Sometimes Randolph Trevais enjoyed a succession of clients: more often than not he had long periods of idleness between the typical and not so normal clients who sought his services. Tuesday, so far, had been one of those latter days. Randolph played with his pencil. He doodled, he practised his signature, he drew pictures, he inserted the blunt end in his right ear and examined the end to see if it was waxy. He was bored, very bored. The only spark of interest in the day had been his new receptionist. He had been sorry to see the old one go. She had been very good. The patients responded well to her, she made an excellent cup of tea and had been very pleasant indeed. Still, she was gone, seven months pregnant (nothing to do with him at all), and now he had a new girl, younger and prettier though a bit reserved, not too jolly and, importantly, not able to make a good cup of tea.
He sighed. She had brought his mug in with the teabag in it! His eyes looked upward - had she not noticed the teapot? No one with an ounce of sense made tea by putting a teabag in a mug and then pouring hot but (probably) not boiling water on it. Randolph scratched his beard and stuck the pencil in his other ear. Was he bored or was he bored? He glanced at the copy of 'Hypnosis Today' on the desk beside him - could he stand reading that? It would be full of smug articles by leading practitioners on how they had done this and how their latest technique had worked. Another article would critical examine, with references, a difficult, no almost impossible, case some hypnotherapist had undertaken and the, no doubt, successful conclusion. He sipped his tea - bloody hell she had put sugar in it!
There was a knock on the door, it opened "Mr. Trevais, there is a new client to see you." Randolph looked up. Yes, his receptionist certainly was pretty.
The new client, or clients, proved to be a mother and son, a Mrs. Spandoz and her son, Malcolm. Randolph greeted the mother but in his usual observant way was also looking at the son who seemed to be watching the new and pretty receptionist close the door.
"Do sit down. Tea, coffee?" Randolph rang through to his receptionist with the order.
"Now how can I be of help?"
Mrs. Spandoz indicated fairly quickly that it was her son who was the problem. It took rather longer for Randolph to extract the problem from her. Whilst his mother was talking the son studiously examined the carpet, only glancing up when the door opened and the receptionist brought in the coffee. The boy watched as she closed the door before returning to his careful examination of the carpet. Randolph thought that he had certainly been looking at the receptionist's legs.
"Most boys of my son Malcolm's age, he's nineteen, are interested in girls, are they not Mr. Trevais?"
"I believe so." But Randolph thought to himself, "Oh no, she wants me to 'cure' him of being gay." But this was not the cause of Mrs. Spandoz's worry.
"Malcolm does not seem to be interested in, or even look at girls, do you Malcolm?"
Malcolm said something indistinct to the carpet.
"Have I found any dirty magazines in his bedroom? No. Does he sit up late at night watching Channel 4? No. Does he even have posters of half naked girls on his walls? No. Do I hear his bedroom door creaking away at night? Oh, yes I hear that!"
She looked at Randolph expectantly. He really did not know what to say.
"And?" he ventured after a time.
"I have always taken Malcolm out on trips. We went to a National Trust house the other day - it doesn't matter which - and what did I find Malcolm doing? Moving those great mahogany doors between the rooms, just pulling them to and fro. Well I did not know what to think."
Nor did Randolph. He was quite lost at this. What was the problem? The boy opened and closed doors?
"That was when I really got worried. I didn't say anything, certainly not to his father, but when I came home unexpectedly the other day. What do you think I found?"
Randolph had no idea, but he noticed a red flush of embarrassment seeping across Malcolm's neck and face. What could it be? Surely not in bed with another boy?
"There he was naked, sitting in the doorway of his bedroom, his willy all stiff in his hand. He was, well you know what boys do Mr. Trevais."
Randolph did, so he nodded, and it was not just boys he thought.
"And with his other hand he was moving his door so it creaked Mr. Trevais, he was masturbating to his door!" She looked triumphantly at him, she had got it out. It could not have been easy for her to tell all this to a stranger. "And I want it to stop. I want you to hypnotise away this nonsense and get him interested in girls like normal boys." She stood. "Can I leave him with you? I'll wait outside." And was gone.
Randolph looked at Malcolm.
"Biscuit?" he said. He had noted that the chocolate biscuits had not been touched and he did not like to take one without his client taking one first. He was also not at all sure how to approach this problem. Malcolm was not looking at him, just the carpet. He did not respond to the biscuit question - which was not promising. Randolph took a biscuit.
"Did you want to come here?" he asked.
"No." came as a very clear response. Malcolm looked up at Randolph.
A reaction - good, thought Randolph.
"Thought not." He smiled. Malcolm almost smiled back.
"Biscuit - chocolate biscuit? Your mother is paying for them after all." He smiled again and got a response. Malcolm was looking at him and of course once someone really looks at Randolph Trevais - looks him in the eyes - it is difficult to look away. Randolph held his eyes just for a few moments. Malcolm relaxed a bit.
"So doors," he said turning his head to look at the door to the room, "doors, um, rather different?"
Malcolm looked down, "I don't like to be laughed at - you think I'm stupid."
"Not me, no, not at all. Interesting yes, professionally fascinating yes, stupid no. Amusing? Well let's be honest it is unusual but... you can't catch anything dangerous from a door can you?"
Malcolm smiled - perhaps a finger."
"Or..." risked Randolph.
Malcolm laughed. Randolph was making contact.
"Tell me," he begun.
"I just like the way they move you see."
Randolph nodded.
"Each has her own character. Some of course you wouldn't look twice at. Others, like the ones Mum mentioned, so perfectly hung, deep red mahogany, smooth to the touch, the scent of beeswax and turpentine, moving easily indeed silently on those great shiny oiled brass hinges, great big screw heads, polished 'til they gleam, just moving at the touch. I pull on her big brass knob backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, so silently, the gap getting wider then narrower, then wider showing me all of her oiled brass hinge, wider and narrower..." Malcolm had a far away look in his eyes and a bulge in his trousers.
Randolph leant back in his chair. "You like the door to your bedroom?"
"She squeaks. She's nothing like the big mahogany doors but she makes this little squeaking sound when I move her just a little bit. She can be shut and silent and then I pull on her handle, just a bit and she starts to open with this sexy little squeak.
"You use the word 'sexy'?"
"Yes, well I suppose it's the right word to me. I find it sexy. Turns me on anyway. This really is awfully embarrassing Mr. Trevais. I don't suppose your other clients talk about their sexual likes."
"Oh, you'd be surprised. I have many clients with many, er, matters they need help with. So, are you happy with doors? Your mother doesn't like it."
"Better than being gay!"
"Maybe, maybe she'd think that. But it's you I'm interested in. How do you feel about your, er, predilection?"
"Doesn't worry me. But I suppose... can you really change how I think?"
"Oh well, you see hypnosis can be very powerful. More so with the right and willing subject. I can do more if you want to change."
"Dunno if I do. I've never taken much notice of girls and can't say it worries me if I don't. Could I like girls and doors?"
Randolph scratched his head. "Difficult. I'd rather redirect your interest from one to the other. A transfer of allegiance, as it were."
Malcolm was quiet for a time. He shrugged his shoulders, "Let's give it a go, then. What do you do, swing a pocket watch?"
"If you like," Randolph lent forward, "is that what you think I need?"
