door. "Where's  Anthony?" I had to ask about her boy-
friend.  She shrugs, then leans in to let me light her up. I avoid looking down the neck of 
her loose tee-shirt for the first time since I've known her. 
   "Why do you smoke outside?" she asks after blowing it out. 
   It's my turn to shrug, "It tends to stink up the place," I admit, "Out here, there's room 
for it to dissipate." 
   "Why are you so smart?" she cocks her head at the $.50 word. 
   I repeat the noncommittal gesture, "I'm not pretty," I venture, "So most of my friends 
are books." 
   "You're not ugly either," she lies. It's apparent on her face that even she doesn't 
believe it. 
   "Thanks," I take the compliment grudgingly, "But you can be honest." 
   "Alright," she acquiesced, "So you're not the most handsome guy."  Yeah, I have a lot of 
character, meaning I frighten children, "You just need to find a nice girl who'll look past 
it." 
   "Like you?" I prompted hopefully. She shook her head, but at least it wasn't in disgust, 
"Look, you're a sweet guy, but we're from different worlds." 
   "Yeah," I joked, "You're from Rivendell," she preened at the compliment, "I'm from beneath 
Sauruman's tower." 
   "You're not an Orc," so she'd seen the movie. 
   "Actually, that'd make me an Uruk Hai," I corrected, "An intelligent Orc." She giggled a 
little at the comparison. I'd flicked my fag away a while ago, she took her time, and 
squished it under her toe like a bug. 
   "Don't tell 'Tony," she asked nicely, "He doesn't know I smoke." 
   "Your secret's safe with me." speaking of secrets, I really wanted to tell her then.  As 
we went back in, she commented, "Orchs are evil, though, you're not evil." I came within a 
millimetre of telling her then, but couldn't find the intestinal fortitude. She followed me 
up to my room. I'd left the windows open to air them out, and the paper design I'd made spun 
in the breeze from the chain pull of my ceiling fan. 
   "You changed it," she looked at it fascinated. I took it down gently. Out of boredom, I'd 
drawn symbols, and pictograms on the 24 panels The three intersecting planes where elemental, 
opposite sides opposing, and the glyphs worked together in triplets of adjacent sides. 
   Among others, the Ground schematic from electronics was on the earth side with other 
electrical signs and opposing the lightning rune that's half a swastika, or SS logo. "I got 
bored," I admitted nonchalantly. 
   "So what's this all about frenology?" she had heard that a couple time the past two days. 
   "It's an archaic protoscience that's like early psychology as astrology preceded 
astronomy, and alchemy led to chemistry." I lecture. 
   "How's it work?" she seats herself on the corner of the bed. 
   "It doesn't," I climbed on, and she turned around to face me, "Instead of looking inside 
the head, they tried to tell things about personality by the face and shape of the head." 
   "Like reading palms?" she showed remarkable alacrity. 
   I nod, and blink slowly. Reaching up to her face, I start to show her. "I'd have to take 
precise measurements, but your eyes are large, and far apart, which is supposed to mean you're 
emotional." 
   I reach outward, and touch her temples, "You have deep temples, which is supposed to mean 
you're a deep thinker, while your small flat ears mean you depend more on your own thoughts 
than listening to other's. It's mostly symbolic, complete garbage." 
   "I don't know," she ventured, "I think you described me pretty well." 
   "That's the point," I put in, "You start with what you know about someone, and retrofit 
corresponding traits. You can always find something to support your assumptions if you try 
hard enough." 
   "What does that have to do with the memory house?" she wonders. 
   "Nothing," I put in, "That's a tantric technique of meditation." 
   "The Chinese sex people?" shit, she'd heard of the Kama Sutra, and put it together with 
the authors. 
   I shook my head, "It's Tibetan," I put out, "And it's a lot more than the Kama Sutra. 
That's like calling Christianity a death cult because of their veneration of martyrs, and 
the cross." Actually, I do it all the time. 
   "So you're a Tantrist?" she was fascinated. I'd started massaging her temples, but she 
didn't seem to notice. 
   "I use some of their stuff," I let my hands fall, and turned to get a small vial from my 
bedside. "This is Neroli," I unstoppered the precious fluid, and waved it under her nose, 
"It's an essential oil they distill from the bitter orange blossoms. I could catch a whiff 
of the deep scent. It doesn't smell fruity at all, more a slight citris flavour with all the 
sweetness, and tang removed.. 
   "Mmmm," she inhaled deeply. "Unfortunately," I went on, "It's rediculously expensive." I 
turned the half ounce phial to show her the $45.00 sticker on the side. Then, I tipped a 
little out onto my finger tips, and went back to rubbing her temples. "I sometimes use it 
as a cologne base because Ambergris is Illegal." 
   "Why?" she wondered wistfully, and let her lids fall shut. I didn't bother to tell her it 
was a whale product. I knew what I was doing, and felt ashamed of myself. It wasn't right, 
but I couldn't help myself. She reminded me more of Galadriel, but she was definitely elven. 
I despised Kate Blanchette, trust a Shakespearian to ruin an otherwise outstanding movie 
adopation by over acting. 
   "Are you in your memory house?" I asked gently. 
   She smiled, "Mmmm." 
   "Where?" I wondered aloud, and was shocked when she started reaching for her shirt. I 
released her, and she slowly pulled it over her head. He hands fell limply in her lap. 
"Have you been back here?" I asked surprised. 
   "Uh huh," she smiled. 
   "When?" my wonder doesn't cease. 
   "Last night," she discloses. 
   "How deep do you want to go?" I asked gently. 
   "All, the, way," she whispered, pausing after each word like Tiffany on Daria. I held her 
hands as he lay back, and started undressing her. 
   "There's a door in the back of the massage room," I added as I undid her jeans, "It leads 
to the land of fantasy. There you can do whatever you wish, be whatever you want." 
   "Mmmm," she repeated. 
   "There's someone there," I go on, "Your perfect someone. Is it Anthony?"  She frowns, and 
slowly shakes her head, "Is it someone you know?" 
   "No," she replies without any emotion behind it. 
   "Describe him," I direct gently. By now, her bra is off, and I've stopped undressing to 
enjoy her tits. 
   "Tall," she thinks to herself, after a good pause of indecicion, "Blonde." 
   "What's he wearing?" I go on down to her underpants, this time noting they match. 
   She frowns again, "Who?" 
   "Naked?" I deduce. 
   "Yes." I'm nearly there myself, my erection cools in the slight breeze. 
   "What about the face," I grunt slightly, climbing up, and over her spread legs. 
   "Pretty." I stop, nearly touching her with me. 
   "Breasts?" I probe slightly curious. 
   She nods, and smiles, "Small." 
   "What's her name?" I ask dejectedly. 
   "I don't know," she confirms. 
   "Have you seen her before?" I'm starting to cramp up, holding back in indecision. 
   "Last night," she sighs. Well, now, apparently she'd opened that door without me. I guess 
she kept her fantasies in a closet. 
   "It's me," I lie in a slight falsetto. I can't stand it any more. Slowly, I lower my 
weight onto her. I slip between her lips, but not past them. I can't bring myself to rape 
the lesbian I love, besides, I think she'd notice her hymen missing eventually. That's 
alright, the direct clitoral stimulation would do her better good than me. She arched her 
body fully, as I brought what little weight I had down on my erection, and hers. It poked 
into me, and she shuddered as I dragged my inconsiderable lenth across it. 
   She responded, the goose flesh, and corresponding flush spreading across her body in a 
flash. Her sharp points pressed into me making a tripod of pleasure for her. For me, I got 
a good amount of friction and pressure where it counted most. I slipped back and forth 
across her slick clitoris, quickly bringing my love and lust front and centre. 
   I came, bringing myself all the way up to shoot my seed away from her uteral opening. 
She shuddered harder, and wet herself. It dampened my purse, but didn't soak it. I finished 
long before her, and bent to clean it up. I made sure to swallow before moving my lips down 
to hers for the most intimate of kisses. 
  It bloomed for me, lay exposed in her thick soft dark beard. Okay, so she wasn't a natural 
blonde, I knew that from her eyebrows, and hardly cared. She responded as I tasted her 
essential fluids. 
  Naroli doesn't compare, but it's taken from a wholly different flower. This was the sacred 
bloom, and I was lost in it's fragance. "Wendel..." she said my name, gently though. It took 
me a moment to realise what that meant. She was out of it, I was discovered. I look, and she 
repeats herself, "Wendel, I didn't know." she adds. 
   "I'm sorry," my heart fell, broken. 
   "Why?" she asked sincerely. 
   "I mesmerised you," I admitted, "Molested you, raped you, raped your mind." 
   She shook her head, gently, "No," I was suddenly confused, "I knew that, I didn't know I 
was gay. I guess that's why I balked with 'Tony.  I just couldn't admit it to myself." 
   "But I violated you," I interrupt. 
   "No," she contradicts, "You loved me, and opened my mind. I thank you for that." 