Hypnothe Rapist Starr Scores Ch 04

To every gentleman in need of female companionship and affection...your dream doctor. Literally.

*The Hypnothe-Rapist*

SMOKEY SAGAS #20:

STARR SCORES IV—"The Man Called Dennis"

***

August 9th, 9:31 a.m.

Angie slid open the window and welcomed the summer morning breeze into her office with open lungs.

She closed her eyes, smiled and inhaled the balmy air. She was in such a wonderful mood. Everything was terrific: her day, her job, her life. She felt so happy she could burst.

The daily joys that filled her waking hours had long since instilled her with optimism. Dr. Angela Starr's upbringing took a form only idealized in the minds of most. It seemed as though things always went right for her and her luck never ran out, up to and including the current five and a half-year-long success of her clinic and her practice.

There were very few lessons she had to learn the hard way. Fortunately, she had avoided life's big mistakes and grew more resilient from the smaller ones. She worked hard, she played hard...she did

other

hard things...

She was a pretty normal kid growing up, with one notable distinction. While her friends and peers tried to get away with staying up past their bedtimes as children and teens, Angie could hardly

wait

to hit the sack every night. The fact was, since early childhood, she'd always harbored a particular fascination with sleep. The sooner-or-later involuntary transformation from consciousness to unconsciousness. It intrigued her no end how she could drop to sleep with such suddenness she didn't even realize it, and eight hours could go by in what felt like the wink—no pun intended—of an eye.

And when she wasn't sleeping herself, she delighted in taking in the vision of others sleeping. Her parents taking a late afternoon/evening nap, her brother or sister sleeping in on a Saturday, even their dog. She would study the facial expressions they made sleeping—even the dog—trying to speculate if they were dreaming, what about, was it a nice dream, how did it make them feel, did they remember anything once they woke up, whether they got up on the proverbial right or wrong side of the bed...

As she continued growing, she only threw herself more energetically into the world of sleep. She wanted to know everything there was to know about it, and then some. She couldn't exactly major in it in school, but she could throw together a schedule of scholastic courses like biology, physiology, psychology, chemistry, medicine and so forth. It took her a while to determine precisely what she wished to do with the rest of her life, but once she discovered hypnosis—and hypnotherapy—she saw her path to happiness and fulfillment appear in plain sight before her.

She quickly identified and stuck to the perfect nightly sleeping regimen for herself: silk pajamas, a third of a glass of Brita filtered water, Melatonin, 600-thread count cotton sheets with a comforter to match, a polyester sleeping mask—of the same brand she gave her patients to wear—and a stuffed animal to occupy her otherwise restless arms. She wasn't a big tosser-turner by nature, but her arms did tend to make some waves in the mattress.

It was basic common knowledge that a good night's sleep correlated to a happy body and mind which thanked their owner for it. A bad night's sleep, conversely, was one of the leading causes of general depression in a given day. Angela couldn't wrap her head around the idea that she herself—or any other human being, for the matter—would or could willfully sacrifice sleep, for any reason. With all of these things in mind, what could be a more noble, finer career path than helping people subconsciously cure personal difficulties while also getting them caught up on the replenishing tonic of sleep?

After opening her window to this mild August morn, she sat, opened her laptop, brought up her patient database, readied her pen and pad, and pressed the intercom button.

"Paula?"

"

Hi, Starr!

" her receptionist's voice came through. "

You've got three confirmed appointments today and one cancellation

."

"Really...oh well, that's too bad, but maybe someone else in need'll be able to take advantage of that cancellation."

"

Hey, maybe we should put out a bulletin

," Paula dryly joked. "

Oh—first patient now arriving, newbie, named...Dennis Lunder

."

"Terrific!" said Angela, always thrilled to meet newbies. She inserted some extra space in her laptop spreadsheet to enter him into her patient log, and in went his name. "Just send him on back anytime he's ready!"

Mr. Dennis Lunder had parked crookedly in his parking space, diagonally, no less, turning the parking space into a parallelogram. He fumbled his way into 2125 Columbia Street. He looked very weary, with red, unfocused eyes. He made his way up to the front desk, blinking repeatedly.

"My gosh, Mr. Lunder, is everything all right?" a concerned Paula wished to know.

"Yeah...eh...well, no, not really, actually," he replied, "I'm just pretty anxious to see the doctor."

"Okay, well, she's all ready for you," Paula assured him, handing him a new patient form. "And you don't have to fill this out right now, you can do it afterwards if you prefer."

"Thanks," he muttered, accepting the form with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. When he opened them, he asked, "Which, uh...?"

"Oh—" She pointed her thumb directly behind her. "Straight back, right across from the restroom. Door's open, you'll see her."

He yawned and tossed her an A-OK sign. When he got back to her office, there she was, scribbling something at the top of her notepad, eyeglasses on. Her hair was scrunchied back, and she had on feathered slippers and a nightgown a color he couldn't identify. If blue and silver were mixed together on a palette, the result would be the color of this nightgown.

She didn't immediately see him at first, so he wandered in a few feet. When his shadow caught the corner of her eye, she looked up. "Oh! Mr. Lunder, I presume?"

He nodded, pawing at his dry, itchy eyes. "'S me..." he confirmed, a bit sourly, it seemed to Angie.

She popped up from her chair. "Hi!" she greeted with her unforgettable cheerful bubbliness. "I'm so happy to meet you. I'm Dr. Angela Starr. You can call me Dr. Starr, Angela, Doc, whichever you like...be honest with you, Angie's my favorite, but, I know some patients feel funny about calling their doctor by her first name—

or

her nickname. So you just call me whichever of those you're comfiest with, and I'll do the same for you. D'you prefer Dennis, or Mr. Lunder, or something else?"

That was a little much for him to take all at once. "Uhhh...Dennis is fine."

"Excellent! Okay, Dennis, my friend, why don't you go ahead and have a seat..." she urged, gesturing him to the sofa bed, "And we can go ahead and get rolling."

He obeyed, and she resumed her therapist throne at the same time. "So, Dennis, tell me..." She slipped on her eyeglasses, started a fresh piece of paper in her pad, and clicked on her pen. "What brings you to my palace of divine healing this morning?"

There was something about this lady's magnetic personality that he found appealing and comforting. She also appeared to have pretty green eyes. She and her eyes would have been even more of a breath of fresh air had he not been grappling with his disorder.

He stared up at her with two pleading, itching eyes, fanning despair into the atmosphere. "Insomnia."

Angela's face fell. Her heart fainted.

"Oh my gosh," she reacted, welling up with concerned empathy. "I'm

so

sorry, Dennis." For Angie Starr, who believed that a regular and healthy allowance of slumber went hand in hand with fundamental mental and physical well-being, involuntary deprivation brought on by insomnia was her worst nightmare—ironic pun intended. She felt so bad for him, but so glad he had come to see her so she could help him. "But don't you worry; you came to the right place. Everything's gonna be okay, trust me."

He blew out an exasperated sigh. "Thank God."

"Okay, well, I'm guessing you're pretty eager to get to it, so I'm gonna skip a chunk of my standard intro for now, and make our introductory interview short and succinct. I'm making the presumption you've never been hypnotized before, have you, Dennis?"

"Right."

"All right. There are a few things you'll need to be aware of going into this with me. First off, as gentle and soothing as hypnotherapy is, it's also a little more intensive and intimate than your other forms of therapy are."

"Does...that mean I'm gonna have nightmares?"

She laughed cordially. "Oh, no! Not at all. What I mean by that is, you'd be lying on my folded-out sofa bed, and I would be beside you, manually monitoring your vital signs, your pulse and heartbeat, so if you have any problem or apprehension with physical contact, now would be the time to tell me."

He waved it off. "That's—that's fine," he said automatically, a bit impatient to begin. "Whatever it takes."

"All righty, just a few other things of which I'm obligated to make you aware," she went on. "If at any point you wish to stop treatment, the decision is yours only. Session one, with the introductory interview, lasts a minimum of two hours, and there're no interruptions, no distractions, no nothing. Once your hypnosis gets underway, the rest of the world might as well be closed off outside that door. In here with me, you're priority one, from the moment we begin until you walk out the door. 'Kay?"

"Sure, sure."

"Good. I know you're anxious, and I need to ask you a couple questions, then I promise we'll get started before too much longer," she assured him. "Now, if you can remember, how long has your insomnia been going on?"

"Uh...a...couple of weeks, I guess?" he speculated uncertainly.

That same bittersweet feeling of sympathy dug into her heart again. "

Gosh...poor guy

," she silently mouthed to her notepad. "Any idea what might have brought it on?" she asked him.

"

No

idea," he stressed. "All I know is I wanna sleep, I just want to so much, but I can't."

There they were again, the three 'c's: caring, concern and compassion. She scribbled on the pad as he continued.

"I just...I—I can't even lie still. It's like my body just won't shut down. I try to lie down in bed, but before I know it, I'm right back up again," he confided. "And I can't stand it, Doc...Angie...whatever..." He wasn't sure what to call her, but decided that was inconsequential right now. "It's killing me. If I don't get some sleep soon, I think I'm gonna lose my mind.

Please

help me. You've

gotta

help me."

Angie melted a little inside. Maybe she got a little more emotionally involved than other therapists, but she just wanted to take him in her arms, cradle him like a baby in her safe haven and lull him into a veritable coma. God, what he must have been going through...she may not have been able to relate firsthand, but she

could

treat him.

She uncrossed her legs and leaned over to address him a few inches closer. "Of course I'll help you, Dennis. That's what I'm here for. There's a reason I, Angie Starr, am the number one hypnotherapist in the city. Not boasting, just saying."

She saw the hope rise in his expression.

"Now, then," she proceeded, "Your typical bout of insomnia can stem from any number of things: uneven sleeping habits, use or abuse of stimulants, mental disorders—stress, anxiety, depression, chronic fear—RLS, ill-timed exercise, jet lag—"

"What's RLS?" Dennis jumped in.

"Restless Leg Syndrome. It's a neurological condition that doesn't allow your legs to sit still. It causes twitches and spasms in your legs and feet, but some people even get it in other parts of the body. And it usually most typically occurs when you're sitting or lying down for long periods of time."

He pondered it. "That's kinda weird," he said, "I think I might actually have that. I mean, I don't know for sure, but..."

"Oh, do you notice those symptoms in your body's behavior?" she asked.

He shrugged wearily. "Eh...sometimes I think I do, but it's hard to tell anymore. I can't even think straight, let alone concentrate on observations like that."

She nodded. "All right, well, we'll put that down as one possibility. Now Dennis, if I may ask, how old are you?"

"I just turned 31 last December."

"Okay," she noted, continuing to scribble in her pad.

My goodness, what awful handwriting doctors have

, she thought as a mental aside. I

just wrote this, and I can hardly even read it myself.

"And...what's your diet like?"

He shrugged again. "Uh...pretty normal, I guess. Nothing too out of the ordinary."

"Mm-hm," said Angie, "Do you consume a lot of caffeine?"

"Not anymore," he answered honestly. "I started to cut down on it more and more, hoping it'd help me sleep, but it didn't."

She pursed her lips in sympathy. "Smoke? Drink?"

"Uh, not really anymore either," he said. "I used to have a problem with smoking, but I beat it some years ago, thank God. Now I don't even wanna look at a cigarette."

"Good for you," she told him, "That's what I like to hear. Alcohol?"

He shook his head. "Never. My, uh..." Dennis wasn't sure he wanted to confess this right now, but what the hell, he thought. "My mother was killed by a drunk driver when I was 16."

"Oh, good Heaven, I'm so sorry!" Angela commiserated. "Again! How terrible."

It was Dennis' turn to nod. "Wasn't the best day of my life."

"Well, I should say not!" she added emphatically. "Well, if this tragic event happened fifteen years ago and your insomnia's just been going on for a couple weeks, they're probably not related...although anything is possible." She drew a little heart at the top of her pad by his name, just to remember to provide him with some much-needed, much-deserved affection—in addition to sleep.

"And how's your social life?"

"Not very active," he said predictably, rubbing his eyes again. "I have some friends, and they try to get me to come out with them, go do...whatever, but a lot of times now I can't locate the energy."

She nodded once more. "Perfectly understood. How about your love life?"

"Heh," he replied. "Let me answer that one this way:

what

love life?"

"Uh-

huh

. Well, have you been seriously involved with any girls before?"

He tried to think back. "Uhhh...once, I guess, probably about a decade ago. Nora, or...Dora or...Cora, something like that."

"And I take it you're not seeing or thinking about dating anyone now, then?" she asked.

"Negative," he muttered, blinking and rubbing his eyes yet again.

"And I also take it then that your libido and your sex drive've taken a decline since all this started?"

"Mm, you could say that, yeah," responded Dennis, a hint of sarcasm lacing his voice.

"And...just so, as your doctor, I can ascertain an optimum overseeing of your health, do you have any STDs or anything like that?"

He reddened a little in the face. "Eh,

no

."

"Good," she smiled. "Now, since I mentioned I'm going to touch your body to monitor you before and during the hypnosis, do you have any e

special

ly sensitive or ticklish spots?"

He thought. "Uh...well, my back, actually...and my feet, and...'s probably it."

"A'right, both of those will be safe.

"But before we get started, I just need a final confirmation from you, Dennis. I cannot and will not do this without a patient's absolute and total consent. So if you're ready, just give me a positive 'yes,' and it's a go."

Dennis had started nodding halfway through this explanation. He was impatient, but was trying to remain as compliant as needed. He fought off the compulsion to make the circular "get it over with" motion with his hand. "Yes. Yes. Definitely," he said.

Angie grinned. "Excellent," she said contentedly, tossing down her pad, pen and glasses. And out came the phone plug.

"Oh, yes, and Dennis, do you have to be anywhere else after this today?"

"Uh, no...not for a while, anyway," he replied. "Not until 6:00."

"Ah, good; well, I can promise you it definitely won't take

that

long." She went into a drawer in her desk that didn't get opened very often. "Now to start off," she began, taking out a small bottle, "We're gonna sorta...'cheat' a little...well, not really, but I'm gonna give you a Melatonin. Just as a supplemental aid. I don't usually break these out unless in case of extreme situations, but if insomnia isn't a hypno-mergency, I don't know what is."

She took his hand palm up and shook out a pill into it. "The great thing about these," she explained, "Is how easy they go down. You don't need to chew this, you don't need to take water with it, all you have to do is let it dissolve in your mouth, and it'll just slide right down on its own.

And

, it's even yummy," she added with a cute smile. "It's strawberry-flavored."

Dennis slipped the tablet between his lips. As he did, Angela thought she saw them curl up into the first hint of a smile she'd seen on his face. It made her swell with happiness herself.

She stood. "Okay, Dennis, my gent, please stand for me, and remove your shoes, and I'll pull out the sofa bed."

And so it went. Angela sat his shoes over near the door and said, "Okay, well, there's pretty much everything most patients need to relax: pillows, stuffed animals, slippers...oh, yes, and here's a sleep mask. Please go ahead and put that on, to minimize any light sneaking in and disturbing your sleep," she handed it to him. "Do you want some pajamas?"

"Oh, no, thanks," he politely declined. "I never wear pajamas."

"Very well. Go ahead and set yourself up then, get comfy, take as many pillows as you like," she encouraged him. "I'm just gonna shut the window and close the blinds...can I put on a soothing CD for you? Or would you prefer silence?"

Boy, there seemed to be a lot of decisions for him to make. "Um...okay, but, could we keep the CD quiet?"

"Of course!" said Angela, glad to be able to provide the extra source of relaxation. "I'll turn it down until it's just barely audible."

She heard his voice behind her as her back was turned readying the CD.

"Can I ask something borderline inappropriate?"

She turned her head in his direction with curiosity. "Well, I...can't guarantee you'll get the answer you want, but yeah, you can

ask

me absolutely anything you like," she tossed over her shoulder.

"Well, I'm under the blanket, and...I know I said I didn't want any pajamas, but, uh...can I still, uh...take my clothes off anyway?"

Angela felt herself tingle. Her mind and a few other particular areas of her body shouted,

Uh, HELL YES!!

She kept herself cool. "If that makes you more comfortable, Dennis, sure, go ahead." She tried hard to conceal the sudden excitement in her tone and not let it give her away, so to speak.

"Thanks," she heard Dennis gratefully sigh. "I kinda sweat under a blanket if I'm all dressed, especially in summer."

Speaking of which...

Angela gave her brow a quick dab, and turned around, pressing the play button on the CD player. "Well, we could do without that," she smilingly agreed.

His body shifted and turned, making ruffling and shuffling sounds under the covers as he removed his apparel. Angela watched him for about three seconds, then said, "You know what, Dennis, I'm gonna step in the restroom for just a minute to give you some privacy. I know there's an opaque blanket over you, but just the same..."

She stepped into the office's built-in bathroom, just hoping he wouldn't object to this for any reason. The truth was, this quick adjournment to the restroom was more for her than for him. She silently shut the door behind her, closed her eyes, exhaled as quietly as she could, and looked in the mirror.