Call For Love

Call for Love Copyright © 2004 by Richard Williams. All rights reserved. Characters and events in this story are, of course, extremely fictitious.

*

Case 2003-1

Call for Love: First Experiment

by Prof. Richard W.

(formerly of the University of ____________)

"You need to get out and around more!" My former colleague was doing her motherly approach. "You can't just live like a hermit now that Sophia has moved on."

Professor Jane Hardway was right. It had been months since I had worked on a new case; I was just sorting out my old stuff, going through the motions. Of course, I knew that Sophia had taken a big step forward in her business career. My lover and patroness had been hired by the School for Social Expression out in Marin County as their Business Manager. She and I knew that the real name of the institute is the School for Sexual Expression. According to their recruiter, it had grown so much that the business side had gotten out of hand. They needed someone with a firm grasp of business principles AND who would enjoy helping to take down the barriers that keep couples apart.

We are looking forward to her visits back here in Denver, and I'm still enjoying running the research foundation that we set up in a tiny office high up in the Union Station, but as Jane had noticed, I was at loose ends.

My mind wandered to some of Sophia's stories about the work underway at the Marin school. When that film star ran off with her gardener, the media was full of amazement. Sophia, on the other hand, recognized him as one of her school's students-- not just in the hypnotic seduction course, but also in the Tantra classes. She was not the least bit surprised when critics acclaimed that star's "newfound glow, new maturity" and so forth. He had, Sophia giggled, tested out excellently.

Jane caught my attention again.

"I have a commercial research contract that will intrigue you," the 40-something professor offered. "You can help me with the field work if you like. I need someone with your interests." She said this perfectly straight, and then we both laughed. She had known of the sexual side to my ESP research back at the University of _____________ and understood the need for it. I asked her to describe the contract.

"It's a bit hush-hush, but the general concept is to use cellphone interventions as a device for mind control."

"Cellphone interventions?"

"Yes, the subject is strolling down the street, talking with anyone else about anything, and then the controller cuts into the conversation and puts the subject into a trance. Or, at least, that's the goal."

"How can you tell the difference between the subject and some of the other people we see in conversations on the street?"

Jane laughed.

"It's hard, but that's where you come in. This is a field test, so we don't have the subjects wired up to monitoring equipment. I need someone who knows the characteristics and can deal with people in trances. And, of course, all kinds of things can happen when it's a field test."

"Yeah, that's for sure. Remember the Watsrun experiment?" We both laughed at our recollections of a project in which our horny young research assistant had accidentally hypnotized himself rather than his co-ed subject. Jane touched my arm affectionately as she recalled how the two of us had gotten the two of them straightened out, back to getting their class project done, and then on into wonderful times on the couch in the department office and possibly other places. (Jane and I knew about them and the couch, because we had been headed for it after the sexual tension of that project had swept us up. We found them there in a deliciously flagrant pose. We had watched them carrying on unaware of us for several minutes, till we had to rush off to have each other.)

We both fell silent now, looking into each other's eyes for a moment. It was easy to imagine us together again-- but this was work first, and the moment was only just that. We blinked and it had passed.

Jane filled me in on some details. I was especially curious as to who was funding this research, since it had some costly technical details. The answer was discrete, but interesting.

Of course, I should have known better, but I had supposed it was some wealthy businessman. That's what it always seems to be in the stories, but this was real life and it was a wealthy businesswoman. Jane explained.

"As you may know, it's harder for a woman high up in business or government to pick out some stud to fuck for fun or some interesting guy for a real relationship or some junior partner to develop. If a man does any or all of those things, it might even raise his image in some circles. Our client understands that, because she has exactly those needs. She also sees a buck here, because some of her friends in the women's chamber caucus have the same needs."

"Some men would pay a lot for this gadget," I commented.

"Yes, my client understands that, too. We've already demonstrated that it can work with men, but we're just getting ready to try it with women."

My curiosity was aroused -- "you're sure that's all that was aroused?" -- I could imagine Sophia would have said.

And so that is how I found myself crammed into a small office full of electronic equipment, along with Jane and a young man for whom "nerd" would have made him sound more handsome than he was. We were in swinging LoDo, a couple of blocks from my home at the Oxford Hotel. Beneath our dusty window was Luna, the hot new club and out in front of it was a bench where cellphone users would head so that they could hear and be heard.

Her students back at our university would have been amazed to see her in the tight top and shorts that showed that her regular swimming had helped her to keep the look that had first caught my eye.

"This isn't really a good experiment," I muttered to Jane, the young man probably not being able to hear through the headphones perched on this oversized ears. "These people coming in and out of here are already ready to have sex with someone, possibly the person they came with, or possibly someone else."

"Yes, but you know the ethics requirements. We can't just point this thing up the 16th Street Mall and take anyone!"

"Well, we could, but we couldn't get it published in the Journal of Sexual Expression" could we?" She laughed and nudged me in the ribs.

I felt somewhat voyeuristic, as from this upstairs window I was looking down on proudly displayed breasts, buff physiques and couples already nuzzling.

Occasionally, a couple would leave to head off to one of the nearby lofts, or perhaps the Oxford Hotel, perhaps a bit tipsy, but surely from their body language only minutes away from tossing their clothes aside and forgetting the cares of telecom or the cable or whatever industry in each other's arms.

The Oxford's window display showed all the accouterments for a wedding night, with a picture of the glowing bride excitedly calling someone and saying "I became a part of history at the Oxford!" It looked to me as though some of these couples were doing the making history first and the wedding at some later date. There was a timid knock on the door.

"It must be Lindie," Jane said. In a step or two, she was at the door, inviting in a thin, tall graduate student of hers. Lindie was deep into her studies, and had no social life. Zero. She could have worn more attractive glasses, but she had no time for picking out something to replace what her cautious folks had bought her. She could have had nicer hair, but she was too busy to spend time thinking about it. I knew from our planning meetings on this study that she was bright, with a hearty life bigger than her thin frame would have implied, but it was also a fact that if she had walked into Luna looking as she did -- pulled away from her studies -- she would have walked out alone.

"I still don't believe this is going to work," she almost whined. "And I'm supposed to be getting myself organized for my study trip abroad." She had chosen the Hamburg-Harburg Technical University, best known to Americans as the school that terrorists said they attended, but known better as a Teutono-Nerd's paradise. None of that sissy Sorbonne Left Bank cafe stuff for her.

The more-than-nerdy technician had barely noticed Lindie as he twiddled with the controls, but now as lights on the panel began to flash encouragingly, he glanced up. I thought I caught a flicker of interest on his part as he looked over our new colleague, but instead it apparently was his way of letting us know that he was ready.

"I'm set," he asserted. "Who's going first?"

Jane looked at her clipboard: "Well, since we know it works on men, let's bag one and put him on standby in room 301."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Bag him?!" I teased her with mock seriousness.

"That doesn't sound very scientific!" Lindie added.

"Of course not, but we've been at this long enough that it's time for some fun," Jane responded. As we teased each other, Brian, the more-than-nerdy guy, had gotten the equipment going.

"Remember the sequence now, let's do things in the right order this time," he said. Apparently there had been a mix-up with at least one of the first men, and he had stripped nude in order to proudly display his erection in front of the Cactus Club, totally unaware of where he was, but still listening and chatting on his cellphone. Jane's financial backer was so amused by this display in front of the discrete LoDo men's club that she had made it up to the victim with an invitation to her boudoir.

According to Jane, he was still unaware of where he was in that situation, but the effects of repeating his display were quite different with only the peignoir-clad millionairess to observe. Even if she did have to reach her hand into his pants to get him to drop the phone!

"Okay," said Jane. "There's one now." An athletic looking Hispanic guy in a silver Mercedes convertible had pulled over into a no-parking zone to talk on his cellphone.

"As long as he doesn't start moving again..." whispered Brian to himself.

Apparently the system did not work well on moving targets.

Somewhere in the maze of circuits, a beeping sound commenced.

"I've locked on," Brian said.

"Okay, go ahead with the undersignal."

As we were to learn, he was talking with his girlfriend, who was stuck in a construction project on I-25. According to Jane, neither of them would hear the initial undertone, which was pitched to gradually relax the listener.

"I think he's feeling it" Lindie reported. She was watching him through binoculars. For a moment, I thought I saw Brian licking his lips as he looked at Lindie, but too many things were happening at once for me to be sure.

"Okay," Jane ordered, "interruption."

Brian punched some buttons ("in the future, this'll be automated" Jane had explained), and had we been listening in, we would have heard his girlfriend's voice start to break up. One of Jane and her associates' clever developments, learned the hard way through failures, was to gradually break up the subjects' conversations. When they first tried, men who were cut in on just hung up, thinking they had lost their connection. Of course, actually, they had lost it, or it had been stolen, but then they missed the best part.

With the gradual break-up, Lindie could see the look on his face and through the binoculars, read his lips "... you're breaking up... can you hear me now?.... wait a second till after those overpasses...."

"Overtone...." Jane commanded, and we saw him relax. "Sometimes when the audible signal starts, they drop the phone, but he's doing okay."

His natural curiosity aroused, or perhaps concerned that his girlfriend might come back on the line, our subject listened to the deep-relaxation message that was offered in a telephone operator's voice that began to emerge from the audio tone.

Jane stepped to a microphone that dangled from an equipment rack and motioned for silence. Lindie watched intently. Brian focused on the dials. Free to look around, I noticed Brian shifting unconsciously, making room in his jeans for the half-erection that I suspected had developed. Lindie was shifting, too. I realized from the way that she nervously plucked at her bra it that it was getting uncomfortable. She moved her legs to make herself more comfortable.

Just the anticipation of what was happening was enough for these two, I thought. It dawned on me that these were two hot young adults, with adult needs, who gave all their time and energy to their research. I looked at them with my university-experienced eyes, and saw their human sides just bubbling below the professional surface.

Jane began to speak in a pleasant, sympathetic tone, inviting our subject to further relax, to pass the time by telling her some things about himself. Yes... he and his girlfriend were only able to get together on some weekends, as she worked up in Aspen. Of course... its relaxing to share those secrets that we find so stressful... yes.... the more we share.... the more relaxed we feel... she could be seeing another guy up there... the lifeguard at the resort... where she is marketing executive... not that much experience with women before her... just fooling around in school... want to learn more... she's so tired from long road trips.... she says!... the sunburn where her top should have been.... why didn't I notice it before [because, perhaps it was only Jane's suggestion as she entered the Girlfriend Detacher phase of his programming]??? .... so pleasant to chat while we wait for her to come back on line... maybe she hung up? She could be with that lifeguard right now.... he's so strong.... buff.... imagining him lifting her onto the bed....

"It's confusing... why I am I talking with you?" he seemed to want to say. But Jane's voice led him further into the need to detach himself from his girlfriend.

"Just simple things... we're not into any rough stuff... she loves to think about me kissing her.... you know... down there..."

I thought I saw Lindie blush. She was running her right hand up and down her thigh, the binoculars wobbling in her left, as their subject shared his deepest thoughts.

"Perhaps you can imagine that true passion... the sexual freedom that you desire... is very close... you realize now how much you need..."

"Yes..." he responded to Jane's opening of his inner thoughts. "Perhaps you can imagine opening yourself to the woman who truly sets you on fire... now..."

"Yes...." We could see he was in a delicious trance, even without Lindie's binoculars. She adjusted her bra over her small breasts for the zillionth time.

"It might be fun to imagine that behind one of those windows across the street there is a woman just like that waiting for you.... now."

"Yes... imagine..." a slight smile crossed his lips.

"You feel good about that, yes?"

"Yes...."

"A woman who offers you everything that she does.... and loves to kneel before you to kiss places that your girlfriend avoids...."

"Yes!" This fascinated me because he had not directly mentioned this. I was not sure if Jane was just suggesting another false comparison, but later learned that it was a lucky guess on her part, which she amplified into a suggestion.

"Would you feel better if you knew it was true?"

"Yes!"

"And how would you find out if it was true? Is it hard?"

"By going over to that building ... it would be easy. No one is there. It's closed."

"But just think of how good you feel now... locking the car... walking over there... and what if it is true.... what would you be missing?"

"Passion.... sexual freedom.... I don't know..."

"But you will know when you walk into Room 301.... but you must be man enough to do that..."

"That was it!" exclaimed Lindie, pressing her eyes to the binocular. The athlete swung his tall frame out of the car, over the door, and stood looking at our building. Brian adjusted the aim on his equipment.

Jane spoke again, reassuringly, leading him across the street during a jam-up in traffic. Around him, singles swirled in their protective gaggles, couples squeezed through the crowds, but he strode alone, steadily, his masculinity growing by the moment, coaxed on by Jane's skillful suggestions.

Interesting, I thought, that I noticed Jane watching Lindie for a moment. Lindie, in turn, was licking her lips discretely as our subject walked purposefully toward our building.

Jane suddenly turned to us.

"Lindie! I forgot to unlock the door down there. Would you go down and escort our subject up to 301? Leave him there in a trance for a bit till we find an appropriate female subject." Our homely assistant nodded meekly and started to trot off, with a bit of a smile.

"Uh, Lindie, why don't you go ahead a bit with the induction to get him ready for our female subject? You need the practice."

"Yes, Dr. Hardway." Lindie nodded and walked away with an absent-minded look on her face.

"Mhhmmm..." Jane murmured. "I sometimes wonder if she's paying any attention or her mind is somewhere else." She turned to our geek assistant.

"Okay, switch on 301!" directed Jane. Brian hit the tv monitor panels, and a color image of tastefully decorated, but unoccupied Apartment 301 came up. In these LoDo buildings, offices, apartments and lofts mingled in what was called "mixed use." Apparently, our benefactor owned the building, and had arranged for this set-up at Jane's request. Jane had told me that there was a penthouse on top of the building, and when her sponsor was in town, the system was beginning to work well enough that she could send the men that were needed right up, ready to fuck, if that was what was needed at the moment. Apartment 301 was kind of a holding pen-- a luxurious holding pen.

The door of the apartment opened and Lindie walked in, pacing around at loose ends.

A minute later, the soccer player, for that's what he was, walked into the room. He was still listening to his cellphone. Jane explained to me that even when her mike was not open, that her subject would keep listening to the relaxation tones-- and waiting for their original caller to return. In turn, his girlfriend had been disconnected and was having a fit as his phone rang busy. Jane pointed out the girl friend would leave bitchier and bitchier messages on his voice mail, adding nicely to the detaching effect.

"Lindie will proceed now with a more traditional deepening of his trance," Jane continued in a professorial tone (and I should recognize that!). "That will help keep him on ice till our sponsor is ready for him."

We watched as Lindie pulled a small pendant from her jeans pocket and held it in front of the athlete. He continued to hold onto the cellphone, but the sparkle of the pendant caught his eyes. It was the old Hollywood style, but it worked. Well, it worked, but not in the way that Jane Hardway had planned.

".... going down a stairway.... " the young assistant intoned, in the classic way, as he nodded acceptance. Then, for some reason, the sound went off. We could still see everything in pantomime, however.

The picture continued, and as Brian madly fiddled with the sound controls, Lindie's trance subject went into his deepest trance, and then suddenly awoke at her suggestion. He dropped the cellphone, pointed at the slender project assistant, grinned, and swept Lindie eagerly into his arms.

Later, we learned that the athlete was notorious in his home country, and to a limited extent in this land, for his sex appeal. It was rumored that even in the capitol city. where the most sophisticated women were to be found -- perhaps the only sophisticated women -- that Rudolfo, for that was his name, would be in a club and simply signal a woman by pointing her out to the friends and wannabees who always clustered around his table. Everyone would turn enviously toward her, the men envying Rudolfo, that is, and the women knowing that tonight they would be fantasizing, while his choice would be spurring the nation's soccer football hope on to a kind of victory.