Christopher & Craig
Part 14: New plans for Mitch.
The doorbell rang at 6:55. I answered it. Mitch wore a shirt and tie with jeans and boots. He looked good.
“Come on in.”
I shut the door behind him and watched as he automatically bent to unlace his boots. He quickly stepped out of them.
White socks.
That was a welcome sight. Mitch was a very easy subject to condition. I grinned at the cold and clinical sound to that. Made it sound like I wasn’t having fun. I was.
He followed me into the den.
“Have a seat. Mr. Boots will be here at 7:15. In the meantime, Polish your boots.”
Mitch’s eyes slid shut.
“Breathe in and out. In and out. Feels so good. Relax. Feel the tension leave your body. Feel yourself at peace. Every thought seems far away right now. Just hear my voice and let my words fill your mind. Why did you remove your boots?”
“Whenever I enter your house I will remove my boots, sir.”
“Good boy, Mitch. You wore white socks too.”
“I am only allowed to wear white socks.”
“That’s right. What did you do last night?”
“I broke up with my girlfriend, sir.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I no longer have sex with women.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her we should find people who make us happy.”
“Who can make you happy, Mitch?”
“Sir?” he asked.
“Did you jerk off last night, boy?”
“I tried, sir.”
“What happened.”
“Every time I thought of a woman I had to stop.”
“Why did you have to stop?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You must answer honestly, Mitch. Why did you break up with your girlfriend?”
“I no longer have sex with women.”
“Why did you have to stop jerking off?”
“I no longer have sex with women.”
“That’s right. Good boy, Mitch. You’re a good boy. Keep answering honestly. Have you ever had sex with a man?”
“No, SIR!”
“Have you ever wanted to?”
“I’m no fag, SIR!”
Re-enter Uncle Sam. Military training had its drawbacks. Like homophobic slurs. That would change.
I had considered trying different avenues of training with Mitch. I had even expected some resistance, knowing he was a heterosexual. But that was the wrong thing to say. Mitch had a cocky attitude that I was going to decimate. And I suddenly knew exactly where to start.
“Mitch, let your arms and legs go limp.”
His body relaxed on the couch.
“Feel how peaceful it is to lie here limply and listen to my voice. Breathe in and out. Raise your right hand.”
I watched his right hand float upward.
“Now lower it.”
It returned to the couch as though somehow separate from his body.
“Mitch, you like it when I tell you what to do. You like me to control your movements. You want me to control your body. Say it and know that it’s true.”
“I want you to control my body.”
“I will soon enough, boy.” I watched him lie there breathing. He was a handsome boy. I could even like having him as a slave, with alterations. But I had to keep reminding myself he wasn’t for me, I wasn’t getting emotionally invested, and it was time to take a hard approach.
“How does a ‘fag’ act, Mitch?”
He seemed to be thinking about the question. “They have limp wrists. And they walk around on their toes, and they shake their faggot-asses when they walk. And they have high voices. And they wear tight clothes. And they stare when guys walk by. And...”
“They have limp wrists, you say?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Mitch, you can feel your wrists relaxing, can’t you? Your hands suddenly feel heavier than usual. Let them drop. Your hands just want to sort of hang there, don’t they?”
I watched as his wrists began to hang limply.
“That’s right. Stand up, boy.”
He got to his feet.
“Can you feel all your weight shifting forward on to the balls of your feet? Your whole body feels as if it was being supported on your toes, doesn’t it?”
Mitch was visibly leaning forward already.
“Your heels barely touch the ground. Walk across the room and stop.”
He took several tentative steps on his toes and stood near the doorway, balancing on his toes.
“Now, Mitch, you are going to find that walking like this is easier when you take smaller steps. And you will put one foot almost in front of the other, swinging your ass from side to side as you walk. Try it.”
Mitch swung out his right foot, then his left, stepping down on his toes, his ass swishing back and forth until he reached the couch and stopped.
“You like walking this way, don’t you? You know you do. This is the only way to walk for you. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Your voice is beginning to sound higher to me, Mitch. That baritone of yours was probably a turn-on for the ladies. You won’t care about that anymore. Have you noticed that you are talking at a higher pitch? You are. It’s much easier and more comfortable for you to talk up there. Your voice is just more comfortable at that higher pitch. Say it and know that it’s true.”
“I’m talking at a higher pitch,” he said, and suddenly he was.
“Keep walking back and forth across the room, Mitch. It feels so good to walk like this. So natural. You know you were meant to walk this way. You don’t want to stop. Let your wrists just hang limply.”
He was doing exactly as instructed. He was walking just as he had described. If only he’d known he was going to become his description he would probably have chosen different words.
“Walk on your toes. That’s right. Swing that ass. Good boy. You know what else, Mitch? You’re going to start wearing tight clothes. When you get home tonight you’ll look through your clothes and find some tighter jeans and shirts to wear. You like tight clothes. They show off your body. Tight T-shirts against your chest and tight jeans showing off your swishy ass. And that nice package of yours. You like to show off that muscled body of yours. You know you want to wear tight clothes, don’t you, Mitch?”
“Yes, sir!”
“And there’s another thing you know you want to do. From now on when a guy passes, you will watch him. You will watch guys around you. You will steal glances at them wherever you are. You will check out any man you see. You like to watch men. You like to look at guys. Do you understand?
“Yes, sir,” he said, in a much higher voice than normal.
“What will you do?”
“I will watch guys.”
“That’s right. Do you know why, Mitch? Do you know why you have a limp wrist? And walk around on your toes, and shake your faggot-ass when you walk? And have a high voice? And wear tight clothes? And stare when guys walk by? Do you know why you do all that?”
He didn’t answer. And I knew why. He was resisting on some level. Mitch still had will-power of his own, and it was telling him something at odds with what I was telling him. But he continued to walk around the room exactly as he had described. Which meant I was winning out. It was an incredible rush to watch this arrogant homophobic cop sashaying around my den as a completely stereotypical flamer.
I grinned. For the first time in my life I used this phrase with pleasure: “You’re a fag.”
He didn’t stop prancing around the room.
“Say it, Mitch. Say what you really are. You must say it. Because you know it’s true. Look at the way you walk. The way you talk and act. The way you dress and check out guys. You know what that makes you. You know what you are. And when you say it, you know it will be true. What are you, Mitch?”
“I’m a fag,” he said softly.
“What?”
“I’m a fag,” he repeated, still softly.
“I can’t hear you, boy!” I bellowed, like a drill sergeant.
“I’m a fag, SIR!” His voice was high and loud.
“Yes you are. You may stop walking.”
He turned and stood on his toes, hands dangling limply in front of him.
I stood and studied him. We had made amazing strides already. The white socked feet were the first sign. My eyes traced up his pantlegs to his apparent erection confined by what I knew were white briefs under the jeans. His arms were limp wristed at his waist. His face completely blank. We had come this far, there was no reason to turn back now.
“Mitch, when I bring you out of this very comfortable, relaxed place tonight you will still behave this way. You can no longer hide who you really are. It’s time for you to face up to it. You will leave here tonight as you normally do, and return at the same time tomorrow night. You will go through your night and day as you normally do. Only you will continue to behave in the way you described. It will seem very natural to you. Because it is natural to you. In fact, you already believe you have always walked and talked and acted this way, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good boy, Mitch. You are a fag. And soon you will not remember behaving any other way. But that’s about as much as I can do with you for one night. It will take some time for you to adapt to your new behavior. And I can’t imagine how the people in your life will react. No matter what they say or do, though, you will believe you are acting no differently and continue to behave as you described. Because this was your doing, Mitch. You described how a fag acts. You knew exactly how you wanted to act. Isn’t that right, boy? You knew how to be a fag because you are one?”
“Yes, sir!” he chirped.
“I thought so. Do you understand all the instructions I have given you?
“Yes, sir!”
“And you understand that you will return here tomorrow night at the usual time?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good boy. 1...you’re beginning to awaken as the changes take effect. 2...you believe that your behavior has not changed in anyway. You’re still the same old Mitch. 3...Wide awake and feeling great.”
Mitch focused on me and looked slightly dazed for a moment.
“Can I offer you a drink before you go?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said in his new, tenor voice. “That would be great.”
I led the way down the hall into the kitchen, glancing back at him. While not as pronounced as when he was completely relaxed, Mitch’s wrists had gone limp, and he was walking on his toes with one foot in front of the other, swinging his ass. People always insist that you can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do through hypnosis. In reality, as long as you can make them believe they want to do it you can manipulate a subject into anything.
And Mitch was proving to be a great subject. Now I could settle into having some fun manipulating him. Because the journey from tough cop to boot boy was going to be both a challenge and a pleasure. And where he wasn’t my boy, I felt less responsibility to take it slow and easy, and more desire to test his limits. Craig was special to me, and there were things I wouldn’t subject him to as my lover and willing slave. But Mitch would eventually belong to another, and while I could enjoy him while I had him, there were different requirements he had to meet for Leatherman, and a different lifestyle he was coming from.
Which reminded me, I still hadn’t called Leatherman to thank him for setting me up with a cop! I’d be sure to pay him back for that.
In the kitchen Mitch perched on a chair at the counter.
I poured two glasses of iced tea and handed him one. “I hope tea is okay.”
“Perfect,” he replied, sipping it gingerly.
I liked his new tenor. The baritone always seemed somewhat mumbly to me. “Do you feel like this is helping you, Mitch? I mean, if these visits are a waste of time for you we can discontinue them.”
He looked stunned. “No! I’ve really been getting a lot out of my time here...”
He didn’t know the half of it!
“...I hope I haven’t worn out my welcome.”
“Not at all. It’s been a pleasure. So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
“Definitely.” He smiled at me.
I walked him to the front door. It was amusing to watch him struggle to balance on his toes wile stepping into his boots. He laced them and stood, still on his toes.
“Same time?” he asked.
“Sounds good. See you tomorrow, Mitch.”
I watched him sashay to his car, then shut the door.