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I Spied a Young Cowboy
By
Hyptrance
My name’s Tony Romano and I run a gypsy mitt camp on the rodeo circuit. (For those of you who don’t know the carny lingo, that’s a fortune-teller’s booth.) There are several reasons for this. First, I am a gypsy (well, at least by descent - the family lives in San Diego, and, other than my black sheep self, no one’s seen the inside of a traveling rig in three generations), and I look the part, with my midnight black hair, dark eyes that can seem as though they could penetrate sheet metal if I want them to, handsome, exotic Romany features (hey, no brag, just fact), and the best body that good genes and good habits can provide. Second, the work suits me. Women are easily drawn into the mystique I try to project, so I make a good living, and, more to my point, so are men, and that gives me other opportunities (more about that later). Plus, I like to move around (I guess that’s the gypsy in me). And finally, I stick to the rodeo circuit because the rodeo folk are surprisingly superstitious, which makes for steady income, and because I have a thing for cowboys. I love tight western style jeans, I love the kind of body lots of horseback riding and hard physical exercise gives a guy, and I love the clean-cut style that most cowboys adopt for practical reasons (no long or silly hairstyles, few beards, no trashy jewelry or piercings). It may not be your taste, but it gets my groove on every time. The only thing not to like about the all-American cowboy is that he’s almost never gay. Or at least won’t admit it (even to himself) if he is. I’ve found a way around that, though. One of the legendary skills of the gypsy tribe is the casting of spells. Well, of course that’s absolute balls, but the myth is based on our traditional use of suggestion (i.e. hypnotism) and suggestibility to confound the gullible, and I’ve made damn sure that I’m a very competent hypnotist. I’ve also made sure that I know how to put a mark into trance without letting him know that’s what’s going on.
Let me tell you about Cal Whittier. I’d zeroed in on him from practically the first day he showed up. Cal’s a nineteen-year-old fledgling bronc rider, and cuter than hell, with the above-mentioned body type, short blond hair, innocent cornflower-blue eyes, and a sexy, boyish face that can melt a glacier when he smiles. I could hardly wait to get him into my tent (and my clutches)! And I didn’t have to wait long – boredom between shows, coupled with Cal’s natural curiosity, and the previously-described tendency towards superstition saw to that.
It was early on a lazy sort of afternoon, with my little trailer just hot enough to make me (or anyone else) a little sleepy. Being a weekday, with no matinee rodeo performance scheduled, the lot was virtually deserted, at least as far as townie paying customers went. I had just about made up my mind to hang out the “back at x o’clock” sign and take a nap when there was a knock on the door. Opening it I was greeted with the beautiful face and hot body of my current favorite cowboy wet dream turned out in tight jeans, a sharp western-style shirt, and trademark Stetson. He wasn’t wearing his boots, though. Apparently the off-duty footwear of choice was Reeboks.
“You open for business?” he asked in a charming west Texas drawl. “I’d like to have my fortune told – see if I’m gonna win tonight.” He actually winked. I was in love!
“Have a seat.” I pointed to one of the two soft, comfortable chairs at the small table on which I display my crystal ball. “Lothar, Lord of the Gypsies, sees all and tells all… for a price.” (Okay, it’s really hokey, and I know it would sound better to say “King of the Gypsies”, but since he really exists, I could land my ass in a whole world of trouble by claiming that title! As for the name, hell, I just like alliteration.) Cal plunked down his money, took the indicated seat, and we were good to go.
“I need for you to look into the crystal ball with me and focus all your thoughts on the question you want answered,” I intoned in my best mystical gypsy mode, and my handsome cowboy stared dutifully into the crystal. I use a very milky, cloudy one, rather than the standard clear variety; I find it much easier to convince the marks that there is something there to see and interpret, and it glows rather than sparkling in the soft light I have trained on it, which makes it much better for trance induction on those occasions when that’s my real purpose. After staring into it myself for a suitable interval, I began the show. “I see a name… Kuh… wait… it’s becoming clearer… Kuh… Kuh…… Calvin. Is that your name, or does it mean something to you?”
“My name’s Calvin… Cal Whittier.” He looked at me, impressed.
“Don’t take your gaze from the crystal Cal. I need for you to concentrate…. There’s a lot here, but it’s all very cloudy and vague. You need to concentrate harder… focus all your thoughts, your whole mind on your question and the crystal.” Cal predictably began to squint with effort. “No, don’t tense up… your concentration is improved by relaxing… just let your mind empty of other thoughts until nothing is left but what you want to focus on.” His handsome face smoothed again, and I continued. “Let you eyes unfocus a little, and it will help you to see deeper into the crystal ball… and I really do want you to relax… let yourself be very comfortable… so that you can focus your thoughts on the question.” Cal’s eyes were locked on the glowing ball now, but they had begun to take on that slight glaze that told me he was starting to feel what I wanted him to feel. “That’s much better… I’m starting to see more… you just keep on relaxing and concentrating… let yourself go right into the crystal… let all other thoughts float away… nothing but the crystal… Your body can get so comfortable that you forget about it too… feel your legs relaxing… so comfortable… so heavy… feel your arms so peaceful and loose… limp… heavy…” I went on in this fashion until my subject was slumped helplessly in his chair, his empty, innocent gaze still trapped by the crystal ball, his heavy eyelids almost closed. I went in for the kill. “Now you’re so relaxed that you can’t think at all… you can only listen and obey…. listen and obey… following my suggestions without question. At the count of three your heavy eyes close and you give yourself to my voice completely. One… two… three.” Cal’s eyes flickered shut, his chin dropped to his chest, and my handsome little cowboy was in my power.
A few rounds of deepening exercises later and that boy’s hypnotized mind was as empty of free will as if I had vacuumed it away! He was seated now on the edge of my bed. His eyes were open again, but there was no sign of awareness or personality in them. He could have been a doll or a mannequin. Testing my control (although I really didn’t have any serious doubts about it), I said, “It sure is hot in here, Cal. Why don’t you take off your shirt and get comfortable? Do it now.” With the unhurried calm of a robot, he opened the pearl-faced snaps of his western shirt, first the cuffs, then the shirt-front, and peeled it off. Now, in only a t-shirt atop his form-fitting jeans, Cal looked less like a cowboy than just a typical college guy, the kind who came to see the rodeo rather than ride in it. Although I had no real problem with that, still it wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind, so I went on with the project so as to get back his cowboy vibe.
First, I got him to ditch the shoes. Then I said, “You’re still too hot, cowboy. Take off the t-shirt.” Calvin lazily pulled it off over his head, dropped it to the floor, and massaged his neck as through to relieve the heat. His chest was fuckin’ awesome! - smooth, hard-muscled, with a set of abs you could do laundry against, and nearly hairless (not the self-absorbed manscaping thing of a body builder or porn star, but the natural smoothness from genetic character), and I could see the top of his white briefs peaking over the waistband of his tight jeans. Wow, did I ever have a wild woody by this point! I whipped off my own shirt so as not to be left behind.
I swallowed hard to regain control of my voice. “That’s much better now, isn’t it?” He nodded obediently. I switched back into “fortune-teller” style. “I see a dark, handsome gypsy boy in your future – a boy so handsome you’ll fall in love with him instantly. I see a sleepy, deeply hypnotized cowboy having the best sex he’s ever had. Your dick’s already really hard, isn’t it?”
“Really hard,” he agreed distantly, his expression remaining blankly indifferent.
“Your dick is so hard and ready that you really want to play with it. You have to touch yourself… you can’t keep your hands off... but you can’t undo your jeans… only I can take them off for you.” Now he wasn’t so indifferent. Cal’s hands were scrabbling almost desperately at his crotch as he tried to get at his needy cock. A small wet patch of pre-cum developed at the head of the bulge in his denim, and I could begin to smell the scent of his arousal. Yee-hah!
I watched Cal squirm for a while, and it was a damned sexy show. Finally I said, “You’re so horny that you have got to get off, but you are so hypnotized that there’s only one way you’re going to be able do that, and that’s to do exactly as I’m going to command. Understand that, cowboy?”
“Yup,” he panted, “Gotta do whatever you say. Gotta cum!”
“This is what you’re going to do. First, when I count to five, you’re going to wake back up. You won’t have any memory whatsoever of having been in trance. As far as you’re concerned, you just got here, and you’re waiting for me to tell your fortune. And you won’t have any questions or confusion about why your shirt’s off, or why you’re in the bedroom. It’ll all seem perfectly right and natural to you. Second, any time at all that you hear me say ‘sleep, cowboy’, you’re going to be back under deep hypnosis, just like now or even deeper, instantly. You won’t have time to think about it; it’ll just be automatic and impossible to stop. And finally, as soon as you’re awake, you’re going to find me incredibly sexy and desirable. So much so that, when I begin to touch your hand, you’ll get so excited that you’ll lose all self-control. You’ll have to have me, and you’ll just naturally let me have my way with you. I guarantee that you’ll think it’s the best sex you’ve ever had, because that’s a hypnotic command and you will obey it! You’re in my power and you will obey… in my power and you will obey… say it over and over until I wake you. One… two…” As I began to count, I placed his hat back on his head.
“…in you’re power and I will obey… I’m in you’re power and I will obey… in y-“
“Five.” As I spoke the last number, Cal instantly fell silent and his eyes fluttered open. He looked slightly disoriented, but in keeping with his orders, appeared to be unconcerned with his change of either location or attire. However, as soon as his gaze fixed on me, it burned hot with desire (and not a little confusion – he certainly wasn’t accustomed to lusting after men – although he wasn’t able to fight it).
I was back in gypsy mode again. “Let me see your palm, Cal. The future of men is written there for those who can read it.” I drew up a chair to where he was already sitting on the bed. The poor boy was trying not to let me see how his jeans were bulging from his erection, but I moved in so close that one of my knees was between his, right to the edge of the bed and only inches from his crotch. The hand he held out to me was shaking slightly. I pretended not to notice. Taking it in my left hand, I proceeded to give him the standard spiel about dangers and good fortune in his path, while with my right forefinger I delicately traced the various lines and mounds of his palm, knowing full well that it was driving him nuts. From his vantage point, I appeared to be looking at his hand, but what I was really watching, was the delightful spectacle of his bulge and the damp spot of pre-cum at his crotch getting bigger and bigger.
After a few moments of this seductive torture, as my teasing finger traced a particularly intimate stroke from his life-line and onto the inside of his wrist, the helplessly horny young cowboy was unable to suppress a groan of desire. I looked up as though he’d attracted my attention for the first time. Cal’s eyes were positively incandescent, and his expression was so hungry that it almost looked as if he were in pain. I held his gaze motionless for one long beat, then leaned in and, ever so gently, kissed him full on the mouth. That was all it took. In the next moment we were locked in a passionate, writhing embrace, kissing, stroking, tearing at each other’s remaining clothes.
I’m not going to give you a blow-by-blow description of our love-making. It was pretty much what you’d expect from two healthy young stallions who were really into it. Suffice it to say that, by the time we’d collapsed into a sweaty, cum-drenched, satisfied heap, I’d ridden him like one of his broncos. I looked into Cal’s wide, amazed eyes.
“Wow!” was all he said.
I smiled. “Sleep, cowboy!” and he was under my spell once again. Just a few minutes later, and my handsome rodeo love-slave, back in his clothes again, was on his way out my trailer door, a blank-faced, will-less zombie. He would come to himself as soon as he was a little ways away from the trailer, with absolutely no knowledge that he’d ever set foot in it in the first place. However, since young Calvin was one great fuck, he was going to find himself compelled to visit me at least once a day for a hypnosis refresher to keep his trance response nice and deep and unresisting. Who knows the next time I’m gonna want another nooner? Hell, maybe one of these times I’ll even get him to bring along a good-looking friend! I, Lothar, Lord of the Gypsies, see a lot of hypnotized cowboys in my future.
Now, I really do need that nap!