I have been interested in subliminal messages since watching those skits about it on Saturday Night Live in high school. They were pretty funny, but as a pudgy, un coordinated, named Jeremy, but called Germ, teen aged boy, they were the stuff of dreams. So as a senior with lots of time on his hands I seriously began researching the subject. Being the nerdy computer type, it was easy to find material, and just as easy to try to devise a program that would turn theory into reality.
By the end of my senior year I was ready for the first experiment. By process of elimination, and endless permutations I thought I had discovered the key. The shorter the message, for a thousandth of a second, once every four seconds for two minutes, five random times per hour, I was sure would get someone to submit to the message.
My first subject was a matter of luck. One of the bustier girls in school approached me one day and asked if I was that computer geek, Germ. Offended as I should have been, I just stammered yes. She said she was having a problem with her computer and asked if I would look at it. I said sure, realizing that it would give me an opportunity to try out my program. I told her I would meet her at three and rushed off to enter the message in the disc. After some deep thoughts I remembered the sweater she was wearing and decided to enter â room is hotâ and sauntered over to our meeting place. I followed her to her desk in a deserted room. I couldnât resist the temptation the empty room provided, and openly stared at her breasts heaving up and down beneath her sweater as she booted up her pc.
It was easy finding out what was wrong with it, but I took the opportunity to slip in my disc. I got the machine up and running, then told her I would need to stay for about an hour to make sure it was doing what you want it to. I asked her what she would like to work on for an hour. She told me she was researching whales and was looking thru reference books. I brought up a whale link, started my program, and told her she could go to any whale related site from this link. I stood up and motioned for her to sit. When she asked what would I be doing, I just pointed to my book bag and said reading.
About a half hour later I noticed her start to squirm, five minutes later she was plucking her sweater off her chest and flapping it, as if trying to cool off. Five minutes after that she turned, looked at me, said, to hell with it, grabbed the edge of her sweater and lifted it up and over her head. I beheld the sight of one of the biggest breasted girls in school sitting in her bra. I almost fell off my chair, my hormones raging out of control at the vision of her huge tits filling out the over matched bra, and struck by the knowledge that my little gadget worked.
Throughout college I was never put in such an advantageous situation again with a woman, but had lots of fun with it with my fellow frat brothers and the communal pc. I got a job, as the resident tech geek of course, for a smallish computer data warehouse. The company filed and stored other companies excess computer data, with between 15 and 20 employees, burrowed away in their cubicles, endlessly typing information into the computers that seemed to take up most of their space. Then Kathy was hired and all hell broke loose, much to my scientific, to say nothing of my sexual and monetary, satisfaction.
Kathy was a stunning tall thin blonde. She was about 5â7â, 120 or so pounds, long thin legs, always covered by pants, average breasts, and had an oval shaped face with almond shaped deep blue eyes. She could have been a playboy model, maybe not centerfold material because of her breast size, but right next door. She was a secretary in the pool and was at a computer all day. The first time I saw her I knew it was time to dust off the subliminal message program, a worthy subject had been found. Within a week I was into work early to bugger up her pc. I was all ready prepared with her first lesson when the call came for me to fix a down computer, knowing it was her computer I was going after.
Kathy was even more beautiful close up, and like the dork I was, I could barely get my words out. She interrupted me by dismissivley waving a hand at the machine and saying fix the damn thing, walked away.
Kathy always had her blonde hair wrapped tight in a bun at the back of her head. Her first message was âlet hair downâ. It was so easy to fix what I had broken and insert my program that I was done before she got more than 20 feet away. I motioned to her and said it was fixed. She finally looked at me while mumbling that was fast and sat at her desk. Without a thank you she just brought up the files she was working on and turned to stare into the computer screen.
This time I didnât have to wait around the room to see what would happen. I did my rounds and random fixes around the building and every once in awhile would look into Kathys alcove. Sometime within that first hour she took her hair out of its bun and shook it loose, for the second time I got a chance to look in on her, I could see it cascaded around her shoulders and about half way down her back as she sat at her desk. Its blondeness shone even in the artificial light of the building. I was mesmerized by its beauty. Right on time, 2 hours later I got another call that her computer was down. I had added a little hitch to my program, one that every 2 or 3 hours shut her machine down so I could get another chance to change messages, or alter the one all ready running. This time the message read âskirts more comfortableâ, and let it run the rest of the day.
The next day Kathy came to work with her hair down and wearing a skirt. The only trouble was that it was ankle length, and I still couldnât see her legs. I went to my desk and programmed that days message and waited for the call to fix her computer. When it came and I entered her cubicle she was really pissed. She wanted to know why I couldnât keep her computer working and said that I wasnât worth my pay. I apologized and said some machines just have bugs in them and it takes awhile to get them figured out. In her dismissive way again she said just fix it and left. I inserted that days message, âwear short skirtsâ, and programmed it to run all day with no breakdowns.
The next day she came in wearing a knee length skirt. To keep her from blowing a gasket, and possibly costing me my job, I went to her cubicle and told her I wanted to look at her pc before it got too warm, to see if I could catch what might be causing her problems before they started. I reprogrammed the message to read âwear shorter skirtsâ and deleted the breakdown order.
Kathy had a breakdown free day and I actually got a look of acknowledgment from her.
The third day she finally showed up in a skirt that did her legs justice. It came to mid thigh and hugged her figure tightly. At lunch while seated in the cafeteria I got my first chance to see her legs while seated. She sat with them crossed and I was just able to see the slightly darker shade the bands of her pantyhose made beneath the hem of her skirt. No amount of pulling or tugging at its hem helped cover them. I rushed to her desk, and while she was eating I wrote âwear thigh highsâ into the program.