Disclaimer: This story contains adult material concerning erotic hypnosis and male/male sexual activity. If you are not of legal age for your community, or if such material is offensive to you, you do not have permission to read this. It is fictional. No resemblance to actual persons or events is intended, nor may such be inferred. To my regular readers I offer this further caveat: Since the protagonist/hypnotist of this tale is straight, the story is, by narrative necessity, not as sexual as mine usually are. I hope you will enjoy it anyway. You may download this for your personal entertainment, but it may not be re-posted without the author’s agreement.
Beating the Boarding School Blues
by
It came as a dreadful shock to find my friend Andrew McKinney in tears in the locker room. First of all, eighteen-year-old male seniors at prestigious prep schools don’t weep. Period. It’s like a law or something. Second, Andrew, in particular, had always seemed to me to be the epitome of cool, low-key confidence. Even though, because of his short, slender frame, he doesn’t play the flashy, popular team sports that would make him one of the school’s BMOCs, still, he’s tough and fit enough to be a demon on the racquetball court, he’s always had plenty of money (not that the rest of us don’t here at ________ Academy), and he’s a nice-looking guy (coal-black hair, which he usually wears fairly short but it gets a little wild anyway, clear skin, neat, regular features – even with his glasses I guess you could say he’s handsome, and a really good clothes sense). All that, along with a lot of smarts (we play chess and he whips my ass every time), and the above-mentioned appearance of being comfortable with himself, with where he’s going, and with the world in general, always made him seem more-or-less untouched by the pangs of teenage angst that the rest of us were coping with. So, as I said, it was major league unsettling to see him come unglued.
I had forgotten my watch when I changed back after soccer practice that afternoon, and then hadn’t been able to go back to the gym building until supper was over. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone around there at that hour, but as I went through the changing area to get to my locker, I heard the stifled sobs of somebody in real distress and went to investigate. That’s when I found Andrew crouched down behind one of the neighboring banks of lockers bawling in that gut-wrenching way guys do who’d rather die than be crying, but just can’t choke the pain back any longer.
“Jesus, Andrew, what’s the matter, guy?” I pulled him up from the freaked out, nearly fetal position he was groveling in on the dirty locker room floor, to a seat on one of the benches, and put my arms around him. (No, I’m not gay; but there are things that one human being just does for another if he wants to continue thinking of himself as human). It took a while for Andrew to calm down enough to make sense, but finally the tale was told, and believe me, it set me back on my heels. It seems that Andrew is gay, and that it’s his misfortune to have developed a serious crush on Craig Pierson, his roommate. (Okay, this wasn’t the shocking part. Craig is blond, handsome, a campus sports legend, and even richer than the norm. I’d hate to be in competition with him over a girl, and if I were gay, I’d probably have a thing for him myself.) Now, Andrew’s much too smart and self-controlled to have done anything obvious about it (he pretty much restricted himself to daydreams and late-night jerk-off sessions after his roommate, who could evidently sleep through Hiroshima, was out for the count), but apparently Craig had returned to the room unexpectedly one afternoon and caught him humping a pair of Craig’s dirty shorts. Then the shit hit the fan. Andrew’s creep of a roomie had begun blackmailing him! He’d been demanding money (even though he absolutely didn’t need it), favors about homework and tests (since Andrew is a much better student than Craig), and, not to put too fine a point on it, basically torturing him. At any sign of resistance he would threaten to spread the tale all over campus, the end result of which, in the closed, all-male society of boarding school, would have been so horrible for Andrew that expulsion or suicide would have been the best-case scenarios. Indeed (and here the short hairs stood up on my arms and the back of my neck), Andrew had hidden himself away in the locker room to cry, only after climbing up to the top of the bell tower with the intention of throwing himself off, but by the grace of God, losing his nerve!
I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite such a hatred for another person as I developed for Craig Pierson that evening! Andrew couldn’t have known, because I keep it as secret as the grave I swore upon, but I am not the only child in my family. I had an older brother, Jeff - a wonderful, smart, funny, talented, beloved brother, who, one afternoon, blew his brains out with our dad’s pistol. The note he left, full of shame and apology over his homosexuality, his failure to be “normal”, was the first clue any of us had that he was neither straight nor happy. I will never know who or what had driven Jeff to despair, but Craig had just inherited all my undirected emotions over my brother’s death, all the rage and the guilt that I only thought I’d dealt with. If he’d been with us in the locker room just then, I think I could have torn his tongue out with my bare hands and watched him choke on his own blood!! I’d gotten up off the bench without realizing it, and I must have looked pretty fierce, because, as I returned from my private thoughts of doom and mutilation, Andrew was edging away from me, his face white. Maybe he thought I was mad at him (for telling me he was gay after already I’d hugged him), and was expecting a bashing.
“Jon?” His voice had a little quaver to it, the unspoken text being, “Are you out of control, and am I in danger?”
I forced some temporary calm and schooled my face. “Andrew, that’s the shittiest thing I’ve ever heard! You can’t help who you’re attracted to! And if there’s a guy in this entire school, including Mr. Craig-holier-than-thou-fucking-Pierson, who’s never jacked off over one of his fantasies, it would only be because he couldn’t get it up! You haven’t done anything wrong; you haven’t done anything at all to him! He has no right to do this to you!!” I could feel my face getting red as I ranted, but at least Andrew had lost his frightened-deer look.
“Well there’s sure not a hell of a lot I can do to stop him,” he said bitterly.
Suddenly I smiled, and I’m sure it was a wicked grin. “Wrong.” I don’t know exactly where it came from, but the idea arrived almost fully formed in my mind. I nearly laughed out loud with delight. “Remember the assembly last semester when they brought in that hypnotist?”
“Yeah…” He looked very confused at what he thought was a totally unrelated subject.
“Remember Craig?”
Andrew snickered, “Yeah, he was pretty funny, all right – slow-dancing with Kent Dorffman. Sexy, too” (This was said ruefully.) “But I couldn’t hold that over his head and get any mileage out of it; he was hypnotized! And besides, everyone already knows about it.”
“Not what I had in mind.” I sat back down on the bench, motioning him closer. “What you don’t know about that assembly is that I was sitting next to Craig and saw everything that went on. You probably remember that he didn’t volunteer to be a subject, but what you don’t know is that he didn’t deliberately go along with it in his seat in the audience, either. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t even paying attention. He was reading a book, completely uninterested in the whole thing, until he just drifted off. It wasn’t until the hypno-guy told everybody in the audience who was under to stand up, come on stage, and join the other volunteers, that Craig became the zombie king and I even realized he hadn’t just fallen asleep. My point is, apparently he has no resistance whatsoever to being hypnotized. I remember just about everything the hypnotist said and did, and, since the whole thing fascinated me, I researched hypnotism on line afterwards. If I do some more research and study a little, I’ll bet I could learn how to put that asshole into a trance. Then, we could make him forget what he saw you doing.” I winked, “And if you’re up for it, we might even arrange for some revenge!”
Andrew’s face lit up with hope briefly and then darkened again. “How would you get to him? I mean, if he’s going to go out like a light, you’d have to be somewhere, just the two of you alone, so no one else would see what was going on. But if you get him to meet you privately, he’ll be paying attention to you, and wondering why the hell you’re trying to hypnotize him.”
He had a point. I thought some more. “You said Craig sleeps real soundly?”
Andrew nodded. “Like a rock. I think if a cold water pipe burst right above his bed, he’d just grunt and roll over without waking up.”
“I have sort of an idea, but I’ll have to check it out. I seem to remember reading something about a way to hypnotize a sleeping person. If I can figure out how that works, you could easily slip me into your room after hours once he’s asleep. Of course, you’d be there watching, but then it doesn’t matter if you catch me putting him under. In the meantime, don’t let on to him, and Andrew, please,” I looked straight into his eyes, “Please, don’t try to off yourself again! Christ, if you’re gone, who’s gonna humble me at the chessboard?!”
He gave a short laugh that was almost a sob, his eyes puddling up again briefly, and then sighed, “Okay.” He reached out to shake my hand, but I pulled him to me in another hug, thinking, as I fought back the tears that were trying to develop behind my own eyes, “This one’s for you, Jeff, because I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
I knew it! There it was, in one of the articles I’d downloaded clear back in October after the assembly: “Sleep to Trance – Inducing the Hypnotic State in a Sleeping Subject”. I began to read…
I caught Andrew by the elbow and pulled him into an empty classroom. “Tonight’s the night, guy. When you’re sure Craig’s dead to the world, come get me.” He nodded, and then we quickly headed off in opposite directions. I’d been studying hard for a couple of weeks. I’d even practiced on my own roommate, Kyle, with complete success. He went to sleep as usual, and then, under my careful nudgings, got back up and ironed my shirts, without remembering a thing about it the next day. I was confident that I knew what I needed in order to get rat-bastard Pierson on the ropes.
The knock on my door was so soft that, at first, I wasn’t sure I heard it. To avoid any potentially difficult questions, I’d taken the precaution of ensuring (hypnotically) that Kyle would have an uninterrupted night, and he was snoring like a chainsaw. I cracked the door open and slipped out to sneak after Andrew down the hall and into his room.
Andrew pointed silently to the bed on the left, where the moonlight revealed Craig, the covers up to his chin, sound asleep. I motioned for Andrew to sit on his own bed, and then went to work. The trick (according to my reading) is to accustom your subject to your presence without actually waking him. You start speaking very softly, repeating the same things over and over, until you get him to answer you, hopefully without leaving the sleep state. Then you are in and can hypnotize the shit out of him, because you’re already past his conscious mind and its defenses.
“Craig, stay asleep, but listen to my voice.” (This, in a tiny thread of a whisper.) I repeated the same thing or a variant of it a couple of dozen times, each one a little firmer, although even the last never rose above a very quiet murmur. Then, with my heart pounding (because he’d kill both Andrew and me if this hadn’t worked), I said, just a little louder, “Do you hear me, Craig?”
I nearly peed myself in the silence that followed, but then, without so much as a twitch, Craig said dreamily, “Yes…”
The moon was bright enough that I could tell he hadn’t opened his eyes, and his face still had the blank, boyish innocence of deep sleep. (Seeing him this way, you’d never guess what an evil piece of excrement he could be when awake.) I wanted to whoop and do a victory dance, but wisely refrained, and began to hypnotize him. I basically repeated the things the stage hypnotist had done to put the guys in trance at the assembly. The only changes I made were based on my readings, either to reflect the setting, or to fill in the blanks in what I’d remembered. So, rather than focusing on sleep as a metaphor (there was no point in saying, “Sleep, sleep…” when he already was), I told him over and over to focus on my voice and my words… to let them relax his body and his mind more than ever before… to feel good and to yield farther to the voice and that feeling… And just as easily as he’d gone down for the professional hypnotist, Craig was now following every deepening suggestion with a dutiful helplessness that would have made Svengali proud.
“Nothing will wake you until I tell you to wake up. You will just keep sleeping deeper and deeper, and you’ll obey any orders I give you without thinking or resisting.” I turned away from my stunned victim and said, “Okay, Andrew, we can risk some light now. He’s completely under.” There was no response. What the hell? I looked closer at Andrew. His face was in shadow, so I couldn’t see his eyes, but the slump of his body told it all. “Andrew, are you hypnotized too?”
“I… don’t… know…” he answered in a dazed voice. Well, maybe he didn’t, but it was sure as hell obvious to me. Friend Andrew had definitely gone along for the ride on this one!
I was just about to wake him up, when another thought occurred to me. I was in a unique position to clear up this mess, but there was more than one way I could go about it. I could, of course, simply erase Craig’s memory of certain events, just as we’d planned; maybe even saddle him with some amusingly grotesque post-hypnotic suggestions as punishment. Or… I could do something a heck of a lot more positive for my friend. “Andrew,” I said, “You are hypnotized, very deeply hypnotized and going deeper with every passing second. Close your eyes and give in to it completely.” With a little sigh, he toppled over onto his side to lie in a relaxed heap. I repeated for him the instructions I’d given Craig about not being able to wake up or disobey, and then I turned on one of the bedside lamps. Both of them were way gone. They looked much less animated or aware than any of the guys (including Craig) had looked during the show at the assembly; but then, I’d spent a lot more time on the induction and deepening than the professional hypnotist had done.
I ordered Craig to keep going deeper into trance, but to hear nothing until I touched his shoulder. Then I said, “Andrew, in this deep trance you are unable to lie. You can’t lie to me or to yourself. You know what we have planned for Craig. Is it really what you want out of this?”
His answer was almost inaudible, so deep had his relaxation grown. I told him to repeat it more clearly, and he spoke one soft syllable, “No…”
Oops! Good thing I asked. Well, I’d had my suspicions. “What do you really want to happen with Craig? What would make you happy?”
I had to strain to hear again, and, from the expressions that chased each other across the blank screen of his sleeping face, it appeared that Andrew was having some trouble giving his answer. Finally however I heard the hushed, stammering monotone, “I w-want him to l-love me…”
Shit! I should have guessed! It’s the same for me about girls; she can be the stupidest air-headed bimbo or the most horrendous ball-cutting bitch, someone I wouldn’t choose to spend two minutes with otherwise, but if she has my libido engaged, I can’t make myself stop wanting her anyway. Hormones just don’t listen to reason. Damn, but this was getting into deep and murky water, psychologically speaking! I knew that I didn’t have the knowledge to attempt to make Andrew straight. Anyway, after Jeff died, the things I read trying to understand it all, made it pretty clear that those “cures” were just disasters waiting to happen. However… I looked back over at Craig sleeping the sleep of the unjust, and wondered about him. If, say, I had walked in on Kyle choking his chicken into my used shorts, I would just have laughed it off. Oh, sure, I couldn’t have resisted teasing him about it, but I would have been gentle. And we’d have remained friendly, because of Jeff, because I’m comfortable with my own sexual orientation, and because I wouldn’t feel threatened. Was it something else for Craig? Could he maybe have a little bisexual interest and be fighting it? If that were so, then there might be an opening there. After all, he did slow-dance and cuddle with Kent (who’s one handsome dude), and one thing all my reading sources agreed upon was that no one will do things, even under hypnosis, that really conflict with his core personality.
I worked on Andrew first. I had to get him to forget what had been going on with Craig, because I planned to rewrite Craig’s version of the events, and their perceptions needed to match. When I finished (and I was sweating cold from the nerves of it), Andrew didn’t realize that Craig had seen him “in action”, and the subsequent pain and humiliation was erased as though it never happened. As a precaution, I left him with a trance trigger: “boarding school blues”. Just in case this all went to hell, I needed to be able to get back into his head and, at the very least, put everything back where I found it. I told him to get ready for bed as usual, ignoring my continued presence in the room, and to sleep soundly for the rest of the night, not waking up until the alarm.
I should have been a touch more specific. I’d forgotten what Andrew, by his own admission, frequently did at lights out, after Craig was in dreamland. My hypnotized friend stripped down to his boxer briefs as nonchalantly is though I weren’t there. (Well, for him I wasn’t.) But then, with a furtive glance at his dead-to-the-world roommate, he pulled the boxers down too, and began to stroke his cock, never taking his eyes off Craig’s sleeping face. Man, I never knew I could blush that hard! But there was nothing to be done about it. I’d already told Andrew to ignore me, so I couldn’t alter his behavior even through hypnotic rapport. And I have to admit, once I got over my initial embarrassment, it was kind of interesting in a clinical way. I mean, I’d never watched another guy do it, and it was sort of cool to compare techniques. Besides that, Andrew is, how shall I put it, gifted, if you catch my drift. Maybe it’s just the contrast, him being so short and slim, that makes his cock look so huge, but I bet the Smithsonian has a pickle jar with his name on it all ready for when he eventually goes to meet his Maker. Finally, after what seemed to me a nearly interminable time, Andrew shot his wad, wiped himself off with one of his dirty socks (which he then carefully hid deep in his laundry bag), curled up in his covers, and went soundly to sleep. Whew!
At last I was free to get to the main event. I re-established contact with Craig, double-checking the depth of his trance. Perfect! He was so far gone that I think I probably could have convinced him to take a walk off the bell tower, if I’d been in as murderous a frame of mind as I was when I first heard about this whole mess from Andrew. (And if you’re thinking about what I just wrote a while back concerning a hypnotized guy not going against his own personality, forget that! I couldn’t make a gay guy straight or really straight guy gay, but then I wouldn’t have been telling Craig to kill himself; I’d have made it seem to him like something else, something totally harmless!)
“Craig, you will believe everything I tell you to be the absolute truth, you will obey every suggestion I give you without fail, and you will be incapable of lying to me or concealing anything. Got that?”
“Yes…” His soft voice seemed to come from far away, somewhere deep inside him. Man was he under!
“You won’t become upset, Craig, because you are much too relaxed and much too hypnotized for that, but I want you to tell me about catching Andrew jacking off into a pair of your underwear.”
“I came back from the library early ’cause I’d forgotten my math book and I needed it the next period. When I opened the door, Andrew was on my bed beating his meat into the shorts I’d taken off the night before. I yelled at him and he nearly fell off the bed. He was trying to explain, apologize, and pull his pants up all at the same time, but he got his feet tangled in the clothes and wound up in a heap on the floor. Then he stopped talking and just lay there as if he were waiting for me to kick him or something.” Craig’s voice, as he described pretty much the same events as Andrew had, was calm and sleepy.
“And because of that, you’ve made his life a living hell. Why? Why did you care enough to bother? Remember you can’t lie to me.”
Beads of perspiration popped out on Craig’s face. He really didn’t want to answer this. But the hypnotic compulsion finally won the tug-of-war in his psyche. “It’s wrong! He shouldn’t be doing that! I sh-shouldn’t see… He shouldn’t make me feel those things! They’re bad!” he said, despite the trance-induced naiveté, his tone of voice was desperately aggrieved.
“He shouldn’t make you feel what things?” I persisted ruthlessly.
Craig squirmed, still trying to resist spilling his guts, but, fortunately for me, not succeeding. “He made me feel sexy… that big cock of his out and hard… I wanted to touch it… to… to…” He was shaking now, so I had to step in before he broke the trance.
“You must relax, Craig. Deeper asleep… deeper… You can get upset, you can’t wake up until I permit it. Deeper…” His face gradually resumed its expressionless calm and he stopped wiggling. “You will listen to me, and you will understand and obey what I tell you. What Andrew makes you feel is neither bad nor good. It’s just a part of who you are, and from now on you will accept that part and no longer struggle against it, no matter what anyone else may say about the matter. In any case, it isn’t Andrew’s fault that you have these feelings, so you will stop blaming and punishing him for them.” I won’t bore you with the rest of my pop-psychology monolog. I had to work on my hypnotized little puppet a long time before he would repeat the message I was sending him back to me, but finally he yielded to the combination of irresistible trance-compulsion and irrefutable logic and blandly parroted my phrases without signs of stress.
“Now, Craig, this is what really happened that afternoon; you will never remember it any other way. You came back from the library early to get your math book, and found Andrew masturbating into your underwear, but you didn’t yell at him. You closed the door again, very softly, and went away to give him time to finish and get dressed. He was so focused on his fantasy that he never even realized you’d seen him. And you have never said a word to him about it. But you can’t stop thinking about it! The image of your handsome roommate with his big, hard dick in his hand, the knowledge that he was so turned on because he was thinking about you, wanted you, has been growing in your mind ever since, filling your own sexual fantasies, and making you so horny that soon you simply won’t be able to take it any longer. You will be compelled to try to satisfy those longings. You will have to try to seduce Andrew and become his lover!” Again, it took a lot of slogging hard work, repetition on top of repetition, but finally Craig’s sex drive had been rewired to orient on his roommate consciously at least as much as it had done so before unconsciously.
I was exhausted, and it was well past 3 o’clock in the morning. Working as quickly as I could without making dangerous mistakes, I planted a trigger phrase just in case I should need it later on, and then erased Craig’s memory of having been hypnotized. He’d now have no recollection that he hadn’t simply slept through the night as usual. Afterwards I let myself out, crept back down the hall to my room, and collapsed onto my bed for the remaining brief hours of shuteye available to me. Now only time would tell whether or not the plot would succeed.
Oh, by the way, if you’re thinking I got off too easy in all this, you’ll be delighted to know that Kyle was up at the crack of dawn, disgustingly cheerful about what a good night’s sleep he’d had. I wanted to scream!
During the next couple of weeks I watched them both like a hawk for signs of how things were progressing. Andrew was back to his normal self, cool, good-humored, and composed, but Craig was definitely looking a little haggard and distracted. I even waylaid him once and pulled his trance trigger, so that I could reinforce my suggestions and check up on their progress. The trance-work had all held, but he still hadn’t capitulated to his growing infatuation with his roommate.
Then one day, well into the third week since my “intervention”, Andrew and I were playing chess, and I noticed, as one of his random movements caused the open collar of his shirt to gap just a little wider, that he had what appeared to be a hickey on his neck. Looking more sharply, I could see that his cheeks and throat looked a little reddened as well. Could it be stubble rash? And was there something just a little more sleek and satisfied about his air general? Glancing about to make sure no one was too near, or paying any attention, I said, “Boarding school blues, Andrew.” He froze like a statue in the middle of moving his queen’s knight, and his eyes snapped shut like a baby doll that’s been laid on its back. Quickly I added, “Deep in trance, Andrew, but open your eyes and act normal.” He finished his interrupted chess move and then sat back as though waiting for my response. I could see by the blankness of his gaze that he was well under. “Now, tell me everything about how you got that hickey.”
Without hesitation, Andrew launched into his mesmerized recitation. “I was in my room studying last night. It was almost lights out, so I was already undressed, but Craig, instead of getting ready for bed like he usually does, was pacing around the room like a caged animal. I didn’t know what was bothering him, but he’d been acting weird all week, so I wasn’t paying real close attention. I was deep in the book I was reading when I finally became aware that he’d stopped pacing and was standing very close beside my chair. I turned to see what he wanted, and he was staring down at me with the strangest look on his face. I swear, it was like he wanted to kiss me, but that just didn’t make any sense. ‘Craig?’ I asked. For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he said, ‘Andrew…’ His voice sounded very funny, and he stopped to swallow. Then he tried again. ‘Andrew, I…’ another pause. His face was turning a variety of unusual shades from too pink to too pale. ‘I… saw you jerking off with my dirty shorts a couple of weeks ago. Do… do you have a… a… thing for me?’ Now I was the one turning colors. I was so dizzy that it felt as if the room had turned upside down. I started to deny it, but I could see he was dead serious and that I was caught. I admitted to it, and started to apologize and try to explain. Craig cut me off. ‘It’s okay. I’m not mad. I just… well… I mean… would… would you…? Oh, hell!’ I didn’t even have time to react before he pulled me up out of my chair, wrapped his arms around me and began kissing me hard. It was like time had stopped. I remember noticing how his stubble was scratching my cheeks (and how good it felt), noticing that he smelled of breath mints and a hint of after-shave, noticing the hard bulge of his dick in his pants as he pressed up against my body. Then it occurred to me that, after fantasizing about this for months, it was finally happening, and here I was just standing there like a block of wood! Time seemed to start back up then, and I was feeling him up all over, and kissing him back. God, he tasted...”
I stopped Andrew. I really didn’t need to hear how Craig Pierson tastes! “So, you two did the deed, then?”
“Yeah.” In spite of his extremely deep trance state, Andrew’s expression had acquired that smug, self-satisfied look we all get when we’ve scored a really great piece of ass.
“So tell me, Andrew, and you must be completely honest with me and with yourself, is this going to work for you? Are you happy with the way things have turned out?”
“Yes, Jon, I’m happy. I think it might even be love.”
I had a sudden, vivid mental image, almost like what I imagine a vision would be, of my brother Jeff, grinning from ear to ear and giving me a “thumbs up”. I woke Andrew back up, none the wiser that he’d just spilled the beans about his newly active sex life, and we resumed our game. For the first and only time, I won. (Oh come on! You think I could resist that opportunity? While he was still hypnotized, I told Andrew to be sure to make a few mistakes without noticing them. Tee hee!)
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