The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

We had not remembered to pull the shade in our Oxford Hotel room, and the late morning sun finally drove us to get up. It felt too good cuddling there, so after we ordered room service, we hopped back under the covers for a few more minutes.

“You can start telling me the story now, before brunch gets here...” Sophia coaxed, running her hand up inside my thigh as added encouragement.

“I’m glad you’re not mad about what I got into,” I offered.

“I didn’t say that. But as you must have figured out, each time you come back to me from one of these adventures, we seem to love each other more. I suppose it’s the coming back part.”

Room service arrived, and it was time to get up. Once again, we were at the table by the window. Morning light sparkled off the ice water glasses and the hotel silverplate. It sparkled in Sophia’s eyes, too, as I resumed the story, taking her back in her mind’s eye to the pleasantly mysterious ranch house on the outskirts of Reno.

A smile crossed Fawn’s lips as she recognized something in the erotically decorated room.

“The pattern on the music box... it’s so good to look at it...” Fawn said sweetly. “It’s like the one they showed me....”

“Anything else here that reminds of you of that special time?”

“And them... two of them... a couple...” Fawn turned her glazed eyes toward startled Sherrie and me. Surely, something was haywire here.

“You mean this couple or another couple?” Leona queried.

“Another couple. They had a card with lace edging printed on it. But that wasn’t the most important part. They showed me a picture like the pattern on the music box. It was so interesting, it was embossed in the paper. I wanted to study it more and more. The more I looked at it, the more I wanted to look at it. The more I ran my finger over it, the more comfortable I felt, just like the woman said—or was it the man?”

“Where was this?” Leona asked.

“At the front door. They came to the door and asked if they could use a phone, because their car had broken down...” Taking on a proud tone, she continued, “...but I knew that was on old trick for bad people to get into the house, so I said if they gave me the phone number, I would call for them.”

“And did they give you the number?” Leona prompted.

“No, but it didn’t matter. They said it was on this card that they were holding, and showed it to me. But it just had this wonderful pattern on it...” Fawn sighed. “...like your music box. Looking at it, it makes me feel ... for some reason... so sexy....” She shifted position, as she felt her body responding to these thoughts.

“Did they talk about that with you?”

“Yes... but it was hard to follow... both of them talked at once... it made my head spin, but all in a nice way. I invited them in, it seemed like the right thing to do now.” A note of relief entered her voice.

“Did they ask you some questions?”

“Yes... ”

“What kind of questions....”

“The naked truth about my sex life.... about my plans in Reno... my hobbies...” Fawn stated this matter of factly, as if all three were equal.

Sherrie’s eyes grew very large, and I leaned over to whisper to her, to let her know that the pieces were falling together more rapidly than she had realized.

Sophia nodded and paused in the midst of spreading strawberry jam on an English Muffin. She looked intently at me.

“I’ve heard enough of your reports to know what this sounds like. Am I right?” She leaned close to me, her decolletage distracting me as she did so. Pleasantly undulating curved patterns rolled through my mind.

“Probably, you must have guessed what we were coming to.” I nudged Sophia playfully and then explained.

“Yes, it had the School for Sexual Expression printed all over it. The “mystical” symbol releasing her libidinous thoughts, the hypnotic induction, this time a double induction—so fast, so deep, with the co-ed couple making everything feel safe, comfortable—and the careful series of questions to check for any problems.”

“I didn’t know that the School promoted this kind of thing. Isn’t that awfully commercial?” Sophia raised her eyebrows. “For a place that tells the general public that it is the School for Social Expression, that seems exploitative!”

“They probably don’t endorse it. These people seem to have taken the school’s program and decided to have more than a pleasant sex life with it. For some people, money is more important than sex, after all.” I outlined more for Sophia, how they learned that Fawn had still wanted me, and “helped” her to overcome her fear of rejection. In fact, as we knew, she had more than overcome it.

Fawn had told us all that her subconscious knew, including a long, delicious recounting of her rendezvous with me in my hotel room, as she recalled it. I noticed Sherrie licking her lips and shifting her legs sensuously, as if remembering how good it had felt when I was in her.

I found it increasingly hard not to think of how wet her pink lips must be becoming. Still, she managed to write down notes on Fawn’s recollections.

“You must feel very warm now, Fawn... and you, too, Richard... and Sherrie...” Leona was stating the obvious, but it felt so good, the way that she said it, that I wondered if we all were slipping into the trance that she had organized for Fawn.

“I am very warm,” Fawn said, as she sat up and unbuttoned her blouse, sliding it slightly open to cool her unfettered breasts.

“Come to think of it, I am, too...” smiled Sherrie, as she slipped open the jacket of the jogging suit that she had worn for our late night foray. She was topless, now, too, as I had imagined she would be, simply gorgeous.

I sat stunned for a moment. Leona was casually taking off her robe.

“Professor.... I think that you will more comfortable with your clothes over there.” She pointed to a corner of the bed.

It made a lot of sense, since everyone else was doing it. And, with each item, I felt better and better. And harder and harder. Of course, I understood, I was not being hypnotized, just the other two guests!

“Fawn... Sherrie... you’ve been enjoying looking at the statue of the intimate couple, but now look how happy the Professor is becoming... you could feel that way if you finish taking your clothes off, too... and we can go for a swim to cool off... freshen up... I know that you forgot to bring your bathing suits... so as I undress... it is just natural that you will feel more and more comfortable about going without yours...” Leona slipped off the bottom of her suit.

Now every piece of our remaining clothing was ending up in neat piles. And then we were on our way like kids to the pool, albeit kids with a desire to touch and tease and smooch. They were eager to hear the words Leona whispered to them, nodding agreement with some instruction of hers. It was so nice of her as hostess to keep us from being embarrassed about having forgotten to bring our swim suits! Why had we not thought of that before? I hurried after the women.

Like mermaids, the three plunged streamlined into the water. I flopped in with a big splash that briefly hurt my erect staff, and then began attempting to chase them.

“Here comes the submarine! Fire your torpedos!” chortled Sherrie over an imaginary loudspeaker as she sped away. I was none to fast a swimmer anyway, but with the extra drag created by my erection, it was hopeless. At least, that is what I told myself. I heard her and Fawn splashing about further and further down the pool, having a hell of a time without me.

With a splash, Leona rose from beneath the pool waves in front of me, her generous breasts bouyed up by their new waterborne weightlessness. Her nipples appealed for kisses as the water steamed off their rosy circles.

“Are they ignoring you Richard?” She asked it in a coy tone as she drifted toward me. “After all, I suggested that you’ve already had them... they want to try something different now.” I heard giggling and cooing coming over the sound of the splashing water and the drain system. I looked over Leona’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of Fawn nibbling on Sherrie’s shoulder between the waves.

“Wouldn’t you like to try something different, too? It’s a more sensuous solution if we all come together. I don’t want you to be left out of the fun tonight.” I puzzled as to what she meant, but let the words fade out as our hormones took over.

We floated together, bobbed up and down, laughed as we slipped away from each other, but never had to struggle to merge in the weightless, warm environment. Making love to Leona was like sinking into a wonderfully warm feather bed surrounded by love and laughter. I thought that it felt sweet. The laps that she had regularly swum had strengthened her legs so that her hold on our floating passion was strong. In the distance, the giggling had turned to intense sighs and urgent words, sounds that only increased the energy at our end of the pool.

Somehow, she blurted out, “...I am SOOOO ready!” And somehow, my mind suddenly cleared of everything except the perfection of our movements. I did not need to think as we flowed from position to position in our fluid environment. I felt powerful, uncalculated spasms in her vagina, her energy snapping crackling around my slowing thrusts... slower, slower... I forced myself to do the opposite of what our bodies demanded and she ground herself hard against me, growing more desperately excited. Then, at the instant that she began to come, I felt the urge and responded—thrust rapidly, rapidly, deep into her being.

“.... Oh, yes....” she gasped, and I let my own orgasm catch a ride on one of hers as it welled up through her and around us. She came over and over again, and finally, spent, we pushed ourselves gently apart, and floated lazily in the pool. My thoughts were full of every woman who I had known, as if I was flying over the world to each. It felt strange and it felt delicious. Bright, curving stripes danced in my thoughts, with all of the women with whom I felt deep connections teasingly twined between the skimpy, colored covering.

Fawn and Sherrie came drifting over, lazily touching us, each other.

“You and I were great...” Sherrie whispered as she bobbed past. I raised an eyebrow, started to say something, but Leona caught my eye and winked.

In another minute, Fawn teasingly brushed her chest against mine, and cooed “you and I are still quite a team.. I almost feel sorry for these Other women....” She kissed me, letting her bush slip across my penis in a what I recognized as a typical young woman’s enjoyment of her feminine power. She floated on.

“Is there something going on that I don’t quite understand?” I asked Leona, as she paddled over to hold me. We pulled ourselves up out of the pool, and headed for towels and the deck chairs. It was chilly out in the desert under the stars, and we grabbed for robes.

“Yes.” Leona finally spoke. “I can’t explain it; it doesn’t happen very often, but there was something special about our many climaxes.”

“Uh, no... I meant is there something about everything tonight that I don’t understand....” My head was still spinning with thoughts of many lovemakings. Obviously, each of the women thought that I had made love to her. I pointed that out and Leona smiled.

“You are tired, probably want to get back to your hotel. Fawn needs to get home before dawn.” She laughed at the silly rhyme. “And Sherrie needs to make her report and start the balls rolling at the Commission.”

It made sense, but it seemed like an instruction. Yes, it made sense, unfortunately. For almost the first time since Fawn had finished telling her story, something made sense.

“Mmmmmmmmmmm. Come again...” Leona said as she leaned over to kiss me. And, with little warning, as though on command, my flaccid manhood rose abruptly and a pure white stream shot from my engorged tip. Tenderly, she bent over and licked at me, and then touched a cum-coated finger to her lips.

“So soon!” We both laughed. But it all was like magic.

“What night was that again?” Sophia queried. The words stopped my story-telling reverie, and I realized that I had reached under the table and was caressing her thigh as I spoke. I pulled my hand away, startled by what I began to realize.

“You can keep doing that. It feels good... just answer my question!” Sophia was smiling broadly now.

“It was the night before I came back from Reno when you woke up in the pre-dawn hours and had dreamed so powerfully of us having sex!”

“Yes....” she paused. “It was a wonderful dream, and I woke up feeling just as though it had really happened.”

I thought about telling her—but decided not to right now—about the e-mails that had awaited my return to Denver. There were five messages from women who were former lovers who hinted at or lovingly described how they had dreamt of us making love, in some cases as they lay in bed next to a boyfriend or husband. It had seemed so real that they dug up my address and wrote. They wrote from secret places in some cases, looking over their shoulders in libraries or internet cafes, writing in coded thoughts, whatever felt most secure. It was good to share the thought, even after the passage of so much time since the days when we had been together, and it was good to feel their bodies responding again so naturally as they told me of these thoughts.

Those who were free to do so described how their hands would substitute for mine as soon as they left the keyboard—or perhaps even before, in the case of an attorney’s high-level assistant who suddenly lost her wonderful ability with language. Those who were not free, writing from a land with a domineering government or a home with a domineering husband, unveiled lovely metaphors for the magic act that they would so soon eagerly perform for themselves with memories of us.

Somehow, Leona’s shattering series of orgasms had become those of many women with whom I had been connected. That explained much about how I had felt during and after, but it did not answer questions about Leona. And somehow, she had taken in the orgasm of each of those women, and experienced them sequentially as her own. In the time to come, it would be tempting to return to her to discuss this phenomenon. In the meantime, I had a lot of e-mails to respond to!

As we thought our respective thoughts, Sophia and I found that my hand had strayed between her thighs. She was nude under her robe, and there was only a pleasant relaxing of her legs needed to admit my probing touch.

“Shall I continue?” The immediate response of her clitoris answered to my touch before she could speak.

“Oh, yes!!! Oh, you mean the story.... let’s come back to that...” She grabbed the little strawberry jam jar from the room service tray and headed for the bed. I could think of nothing more original than to come after her.

It was evening when we were together again. Sophia had suggested that we order dinner from room service, so that we could get to the bottom of things sooner. She was wearing her emerald satin dressing gown, “...as an incentive,” she claimed. “This night, it doesn’t come off till you come to the end of the story!”

Logically, that made sense. Subconsciously, I suppose that I was calculating how much of this story we could take before we realized how wet we were getting, and how much my dark blue robe and her gown wanted to be tossed on the floor together.

In Leona’s erotically-decorated ranch house, we had dressed, teasingly summarized by Fawn as “...putting all the goodies away...”—that was as she smoothed her satin hi-cut over her mound. Then she pointed her nipples assertively at me, put her hands on her hips and said again, “...putting all the goodies away—for now.”

Sherrie started to say something, but Leona motioned for her silence.

“Fawn, remember how interesting the pattern on the music box is...” Fawn nodded, and with a second nod, stood before us in a trance. Leona gently continued.

“You have many things happening in your life, and it must be hard to remember them all... you can easily nod as you agree...” Fawn nodded. “It would make more sense if you think of these special times with us, with the Professor, and Sherrie and me, and even that couple who came to your door, as something you just remember as a dream... or as a story that you read. Perhaps on Sabrina’s web page....” Leona glanced at me, and I slipped her my card. She read my colleague’s web address to Fawn, and had her repeat it back.

“You’ll enjoy reading his other stories, too... and you can safely imagine yourself in any of them. When you read this story, and I am sure that the Professor will want to tell his readers about us, you will realize that it is a safe and comfortable way to remember these things. And when you are tired, but you want to please a lover, or when you are alone and need beautiful dreams to come to you, it will be the easiest way to arouse yourself. As you want to show us now....”

Sherrie and I watched in amazement, unable to speak, as Fawn began to murmur our names, her face growing flushed.

“It’s all right to touch yourself... and now you can remember the Professor so clearly... as you feel him touching your breasts.” Framed by the top she had started to put back on, her breasts flushed and grew firm.

“You remember how Sherrie kissed your neck, and then down, down along your breasts.... it will be easy to picture her lips moving toward your nipples. You can remember how excited and nervous you felt, they were harder than with any man...” and we watched her nipples punch out into the cool night air.

“And of course, it’s so natural to remember how it felt when the Professor came into you...” Fawn’s hips trembled, and the satin material of her hi-cuts danced enticingly back and forth before us.

“But the only way you can have an orgasm when you remember these things is to forget them again... and now you are free to experience your femininity, using this experience as an aid, but having your own wonderful adventures.” And with that instruction, Fawn’s eyes teared over, and as the first tear touched her breast, she shuddered sensuously in overflowing orgasm. A shining spot spread on her panties, but as she cheerfully told us a few moments later, it was a good feeling.

As she finished dressing, the other three of us hurried to tie up loose ends of our work. Leona, the investigative journalist, Sherrie, the commission investigator, and me, the parapsychology investigator, all swapping facts and leads.

Fawn broke the silence in Sherrie’s car on the way home. She leaned over from the back seat and chided us.

“You guys looked pretty serious there at the end. It was funny to see you that way, when I knew what you really wanted to do with each other. This whole midnight ride was just one big, boring business session for you. You’re old enough, you can’t even imagine what came to my mind while we were there!” She smiled a secret smile, and then fell asleep.

It was dawn when we arrived at her father’s place, but it looked from the darkened house like he must still be asleep. Fawn waved a bored good-bye to us. We already were becoming a figment of her sensual imagination.

We got to Sherrie’s house, and that was as far as I could go. My legs were like sandbags, I was strung out from lack of sleep.

“Can you imagine that I just slept with her? Really... just slept.” Sophia raised an eyebrow as I said that, but nodded her head.

“Did it feel good to wake up with her?” she asked. There was no malice in her voice.

“Yes!” I had to admit. “You know how it feels when you do something good and exciting together. Of course, it feels good... for one thing, just knowing that we’re both still alive feels good... given the kind of people we were dealing with.”

“I understand,” she whispered, and touched my hand.

“Go on...” Sophia encouraged. Her robe wasn’t coming off yet.

I flew out of Reno to Boise the next afternoon. In Boise, I called on Joe Martinez and gave him my report. Of course, I left off some details. He fumed and fidgeted a bit as he thought about what had gone on, but had to admit that his daughter Carol had shown good sense in what she chose to do when her winnings gave her the option of an orgy versus a commitment with Nathan Twill. He was not so sure about Crystal, and seemed to need more time to think about that. At least now he understood why Cynthia Slidell had been hanging around, waiting for chances to see Crystal. And why Nathan Twill had seemingly lost interest in Cynthia, and had been over to see Carol as often as possible.

“Do you think a trip down there would help clear some things up?” I asked. “Down to Reno?” I was kind of hoping that he would let Carol proceed with Nathan, and give up the idea of her marrying into a family business.

“It might. You’ve done a lot of research here, but there are some questions I’d like to ask for myself.” The usually direct entrepreneur paused and reflected for a bit... “It’s funny, but lately I’ve been dreaming about being in Reno. I can’t explain it. Guess I was thinking about it too much. It’s a bit confusing, I mean sometimes I picture this black woman who dresses way better than I’m used to being with, and then sometimes I think it’s an Anglo woman who is big and sexy. It’s all new to me. I can’t pick up the paper now without studying the bra ads and guessing which one of those imaginary gals would like me to buy which kind for them... I feel like a teenager, but I want to be generous like a real man. My head is spinning.”

“I could put you in touch with some people,” I offered.

“Yeah, you got some addresses or phone numbers for those investigators?” I wrote out Leona’s and Sherrie’s contact information.

“They can give you what you need,” I suggested, with the straightest of faces.

“So did it end happily?” Sophia mused.

“Unless you owned stock in the “Casino de Amour”. The State busted them, although there was nothing very incriminating left on the scene. Sherrie figured out that they had seduced a co-worker of hers, and he tipped them off at the last minute. She’s working on getting him to give evidence, too, but she may have to ask for Leona’s help—and THAT won’t be admissible in court.” We both laughed.

“What about the Martinez family?”

“I think it all worked out. Joe did make that trip to Reno. I’m not sure what happened, but I received the check in the mail from him and it cleared the bank. There was a brief note—he’s not much with words in writing—thanking me and saying how helpful the two investigators were. He is inclined to accept both of their suggestions regarding his daughters. It took this uproar to help him see them as grown women, I guess.”

“Have you heard from either of them?” Sophia queried. I wondered what the right answer was. I plowed ahead.

“Yes, Sherrie sent this note....” It was a very feminine thank you, with a heart drawn around Joe Martinez’ name. “I think they must have clicked! Oh, and she received a commendation from the Senator for her work in advancing the cause of Family Values in the gaming industry.”

“And Leona?”

“I’m not sure what this means... it’s a thank you note, too, and a poem. There’s a little ceramic figure enclosed.” The note said that the figure was a gift for Sophia. I handed it to her across the dinner table.

“It’s so smooth...” she murmured as she slid her fingers over the miniature replica of the eager mythological frolic that graced Leona’s boudoir. I took the poem to read to her, and found that its rhythm took us deeper and deeper into a fantasy of being these woodland sprites. It was not until I saw Sophia’s lusty grin that I even realized that my hardening erection had emerged from my dark blue robe. She chuckled at that, but then I pointed out that she did not seem to have noticed that her green satin covering was punctuated now by desperate nipples. She was glowing in a way that enhanced the sheen of the cloth covering draped so suggestively now.

“I’ve got to get this off...” my lover whispered hotly. The dressing gown ended up in an emerald heap with my blue robe, and I knelt to take kisses between her hot thighs. She urged me on with fingers pressed into my shoulders, swaying eagerly to the beat established as I read the poetic commands.

“You will have me now!” Sophia intoned, in a voice that was at once the deepest command and the highest plea. She stretched out on top of the bedcovers, in a gesture of utter submission, while tilting her pelvis in a way that asserted the power of her hungry opening. I knelt between her legs and then plunged into the primeval forest creature before me.

I had never been a satyr before, and Sophia claims that she has never been a faun. However, we are both sure that this is what we were in the wonderful finale to my Reno adventure. For some reason, Leona sent me a follow-up e-mail the next day. It had no words, just a very large smiley face.

Postscript:

It was some months after the scholarly version of this report was published and critiqued in the privately circulated journal that I received a rather mysterious call.

“I’ll be changing planes in Denver. We should have coffee on my layover, so that I can fill you in on some details of the ‘Casino de Amour’ case.” The male voice offered me Professor Jackie __________ as a reference, a good start—I knew her through our work, but she was privately aware of my interests and had discussed them with me. My caller told me how to recognize him and asked me to come alone.

Given the rough edges of the “Casino” case, I was a bit concerned as I went through security. I had told Sophia what I was doing, but all that would do is help an investigation later on. What if my caller was one of the casino’s now unemployed hypnosis team?

It was slightly reassuring to see the mid-50’s man sitting alone at a table in the VIP lounge upstairs off the busy concourse. [I have to apologize to you for withholding more details of his description, and even of the airline on which he was apparently a valued frequent flyer.] The attendant at the entry door was expecting me. An attentive young woman materialized out of nowhere to ask me if I wanted coffee and had all the usual questions. She seemed to be very familiar with my visitor. He was courteous to her, but was not flirting in the way some frequent business travellers do, I noted.

His cup refreshed, and mine delivered, we introduced ourselves. He presented his card, and for a moment a feeling of panic struck me. It had a miniature of the School for Social Expression symbol on it. I glanced hastily away.

Laughing, he explained that this was such a reduced scale version of it that it would not put anyone into a trance. Most graphics lose some detail when smudged into a tiny space. He explained, in answer as to why it even appeared on his card, that it helped him to identify the people he met—in other words, my initial reaction had shown him that I knew something about the organization.

I had many questions about their program and he answered some of them, insisting that these details must remain confidential. Gradually, I began to realize that in a sense, I was being interviewed as well. He was learning things about me from the questions that I asked.

It was more surprising when he began to ask me questions about my past work and about Sophia’s business. It was clear that he or someone working for him had done a lot of research, although most of what he knew was from obvious sources. It began to feel like a job interview.

He had been seated so that he could watch the planes, or perhaps to enjoy the stunning panorama of the Front Range in the distance beyond the cityscape. Even master hypnotists, as I began to suspect he was, would enjoy that view. That put me facing the galley, and I was amused to note that our lounge attendant paused before bringing us refills—she paused to click her bra into the most daring notch.

I had begun to suppose that my visitor had already been influencing her thinking, and expected her to be increasingly interested in him. It was something of a surprise, therefore, as she bent over while serving me. The upward pressure of her bra made it appear that she might burst out of her conservative uniform right there.

Across the table, the master hypnotist simply smiled pleasantly, and suggested to her in a calm tone that I lived right in Denver, whereas he had a flight to catch to California.

“Would you like to have her trance word?” he asked me. There was not a trace of a leer or a tease in his voice.

I explained to him that I really was trying to focus on Sophia lately. The attendant waited without comment, occasionally smoothing her skirt reflexively, until he dismissed her. After she left, I learned that she had been suffering from real attitude problems at work, until my visitor met her on a previous trip. Now she was winning awards for her service and one could look forward to this connecting stop.

It was impressive, how this man could resist the urge to exploit her, and instead build her up as a person. This was very different from the approach taken by some graduates of the school that he represented. Obviously, he felt very comfortable with his power. In turn, he seemed to approve of how I handled this—perhaps the easy temptation was part of what was clearly becoming an interview.

We still had not covered the “Casino” case. I tried to bring him back to that, but instead he took the topic as a theme in his own direction. I will try to summarize his proposition.

“Yes, the “Casino”—and some of the other cases where you have stumbled across some bad actors out of our school... We are trying to clean those problems up. We want to get back to the ethical standards that we started with. We think that you AND Sophia would be an asset to our program.”

I leaned back and whistled quietly. I had always felt like I was following a kind of core ethics, but could never relate them in a way that someone other than my readers here would understand.

“We need business help. It probably isn’t surprising, that when we got off track ethically, we also fell apart on the commercial end. Sophia has shown a tremendous ability in organizing her ventures. You two would make a great addition to our team.”

Before I could comment, he continued.

“Don’t try to answer now. Just talk it over with your lover and think about it. You’re at the right stage in life where you should have the maturity to deal with the mind candy side of the job. And we’ve learned from a number of your students that you liked working with them.” He glanced back at the attendant, barely raised a finger, and she notched her bra back down to duty level. She came for our refill again, perfectly proper in her manner, without comment.

“If you have questions about the boyfriend you mentioned earlier,” he addressed her, “the Professor will be glad to answer them.” He gave her the Oxford’s phone number from memory. Then, as she turned away, he took back his card and underlined his own phone number.

“Call me in a couple of weeks,” was all he said.

He looked at his watch. I reminded him that I wanted to learn about his information on the “Casino” case before he left.

“Yes, that. The team that your friend Fawn Ramirez met were rogues, for sure. But they won’t be doing any more commercial work.”

“How is that?” I queried.

He smiled seraphically.

“We have a team, too. It’s out there now, cleaning up our previous management’s mistakes. Of course, no details, but be assured that the “Casino” couple will no longer remember some key parts of our training program.”

The attendant came over to us, still so professional.

“They’ll be boarding your plane in a few minutes.” He nodded to her, left a tip, and indicated for me to walk with him.

At the gate, there was a slight and unexpected delay. We chatted for a minute about air travel—then we both noticed a Vietnamese-American woman who somehow caught our eyes in the crowd. She was trying to read an accounting textbook, something high level for corporate work. A copy of Cosmopolitan was sticking out of her carry-on bag. She was dressed in an attractive suit, looking just a bit sharper than the typical contemporary air passengers, who dressed (with cause) as though they were on their way to the gym for a sweaty workout. She must have just turned 30.

My visitor made eye contact with her, a twinkling, pleasant eye contact. He excused himself and walked confidently over to her.

“I see you are using Ed ______’s accounting text. You don’t know me, but he and I went to Stanford together.... a long time ago.”

She laughed.

“It couldn’t have been THAT long ago....” She laughed. They struck up a brief conversation about getting her MBA, as it turned out, also at Stanford. And that was it.

I was disappointed, expecting to see a sample of this master hypnotist’s skill. Surely, I thought, he would have been intrigued by this bright and beautiful traveler, headed in his direction! He had not even asked her name.

My visitor returned to where I stood, ignored the mystified look on my face, and picked up our conversation where it had left off. And then he paused.

I noticed that the gate agent had returned to her desk. She glanced up and my visitor caught her eye. She looked intently at him as he nodded toward the petite future executive. For a moment, the airline worker stared into space, slightly licking her lips, as if remembering something pleasant. She straightened her skirt, and then adjusted her blouse without any sign of being aware of what she was doing.

Then, I was a wide-eyed witness as she looked down at the charts on her desk, typed something into her computer terminal, and then paged the Vietnamese woman. As I mentioned before, I am not at liberty to use many details, but as you can imagine, now we knew her name.

I edged closer to the counter, drawing an amused smile from the man from the School for Social Expression. I listened as the agent explained that she wanted to move some passengers around in order to put a family together. Would Ms. ___________ mind switching to a seat in First Class? Of course, she was willing to make that change. And, in an amazing coincidence, it would be the window seat next to that of the gentleman with whom she had just been speaking.

“How did you do that?” I blurted in sophomoric admiration. I felt my hormones kicking into high gear, just thinking about how aroused his new seatmate would be by the time they stepped off the plane.

My visitor just smiled, and murmured something about “always being prepared.” Apparently his time on previous transfers in Denver had not been wasted. The airline agent smiled professionally at us as he waved farewell to me, and then she focused her attention on him, as if waiting on hold. He gave a slight gesture that acknowledged her service, and she smiled as if something beautiful had just happened in her life.

I walked back toward the terminal building shuttle train, thinking deep thoughts while at the same time feeling a powerful need to be with Sophia. Somewhere behind me, two powerful engines were revving up, ready for take-off.