Dutch Treat

Copyright 2002 by ProfessorR. All rights reserved. For comments, e-mail at the link below.

All names, and most of the detail in this story is fictitious. If I've accidentally used your name, my apologies.

Part 1:

"This article says that hypnotists who achieve what look like quick results have sometimes "seeded" their subjects with the ideas that they want to get across... brought these themes up before the trance, in other words." My lover, Sophia, was flipping through a magazine at her work desk in our rooms at the Oxford Hotel.

I crawled out from under the desk, where I had been trying to connect a computer cable. On the way up, I pushed her robe aside and "accidentally" ran my hand over her thigh.

"For example," she deadpanned and continued reading, "introducing sexual themes as passing comments in the humor portion of a show, then finding a conservative subject who responds to that theme in a colorful or ribald manner under a trance. Or another example, the hypnotist refers to something that everyone knows and accepts, that the aroma of certain flowers will evoke particular reactions, but doesn't say what those are. When the hypnotist has the subject in a trance, then it's easy to insert the desired reaction." She straightened her robe, re-covering her knees.

"Does that seem possible?" We were in for a serious discussion. It was not just possible, I had to admit. I had enjoyed the benefits of that approach. And with the right seeding, the subject might be eager for the fulfilling trance session.

"Do you remember that I receive a card every spring from Doctor Dominique T_________ in Leyden?" I tried to say that in a matter-of-fact way, but wondered if Sophia noticed me straightening my legs out as I rose-- to make room for my swelling penis. This was a story that contained many sexual images.

"Yes?" Sophia agreed and wanted to know more, all at the same time. "I remember it from last year. It was a flowery sort of seasonal card. It mentioned that she had another student assistant for the coming year."

"That might not seem like news, but there's something special about the duties of her assistant. Do you want me to tell you a story?"

"Of course, if it has a big ending... for me!" Sophia looked down demurely and then looked up at me with a wink.

I grabbed the other chair and sat down opposite her.

"We know how horny you get when I tell stories. Once upon a time...." I parodied.

"You can skip that part. I've heard it before." She pulled her robe open, just a bit. My eyes slid inexorably down to her generous endowment. "Will this encourage you to get to the point?"

I cleared my throat and shifted in the chair. I was feeling pleasantly uncomfortable again with the memories.

"You remember about my European sabbatical back in '92?"

"I recall that you referred to it a couple of times." Sophia thought for a moment. I liked the way that she pursed her lips. "Oh! She's the expert on Southeast Asian culture who helped you debunk the "Malay faith healer."

"Yes. Nothing about him was true, except for his fees. He wasn't Malay, he exploited the faith of his clients and they weren't healed. He was an effective hypnotist, though."

"And he was working in Holland, yes?"

"A friend of mine who remembered some of my papers invited me over there to look into this. She introduced me to Dominique."

"Isn't that more a French name?"

"There's actually been quite a French influence on the Netherlands through the years, but I think that her mother had just liked a certain French film star. Anyway, it seemed to fit." Sophia raised an eyebrow.

"Now you really have some possibilities with this story. How do you know that her name fit, eh? I never thought of you as the BDSM sort."

"We never had sex."

"Really? That's a letdown." We laughed at her inadvertent pun.

"We never had sex with each other, that is."

"You are avoiding my question. How do you know this? And what does it have to do with my question about seeding." Sophia teasingly pulled her robe tighter. I began to unfold the story.

=======================

Dominique and I got to know each other well during our investigation. Her knowledge of her discipline, Southeast Asian studies, was invaluable. She was just a couple of years older than me, and so we had a lot in common to discuss. I was still learning about differences in their education system versus ours. One of the differences was that it was even more difficult for a woman to become a professor in some fields there than it is in the U.S.

Dominique had plunged into her work, sacrificing chances for long term romantic relationships. Her love life was with her books and her passion was for her academic life. With most of her energy thrown into her career, she pushed ahead. She did take care of herself-- I had expected someone less attractive and out of shape. Swimming is popular in the Netherlands, for pretty obvious reasons, and Dominique was a mermaid in the water. In fact, sometimes she wore as little as a mermaid might.

When our project came to an end, she invited me to stay over a long weekend and see Leyden, a city of which she was very proud. My time in the university guest residence was up, and the room was already guaranteed to someone else. Before I could come up with an alternative, Dominique suggested that I stay with her.

It was a generous offer, not to mention intriguing. Of course, back then I was so sure of my own magnetic attraction that I barely wondered whether she would just be a hostess, sure that she wanted to offer something more. That Saturday morning, I moved from the guest house into her apartment.

It was in a beautiful setting, with a view of a small, but well-traveled recreational canal. One could easily imagine sitting down on the balcony with a glass of wine and spending the rest of the day there-- had not the bedrooms been so close.

Instead, she invited me to join her for a nude swim and I was caught off guard. Of course, I had been drawn as any man would be to her fit sexuality, but I had not made any approach that I was aware of. It turned out that the nude swim was a scheduled slot at the university community's pool. There was every age and physique represented, so it was not supposed to be erotic. I did notice, though, that there were a couple of guys, of various ages, whose eyes kept slipping back to Dominique's trim figure slicing through the water. She smiled pleasantly and let them enjoy her passing-- and kept on swimming. This woman was very comfortable with her own body, I noted. That does not just come from reading or writing books.

It was almost dinner time by the time we returned to her apartment, but in the northern latitude, it was still quite warm. Air conditioning was a rarity in European residences. Instead, we moved out onto the balcony. My mermaid colleague turned up some cheese and crackers and a nice wine. We put our feet up on the railing and enjoyed the pastel colors lit by the low sun. A family floated by in their boat, dressed for an evening event of some kind. A canoeist paddled past. It was easy to get caught up in the lazy scene.

I had not realized that Dominique had gone back into her apartment and returned with a big notebook.

"I'd like to show you something," she said as she opened the book. I thought about how much I would like her to show me herself, but I said nothing.

"It looks like your lecture plan and notes." I recognized the typical outline, even in Dutch, from the format.

"Yes, but there's something special here that I need your help on ... with. Which?"

"Either "on" or" with" - they're both good prepositions." I knew that prepositions were one of the trickier parts of learning a foreign language. Her English continually amazed me, but she knew that she could learn more.

She nodded her understanding, and continued.

"Now, you have seen the official copy of my lecture plan and notes. Here is the copy that I actually use in the class." She pushed the notebook back across to me. This did not seem very exciting to me. Then I realized something peculiar about this copy.

"It has random words highlighted...." I remarked.

"Not random."

I read some of them aloud, getting the feel of the foreign words and phrases and recognizing the ones that were similar to English.

"There's a pattern to these words.... let me figure it out...." I muttered. Dominique smiled seraphically.

"You're talking about the use of flowers in religious rites or... in meditation? .... (she nodded that I was guessing the Dutch right) .... "And how deeply that relates to our natural sexual needs.... hmmm... and about the flow of time in their beliefs......" I turned the pages. "A deep.... uh... deeper understanding .... comes.... as the one who senses the aromas and the flow of time .... capitulates--- er surrenders, to their feelings....."

I looked up at my smiling friend in amazement.

"This is a hypnotic induction stretched out over a couple of months. Does that work? And what good is it?"

Dominique smiled and tossed her hair back.

"It's seeding. The class by now is used to the fact that dear old Professor Dominique T__________ has a time in her lecture where she wanders a bit. It's a time that they find quite useful for letting their own imaginations float around the room for a few minutes. Of course, being typical university students, they often think about sex during that time. I've heard that American students would do the same thing, yes?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Yes." I had to laugh. "But what is seeding?"

"Each week, I introduce them to some additional concepts that might lead very gently, but firmly, toward an understanding of their inner sexual needs, and how that might be influenced by the right setting."

"And then? The class has an orgy?"

Dominique's turn to laugh, with that.

"No! But as the sessions proceed, I can see which students learn this lesson most effectively. Some of them just seem to ignore it, but each year, a few really internalize these ideas."

Now it all made sense to me: "And so you can pick some to seduce with the least little bit of additional conversation or hypnosis!"

"That's a typical male reaction." Dominique raised an eyebrow. "But I think if you look at as simply opening their minds to something that they would enjoy doing anyway..." We both laughed.

"Let's go to dinner, and I can tell you more about it."

"So we're not going to go into your bedroom right now?" I could tell that we were not, but I teased her.

"No, I have to concentrate on this time window with my students. Tomorrow, late afternoon, is a key time."

"So you've had experience doing this, eh?" I was impressed, although still not certain how this was worked out in practice. Dominique whispered her reply, as if keeping a secret.

"Twelve years, now."

"A different one every year? Every semester?"

"I'm not greedy. Just every year. And during that time, they discover that their girlfriend or friends are more eager than ever for their company." The professor looked pleased about her students' progress under her tutelage. Or perhaps, just under her.

"I'm very aware of the research that shows that women have a biological need for sex, not just the obvious psychological needs. Just because I'm deep into my work does not mean that I should ignore my femininity. And when I took conventional relationships in the past, the men always wanted to settle down and have me cook for them."

================

We found ourselves in an Italian restaurant down the street a few minutes from Dominique's apartment. The crowd had thinned out enough that we could carry on our conversation without too much concern. Or so I thought at first. Dominique had just explained to me that her field of choices had narrowed down to Jereon, an intelligent and sensitive young man who also enjoyed swimming. He had already responded, she confided, to her suggestion that he would enjoy participating in the nude swim. I could see that she was satisfied with what she had learned about him-- her light-complexioned face turned rosy as she described the young man and her soft bra gave away the power of her hardening nipples, as one would imagine. It was so easy to think of how wet she was becoming-- "try not to think of it!" I told myself. And then she mentioned how much fun it was when they brushed together while swimming!

Just as my friend was outlining why tomorrow was so important, I realized that an older gentleman at a nearby table was stealing furtive looks at us. It was hard to see him, due to the way his chair was positioned. He seemed vaguely familiar to me, now that I took my eyes off of the glowing Dominique for a moment.

As I watched him, the college-age waitress arrived at his table for his order. They spoke for a few minutes, and then I saw a strange transition. He flipped his hand toward his lapel, toward some sort of button or badge, and as he did so, a peculiar look passed over her face, and her breathing slowed to a steady pace.

She stood motionless for a moment, and then I saw tiny tears forming around her eyes. She listened intently to whatever the man had to say, and then just as quickly as the look had come over her, she blinked and her posture changed.

Before, she had been quite businesslike, almost brusque. Now, she smiled sensuously at him and leaned over to serve him-- it looked as though her pleasantly full breasts would pop out of her blouse-- it was that sort of leaning over. Other customers were ignored unless they demanded her attention. When she had to serve them, she looked back at the older man and licked her lips, as if already tasting him.

I had to learn more about this. It looked as if some hypnotic action had taken place, but how could it have been so quick? I excused myself from Dominique for a minute and went over to the stranger.

"Excuse me, there's something that I would like to ask you."

"Well, Professor Williams, I would like to ask you a question or two, too!" My jaw must have dropped open.

"You look surprised that I know you. I was in the lecture you gave in Ames a few years ago to our fraternity guys. I'm their alumni adviser, Frank Jones." We shook hands.

Of course, now I recalled seeing him. He had said nothing during the event, just watched quietly and let the frat boys ask the questions.

"Did my talk do any good?" I asked. I was supposed to convince them that being a male human being was more interesting to women than being some other type of male barnyard animal.

"I think it did. At least with some of them. And a couple of them took an interest when I suggested they take a summer course out in Marin County with my group. So, for sure, they're doing great!"

"Marin County?" I queried.

"Yes, perhaps you've heard of the School for Social Expression? I'm a field representative for them."

"You mean the School for Sexual Expression," I retorted.

"Why yes," the businessman smiled. I reached out and touched his lapel, fingering the back side of the button hidden under it.

"I see you know something about us." He calmly reached in his pocket.

"My identification." He held up a card with an i.d. photo on it, showing me that he was what he said he was.

"How about the other side of the card? Your graduation exercise."

"You REALLY know some things about us!" he laughed. He pulled the card out of its holder and flipped it over. A hidden camera photo showed a nude 20-something redhead screaming with raw delight as she mounted him. Out of focus in the background were other entangled nude couples.

"I know that you guys carry your graduation photos along with your i.d., or you have them on the backside of your diploma in your office. You have to prove that you paid attention in class by finding a willing sex partner that afternoon and getting them back to one of the locations where the hidden cameras will pick up proof positive." I rattled this off quickly, as I supposed that Dominique was getting impatient.

His waitress came back, and I could see she really was HIS waitress now. She ignored me as he instructed her to come to his hotel room that evening; perhaps they were both showing off for my benefit. She stood as close to him as possible, short of embracing him. The owner, a woman in her mid-40's, glared at her from the bar. Obviously, she was enjoying some thought too much to worry about what another woman felt.

"Quality control," he snorted after Kalee -- that was her name -- left.

"I'm following up on some of our foreign students' projects. You know, we can yank a students' diploma if they try to pull our leg on the Seduction Reports that they file." I nodded, as if I already knew that, which I did not. I got the feeling that this was a case of pulling something other than his leg.

"Is she the student? Or is she the project?" Frank laughed.

"That's a good way to put it. She's the project, an American girl here for some overseas work and fun. A kid named Jereen... Jereon.... damn, Dutch is a tough language to get right... anyway, his uncle was an ace on seductions when the government sent him to our program to improve his counter-intelligence work. The uncle paid for Jereon to take our summer course. But we're not sure if he got it right or if he was just lucky on his finals."

"Does that happen?"

"Sure, everyone now and then. He did great on the sexuality part, but he was sort of mediocre on the pick-ups."

"He's not from Marin County. Maybe it was his English."

"Could be, but the Japanese kid from Amsterdam in the same class has a whole parade of hot babes coming in and out of his place now. The Dutch boy only has this one gal, the one I'm interviewing tonight." Frank licked his lips at the thought of interviewing her in his room.

"Uh, I've got to get back to my friend over there." I nodded to Dominique, who was getting impatient.

"Say, she looked like she was getting pretty hot for you. So, you're getting some with her, eh?" Frank winked heavily. I cleared my throat.

"She's a colleague. We've been working on a project together."

"Uh, right." I could see that he did not believe me, and wanted to know more.

Back at our table, Dominique, in turn had questions for me. As briefly as possible, I explained what I knew about the School. Being as inquisitive as she was, there were questions from her that I did not know the answers to. And then there was the matter of Jereon-- I started to say something, but was interrupted by a new turn of events.

"Look! Watch what's happening...." whispered Dominique. I turned to watch as the owner came over to talk with Frank. She was a slender brunette, attractively dressed, with a determined look on her face. Apparently she did not appreciate having production slowed down by what looked like flirting with her staff.

We saw her standing squarely in front of Frank, hands on her hips, her jaw thrust forward. We could not hear what words were exchanged, or see his expression, but we saw what happened to her. Gradually, she relaxed and her hands slid down to her sides. We noticed her blinking, and then a pleasantly calm expression wiping the anxiety from her face. Tiny tears from each eye caught the romantic light in the dimmed restaurant. She stood as though frozen for a minute or two, listening intently. Then she blinked again and came back to her surroundings. She looked warmly at the American "educator" for what seemed like a long time, and then repeated what I later learned was a hotel room number. And then in the most casual way possible unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse. Her fashion look went from business to pleasure with that little transition.

The restaurant owner turned back to her bar, spinning in a way calculated to give Frank a good look at her silhouette in passing. He nodded pleasantly, as though this sort of thing happened all the time to him.