He said he was a hypnotist. You said you weren’t interested in that. Actually you are, but you didn’t want to play hypnosis games on a first date. But he was actually a good first date, carrying his side of the conversation as well as leaving room for you to carry yours. You talked about your jobs over drinks, and then headed for the restaurant where he told his life story and you told the edited-for-first-dates version of yours. And he brought up the hypnosis thing again, and this time you let him talk about how he had gotten interested in hypnosis, and how he learned how to use it.
And damned if he didn’t talk you into agreeing to a quick trance right there in the restaurant. Of course you immediately regretted it, so you decided without saying anything that it wasn’t going to work.
He took your hand in his, moving it around slowly, while his other hand flopped and fluttered in your face. “Look at my hand,” he said. “Keep following it as it moves around. Follow my hand. Follow my —” Suddenly he tugged your hand and pulled you forward, and you lost your balance for a moment. He caught you, and for a moment you were safe in his arms, safe to relax for a moment and go deeper.
No, you were trying to resist this, resist going deeper, resist closing your eyes, resist slumping down comfortably onto his shoulder, resist the gentle words of sleep he was whispering in your ear.
And of course you were going to resist dropping into trance when ever he tapped your forehead with his finger and said “Sleep!”
But when he counted to five and snapped his fingers, you decided you probably ought not to resist waking up, tempting thought the idea was.
He called a Lyft to take you home, and rode with you. While the two of you rode in the back, he touched your forehead and said “Sleep,” and each time he did it, you tried to resist dropping down again. But this time you also tried to resist coming back up. And dropping, and coming back up, and dropping, and after a while it got really hard to remember whether you were resisting falling into trance for him or resisting coming out again.
He got out of the car with you, and, on impulse, you invited him in to split a bottle of wine. But you were going to try to resist any attempt to seduce you. That would be easy; you were on your turf.
But he didn’t try to seduce you. Instead he sat next to you on the sofa and tapped your forehead again, saying “Sleep,” and so you had to resist dropping again, or was it resist waking up? It was resisting something.
You had to resist. You had to resist the temptation to make out with him. You had to resist taking off your blouse, and your skirt. Your really, really had to resist taking off your bra, but in the end you couldn’t.
So here you are, standing in front of him in nothing but your panties and high heels, showing yourself off. You hadn’t been going to do this, and now you were.
You distinctly remembered resisting, holding back, fighting it off in your head, ever step of the way. How is it that you wound up like this, ready to do whatever he wanted, whatever it took to please him?
You tried to resist, but it just didn’t work out.
(source: unknown; model: Keeley Hazell; via @haywaine)
I always enjoy stories where you get to see into the subject’s mind and see why hypnosis is so seductive. Great job, @shaman58!
Excellent portrayal of induction and crumbling resistance.
The Skarlette One 