"Let me see if I've got this straight. You want me to hypnotize a heterosexual woman to have sex with another woman."
"It's a matter of national security."
Hypnotist Joseph J. Lexington nodded uncertainly, unable to shake the suspicion he was the victim of an elaborate prank.
If nothing else, Elizabeth Wilcox looked like an FBI agent like a Ferrari looks like a delivery van.
Wilcox arrived for their meeting dressed in a crisp white man's shirt tied around her midriff, low-cut designer jeans and black Chelsea boots. Making no secret of a body singing a siren song a Tibetan monk would struggle to resist.
"Can I help you?" Lexington asked when Agent Wilcox arrived, thinking he'd double-booked a fitness model.
"Google the number for the FBI Field Office Boston," Wilcox advised, non-plussed. "Ask for my Miguel Vasquez. My supervisor."
Lexington called to confirm Wilcox's identity, staring at the raven-haired woman nestling into what he rightly called the world's most comfortable reclining chair.
Concentrating on Vasquez's voice was a challenge. The hypnotist couldn't stop fantasizing about rough sex with the duly authorized representative of America's premier law enforcement agency.
Specifically, ripping off Wilcox's shirt, stripping off her tight jeans, hammering her clit with his tongue, ramming his cock down her throat and fucking her in every imaginable position.
"The struggle is real," Lexington called out when Vasquez put him on hold.
If Lexington's visitor knew what he really meant, she didn't show it. Leaving Lexington wondering if FBI agents were trained to detect under-desk erections.
Some probably were.
Lexington read enough spy novels to know three-letter agencies trained attractive men and women to be "honey traps." Agents skilled in the art of seducing targets to gather intelligence and compromise their loyalty.
As Wilcox briefed the hypnotist on the Bureau's need for his expertise, he was increasingly convinced he was in the presence of a member of that secret elite.
To his credit, Lexington's mind managed to crawl out of the gutter long enough to give the FBI's request the consideration it deserved.
On the positive side, Lexington had performed straight-to-bi hypnosis for a client who couldn't quite bring herself to have sex with her childhood best friend. Leading to a threesome so hot Lexington worried they'd set the sheets on fire.
On the negative side, hypnotizing someone without informed consent was a moral and legal no-no. A potential career killer. Or worse.
Lexington read enough spy novels to know that when push comes to shove, government agencies shove civilians under the bus. Six feet under.
"Can you do it?" Wilcox asked when she was finished, narrowing her hazel eyes.
"Yes," Lexington replied testily. "IF she's hypnotic. There's only one way to tell for sure."
"And that is?"
"A hypnotic test. Doing it without her knowledge..."
"No need."
Wilcox swiped her phone and held it out, expecting the hypnotist to leave his desk for a closer look at the screen.
Lexington hesitated. There was no way the horse-hung hypnotist could hide the massive hard-on making a mockery of his chinos.
"Once more into the breach dear friends, once more," Lexington thought, channeling his high school English.
Lexington walked over to Wilcox and pulled up a chair. As far as he could tell, there was no reaction to his undeniable display of rampant desire.
"I have a hard time believing you need my help to seduce someone," Lexington said, trying not to sound annoyed. "Man or woman."
"You're sweet," Wilcox said, flashing Lexington a crooked smile that made his erection twitch. "But I wouldn't be here if it wasn't necessary."
"Well that's a shame."
Wilcox pressed play and handed Lexington her phone.
"Well if it isn't my old friend Quentin McDermott," Lexington said, watching a stage hypnotist hovering over a beautiful young blond girl slumped in a chair.
"When I count to three, you'll want to ask me a very important question about your sex life," McDermott said in a distinctly creepy tone. "But I won't be here. One. Two. Three!"
Lexington watched the blond girl open her eyes and search for the hypnotist standing right in front of her.
"I've seen enough," Lexington said, handing the phone back to its owner.
"Have you?" Wilcox asked as their hands touched.
"Negative hallucination," Lexington declared. "Deepest level of trance."
"So?"
"Totally doable," Lexington said, resisting the urge to add "like you."
Still rampant, Lexington stood up and made his way to the sleek coffee machine perched on the bureau by the door.
Wilcox swiveled her chair to keep the hypnotist in view
"Coffee?" Lexington asked, inserting a capsule into the Italian machine.
"I prefer Adderall."
"You and everyone else," Lexington said, watching dark liquid fill a tiny cup.
"I've given you the basic ins and outs of the operation," Wilcox began.
"So to speak," Lexington interrupted, sipping his espresso.
"Bad boy," Wilcox said, shaking her head.
"Obviously," Lexington said, tempted to point to the more than slightly uncomfortable tent between his legs.
"Decision time," Wilcox announced. "You want in?"
"What man wouldn't?" Lexington asked, polishing off his coffee in a single gulp.
"A gay man," Wilcox joked knowingly. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."
"I'll tell you what IS wrong," Lexington said, leaning against his desk. "Expecting me to help Uncle Sam blackmail someone. Out of what? Patriotism?"
"Are you saying you don't love our country?"
"What could possibly go wrong?" Lexington replied, ignoring the question.
"An IRS audit?"
"That's the threat," Lexington acknowledged. "What's the bribe?"
Wilcox straightened-up in her chair, pressing her breasts against her shirt's paper thin material.
"Received," Lexington said. "But before I sign the bottom line--"
