Author's Note: Once there was a Dr. Mesmer from whence came the word "mesmerize." He had numerous descendents who also became mesmerizers. This story is about one of those descendents and written as several first person accounts, in a style similar to that of a script, because that's what I do--write scripts and turn them into funny sex videos--which you can verify by doing a search on the word "stevesteelepresents" via a major search engine.
On with the story. Your feedback is appreciated.
The door to the waiting room opens.
Jackie, the doctor's pretty, young assistant stands in the doorway in a white lab coat, wearing black horn-rimmed glasses, which oddly don't diminish her beauty. They actually make her more attractive.
"Dr. Mesmer will see you now," she chirps agreeably.
What a pleasant voice, lilting, sweetly compliant. And soothing. It makes me feel at ease. Like I just finished a light desert.
My eyes wander over her petite frame. She doesn't notice, or doesn't mind. Most likely doesn't notice. She seems distracted and at the same time focused. Not on us, but on something only she can see.
Can't be a day over nineteen. Raven hair, alabaster skin. And sharp Mediterranean features, but without the dark coloration. A stunning contrast.
Her thin, shapely legs are accentuated by black stockings and heels. Gray tweed skirt, hemmed at mid-thigh, crisp white blouse with pale blue pinstripes. Gorgeous.
"Mr. and Mrs. Atkins?" she queries calmly.
My wife nudges me absently. I emerge from my reverie to notice that she is in one of her own. There certainly is a magic to this place.
"Follow me." Jackie again, singing her song.
We rise from the couch and follow her down the hall.
"The doctor will be right with you." She gestures. We sink into the brown leather couch. She hovers a moment, then flits away.
The room is stately with a dark oak desk and certificates framed in black hanging on the wall. I actually feel like we're in the office of a
real
doctor. I hope the atmosphere has put Janet's mind at ease. Ultimately, she's the one who has to buy into all this.
I peek in her direction. She's captivated by a miasmatic light on Mesmer's desk, some multi-colored cousin of the lava lamp. I glance at it myself and am immediately drawn in. I'm happily twisting in its vivid, amniotic swirlings, when a resounding voice echoes in my mind.
Hammer, anvil, stirrup, along the auditory nerve, then, reverberating in my consciousness: "Mr. and Mrs. Atkins. I am Dr. Mesmer."
He sits in the taut high-backed chair behind his desk. The shiny, flawless leather hardly gives.
"Or may I call you Mark and Janet?"
"Absolutely."
I extend my hand. He shakes it.
"We've never been to a hypnotist before," Janet confesses.
"We saw your infomercial the other night," I admit.
"And decided to make an appointment," she finishes.
"What makes you think hypnosis will help?"
That wasn't for me to explain, so I turned to Janet. She answers him without hesitation, determined to finally make this happen. Finally.
"Mark and I have been together over ten years, since we were teenagers. We're childhood sweethearts. Grew up in the same neighborhood. Went to the same high school and college. Lived in married student housing together. I've never been with anyone else. Never even looked at anyone else."
"I've looked, but never been." I joke.
I smile at Janet. She smiles back. Mesmer remains serious. He stares, expectant, and reassuring, waiting for the rest of the story, for the reason for our visit.
"We have the perfect relationship in every way. Except that I don't like oral," she blurts.
Admitting the problem
is
the first step to finding a cure.
"You don't like
receiving
oral?" Mesmer muses.
"No." A guiltily guffaw. "I don't like giving it."
Mesmer ponders her confession, then turns to me, amused.
"So you've never…gotten head?"
"Never."
He nods. "Not as uncommon as you think." He doesn't verbally scoff, but his eyes are scoffing.
He looks at Janet, wondering how (I assume anyway) a woman with such deliciously pouting lips has never had a dick between them.
"Medically speaking," he begins, "at the subconscious level, all women are cock-slathering, cum-gurgling sluts. And I say that with the utmost respect and admiration for the gender."
I believe him.
"For whatever reason Janet,
you
have repressed your
natural
desire for man meat and for ball batter."
Natural
desire. It is natural baby. I've been telling you that since high school.
"Now you can waste years of your life and thousands of dollars in therapy trying to
break through the walls
…"
He makes quotes in the air with his fingers.
"… or, you can solve the problem, quickly and efficiently,
inexpensively
and permanently, by submitting to my hypnotic method."
I hope she goes for this.
