A SIMPLE DATE
“Oh, yeah,” she said, and what do you know?”
“I know what love is,” I said, “and I know what it isn’t. I know when the drugs don’t work and I know when they do. I know where it’s at, and I know all the cheats for Tomb Raider III.”
That threw her a bit. People generally don’t have a snappy answer to that question; and I fall into that category. But people do generally only reply by saying:
“...” and standing there with their mouth open as the girl waltzes off cheerfully. I don’t. I just say whatever comes into my head, and most of the time it works.
Enough of that, anyway. You know enough to know I’d just scraped an acquaintance with a girl in a nightclub, and, er... well, called her sister and her sister’s best friend a pair of ugly bisexual sluts, or words to that effect. I’m like that; forever putting my foot in it. I didn’t know she was the person I was describing’s sister, by the way; I should make that clear. But at least the reply kept her from just walking off. Which was a very good thing; she was average height, good looks, brunette... a beautiful girl.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Bugger. Alright, maybe it wouldn’t keep her from walking off for long. Worth a try though. I took a deep breath in a manner that I hoped didn’t indicate I thought she had the intelligence of a garden slug—my voice has been described as everlastingly sarcastic, and often causes offence—and said “Well, it’s kind of a complicated explanation.”
As anyone who knows me will tell you, this is my code for ‘I’ve just switched into total bullshitting mood; anything said before the next code phrase—‘was that sufficiently clear, or do I have to [deep sigh of contempt] go through the whole thing again, with notes, diagrams, and slides to aid the hard of hearing and the congenitally stupid?’—can be safely ignored because I’m making it up on the spot. When it comes to verbal humiliation and ridicule, I can take it but I’m much better at dishing it out. Trust me on that one.
“Go ahead.”
I said, “Well, if you take the Platonic view of the universe as a kind of shadow world in which there are only imperfect versions and variations of the items in the, shall we say, real world comprised of Ideal Forms, which possess the quintessential thingness of a thing, for example, this is a bar, but in the, to use our previously defined term, ‘real’ world there is a bar which is the epitome of barness of which this is a somehow flawed copy—” and I went on from there. If you didn’t understand the above, I was deliberately aiming for confusion, and I think the theory’s stupid anyway. Read Plato; I had to.
After about ten minutes of this, during which time she never stopped looking at me with a kind of astonished ‘what-the-hell-am-I-still-bloody-here-for?’ expression, I drew it to a close by saying “And, of course, the part about the cheats for Tomb Raider III can be taken perfectly literally. Now, was that sufficiently clear, or do I have to —” I sighed deeply—“go through the whole thing again, with notes, slides, and diagrams for the hard of hearing and congenitally stupid?”
This is not a chat-up technique to use without discrimination—it doesn’t work on bimbos—or indeed often—you can get a reputation as the weird one—but sometimes it works.
Will, who was leaning on the bar next to me with one arm around Steph, turned to face us, grinned, and said “Well good, mate. Well good,” before making that kind of throaty snort that signifies a kind of quiet amusement. “You’ve got her halfway there. You can put her under now.”
I looked at him disgustedly and returned my attention to my Caffrey’s. I muttered what I said next but I made sure it was audible. “Will, I really wish you’d stop doing that. You make ‘em suspicious, and it just gets harder.”
Will snorted again, not at my line itself but because he’s a die-hard (whoops, another one) double entendre fan, once memorably going so far as to find one in an English lesson with the following line:
“Hubris? That’s... that’s like ‘pubis’ really, isn’t it, sir?”
On the other hand, Steph was just grinning openly, and probably had been since the first code phrase. I amuse her, she once told me. I acted hurt, but hey, she’s Will’s girl. We’re just friends.
“Put me under? What are you two talking about?”
“Oh...” I let the breath out slowly in a kind of elongated sigh. “I learned hypnosis a while back and, like a fool, I actually let people know. It’s a standing joke that I learned it to make girls have sex with me.”
“But that’s supposed to be impossible.”
“And that’s a reason not to make a joke about it, is it?” I smiled apologetically. “And, actually, it’s not really impossible... well, it’s possible, only pointless.”
Will snorted again. I shot him a look of withering scorn and took another swig of my Caffrey’s.
“Okay, now I’m confused,” she said.
“Well,” I said, “you can hypnotise people who would have sex with you anyway into having sex with you, but not anyone who wouldn’t.”
“So what’s the point?”
“There isn’t one. That’s my point. Of course, some people get turned on by the idea of it; they call them hypnofetishists.” Which annoys me, because it’s a bloody tongue-twister, and I’m pretty sure I am one, but it’s annoying to have to call yourself.
“How does that turn people on?”
I adopted a cockney accent and slipped into my London Cabbie impression #1; did I mention I’m an actor?
“Well, it’s yer basic domination complex taken to the extreme, innit? The idea of someone who’ll do whatever you want ‘cos they don’t ‘ave a mind of their own, see? Control, that’s the thing, get me?” Lapsing back into my own voice, I added thoughtfully “And of course, there’s the cost aspect.”
“Cost aspect?” Will asked. I hadn’t mentioned this before; it’s a joke I’ve been holding in reserve.
“Yeah. Consider your S&M crowd, right? All that leather, chains, and handcuffs, they’ve gotta cost something, am I right? Or you can hypnotise the person to be tied up into believing they’re tied up and that you’ve got a whip in your hand; much easier and you don’t end up with red marks.”
“OK, you are sick.”
“Indeed.” I’ve been able to accept Will’s remarks with equanimity for a long time now, except when it suits me not to; we’re both actors and we play ourselves as characters most of the time. “But those are just some of the arguments for the wonderful world of hypnosis,” I said, turning back to the girl and shifting into QVC presenter mood. “If you try it yourself, I’m sure you can find many more because YOU—yes, you—can enter the wonderful world of my mind, all for only nought noughty-nought—yes, that’s right, no pounds, no pence, what a bargain.” And then I grinned, to show I wasn’t being entirely serious. I’ve resorted to doing that recently, as some people don’t seem to be able to tell anyway. I turned back to Will and, in the same voice, continued “Isn’t that so, Will?”
“Eh?” he said, pretending to have been distracted. “Oh... yeah... bargain, mate.” He nodded significantly at her.
“It sounds much more like you actually are distracted if you don’t reply in the same voice.”
“Vell, zis iss indid propapply troo,” he said, in what could be labelled as Failed Pakistani or Comedy Pakistani, depending on how generous you happen to be feeling.
As I say, we tend to view ourselves as characters these days, and we do act a little odd at times.
“Sounds interesting,” the girl said, with enough sex appeal husking her voice to spin me right back around to face her.
“How interesting?” I said. I told you I was good at these snappy replies.
“I’ll try it.” Leaning forward in her seat, head thrust even further forward, she fixed her eyes on mine. “Put me under.”
“Cleavage distracts him,” Will said over my shoulder. I smiled apologetically, then said “Will, Steph—isn’t it time you were asleep?”
I didn’t have to look behind me to know that both of them had just tranced out, eyes closed passively.
I grinned at the girl and said “Sometimes you just want some peace, don’t you? I’m afraid I can’t really put you under here. It—this is going to sound exactly like a bad chatup line—it does require privacy.”
“No problem. My flatmates are skiing in Switzerland at the moment, lucky gits. Coming?”
It’s not normally this easy. “Sure... but let me deal with the two sleeping beauties here first, OK?”
“Sure.”
I turned back to them and told them they had the flat to themselves for the night and they could wake up in thirty seconds. I think the softly murmured replies of “Yes, master,” impressed her; they certainly didn’t put her off.
And she didn’t hear Will shout “Ja, meinen Fuhrer!” in our direction as we left. I did, but I’d been listening for it. This is an old routine for us. Three thespians living together, especially if they all share the same bizarre sense of humour, evolve some complicated skits. When Will and Steph had split up for a while and were dating, I did much the same thing for them; we’ve always been friends, after all. It’s just helping a mate out—but they’re not going to let little ol’ me put them into a trance. If people haven’t been put under before, they often don’t realise we’re faking.
“So, what do you do?” she asked me, when we were in the cab. “Apart from hypnotism.”
“I’m an actor,” I said, “But I’ve actually got a half-decent role down in the West End; I’m not one of the ‘actors’ who turn out to be workshy layabouts giving themselves airs. I’m not a lead role, but I’ve got a few scenes and I’m not just a butler. And I used to do the odd hypnotism show when I wasn’t in a steady job. Probably will when the play run finishes, too.”
“What about the other two?”
I shrugged. “Will—same thing, different plays. Steph—she’s done a lot of different stuff. She was in a production—had a decent role, too—but it bombed. I think at the moment her agent’s trying to get her some sort of bit-part in a sitcom. They’re an item, though, and Will makes just about enough to take care of both of them on his own. I’m into profit.”
“Ever take money from them with that trick?”
“No. I suppose I could trance them out and make them feel more generous, or just fish their wallet out, but it wouldn’t be right.”
“How come you’re not down at the theatre now?”
“There are two of us doing the role at any one time. We get one week doing early evening, one doing late evening. Our production doesn’t do matinees. I got out of makeup about an hour ago, came down here with Will and Steph. Will’s currently not in productions because he twisted his ankle. The other guy’s having to do both performances, and the rumour is he’s going to ‘have an accident’—” I looked at her to make sure she noticed the sarcasm —“as soon as Will’s back on active, just to pay him back. How about you, anyway? What do you do?”
“I’m a secretary.”
“In this day and age? The company must be bloody loaded!”
“It is, that. Alchemy.”
“The people who nearly bought about a quarter of Rover?”
She laughed. “That’s them. So, uh, what are you going to get me to do?”
“Any suggestions?”
“Sorry?”
“I clearly expected too much. Sorry. It’s just that you did know hypnotism can’t just make people do anything... And even in this day and age, not everyone does. OK, the basic idea is this. Anything you wouldn’t do, you still won’t do. Anything you just might do normally, you can be persuaded to do, probably. Anything you want to try but never quite had the courage to ask to try, you can be persuaded to ask for under hypnosis, and so long as it doesn’t involve sticking a dildo up my arse, we can negotiate. And anything you were going to do anyway is fair game. Otherwise, really, it’s only useful for things like boosting or lowering the sex drive, showing off at parties, and trying to make people orgasm continually.”
“Have you ever done that?”
“I’ve tried. People have offered me quite a bit of money to try, and I haven’t managed it. People have also offered me money to make other people orgasm loudly in public, but I only did that once.”
“You did that?”
“I really needed the money, I didn’t like her, and I was drunk.” I grinned. “No, I’ve never done that either. By the way, if you’ve got any problems—insomnia, addictions, or anything—that you’d feel better off without, I’ll try and take care of that one too.”
“I don’t think there’s anything I want to change about me.”
“Best way to feel. Of course, hypnosis also opens up various avenues that aren’t available any other way.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I’ve read about one person who liked being hypnotised to meet her date in a bar without recognising him, be seduced by him when her date didn’t turn up, and go off with a complete stranger, and not realise until afterwards.”
I didn’t tell her I read about it in the Archive; I lie by omission, and quite often. I was trying to get the idea that I was well versed in professional magazines which occasionally covered the exotic, and I think I succeeded. As I always do when lying to a girl early on, I promised myself to come clean if the relationship got serious.
“Weird.”
“Some would say that. She didn’t,” I said, reasonably enough. “To each their own. I’ve heard of far worse turn-ons.”
“That’s true. So... how does it work, anyway?”
“It works,” I said, back in bullshitting mode, “because you don’t know how it works.”
“You’re joking, right?”
I smiled shamefacedly. “Right. It works by you not thinking about it working or about anything else. It’s all about a sleeplike state, but one in which you can hear outside stimuli and respond to them without waking, and sometimes in which you have your eyes open. That’s the trance, and it’s from that everything else stems. Hypnotism is just learning to put people into a trance and take them out of it.” I paused. “And I have a certificate of competency or whatever it’s called; that’s how I landed the gigs. So don’t worry about it; you’ll be in safe hands.”
“I’ll be putty in those hands,” she smiled. I looked at her thoughtfully. “Have you considered acting as a profession? You’ve got putting emotion in that’s not there and keeping emotion out that is down pat. But seriously, anything particular you’d like me to try, or shall I ask you while you’re under and we can go on from there?”
“Just ask me while I’m under.”
“OK, fine. Now, am I paying for this taxi or are you?” I asked, as it pulled up at the kerb.
“I’ll get this. Oh, by the way, will I remember what happens while I’m under?”
“Unless you don’t want to. I’ll ask you while you are under, probably.”
“OK. And if you’re crap, will you let me forget?”
“If I’m crap I promise you’ll remember someone else,” I said, as soon as I’d got over the sweetness of her voice as she asked. I was getting to like Maria; she had the same twisted, cutting sense of humour. And, of course, she was a looker anyway, which was why I’d started the conversation in the first place. “And I sincerely hope I don’t get asked.” That’s the trouble with people under hypnosis, of course; they can be embarrassingly frank.
She kissed me quickly, said “So do I,” turned, and started up the stairs.
I looked across at the lift, realised that she was more likely to know if it worked than I was, and went after her.
“Where d’you want me?” she asked. I do get sick of these questions at times. The answer, once you grasp that hypnotism is about relaxation, is obvious.
“Where d’you feel most comfortable?”
“Bed. But I’m not letting you in there. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Haven’t tidied it up.”
“I haven’t tidied mine up, and I was out on the pull tonight.”
“Yeah, but you’re a bloke.”
“And that means I can’t have pride?”
“No, it just means you don’t.”
I rolled my eyes and said, “Well, look. Stretch out on the couch or something if you can get comfortable. If you can’t, we can use one of your flatmate’s bedrooms. They’ll have tidied up before they left, won’t they?”
“Not likely.”
“OK, then let’s look at it from a different angle. Why would their mess embarrass you?”
“True. But let’s try the couch first.”
“Fine by me.”
She made herself comfortable while I turned the light down.
“OK, now if you could empty your mind of all thought... that was quick.” She threw a cushion at me. Maybe it’s childish, but I don’t think a first induction is complete without this joke. Give me another couple of years. I replaced the cushion and started again. “But, seriously, this works best if you don’t think about anything. Just relax...” Here is where a lifetime’s practice in acting comes in handy. I kept my voice monotonous and low, quiet, but just loud enough to hear, every word distinct, but soft.
“Relax and try not to think. Now... I’d like you to imagine that you’re watching the minute hand on a clock go round. It’s an old clock, and as you wait for the hand to move, you can’t help but hear the slow tick...tock...tick...tock of the clock mechanism as the pendulum swings from side to side with a tick...tock...tick...”
I went on in this vein for a while, advancing the minute hand every so often, until I’d talked her through a full hour, though it didn’t take that long—people start to lose count of the ticks after a while and I generally take advantage—and then refocused her attention more closely on the centre of the clockface.
“You feel yourself walking closer and closer to the centre of this clock, and there’s a little door there, because this clock is your mind—it keeps things ticking over, and like all minds, it can go cuckoo—and when you go through this door you will be deeply in trance, and we’ll have a look around, and ask some questions, and then I’ll bring you back out of it. But just push the door open, and step through... are you through?”
“Yes...” she said, quite quietly but audibly.
“Good, well done. There aren’t many people who do so well first time,” I said; of course, it doesn’t look like that on stage, but after the susceptibility tests they perform on the audience the hypnotist can be sure his subjects will be pretty easy. You sometimes run into trouble hypnotising the sceptics. “Now,” I continued, “what would you like me to suggest you do? And do you want to remember having it suggested all the time, after it takes effect, or not until a separate command allows you to remember?”
I waited for a moment, give her time to think, and then her voice came back.
“I want you to suggest... something that’ll prove I’m under when I remember. But I don’t want to remember until I’ve done it.”
I thought for a while. “All right, then we’ll try something I’ve never quite gotten round to before. I’ll bring you out of trance in a minute. When I do, you’ll be convinced I failed miserably in attempting to hypnotise you. You’ll also find that your left hand is a new erogenous zone; whenever someone else touches it you’ll feel a wave of sexual pleasure wash over you. This will not seem unusual to you until I say the word ‘realise’; at which point, as you can probably tell, you’ll realise you’ve been hypnotised. You’ll remember these suggestions, and you’ll remember that you will go into trance again if I either snap my fingers at you or put my hand on your shoulder and say ‘sleep’. OK?”
“Yes,” she said, softly.
“That’s good. Right, I’m going to count up from one to five now. By the time I reach five, you’ll be back to normal... except for what we’ve already discussed. OK?”
“Okay,” she said.
“Good girl. One... two... life flooding back into your limbs... three... you’ve got a feeling like that half-awake feeling you get when you’re lying in bed with your eyes closed before you decide to get up... four... nearly awake... five...”
I reached out and picked up her hand as her eyes opened again. “Sorry about that,” I said. “I was so sure it would work...”
She clearly wasn’t concentrating. Her hand looked like it was of much more pressing importance to her at the moment, and she was making low moaning noises. I experienced that faint tingle of pleasure I always get when I see a suggestion’s actually worked—I’ve studied hypnosis, I’m even fairly accomplished at it, and yet it still always amazes me that these things work—and smiled.
“So, um... you’re not feeling too bad about it?” I asked, smiling.
“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...” is the nearest I can get to her reply, at least in writing. I squeezed her hand; the moaning, fairly constant, went up a couple of notes. I released my grip slightly, and it went down.
I stood up, let go, and shrugged, looking down at her. “Oh well,” I said, and turned as if to go.
“Hey,” she said, apparently peeved, “you can’t just feel me up and walk off.”
Inventive; the seemingly natural existence of another erogenous zone had generated in her mind a corresponding extra rule of etiquette; left hands are only to be touched during foreplay. I liked this girl, a lot. I squatted down, reached out and ran a finger over her palm in a broad circle. “You know, you’re extremely lucky,” I said.
“How do you make that out?” she asked, through teeth that seemed to be shuddering with anticipation.
“Well, not many girls get turned on by people touching their hands. I mean, do you realise...” I let my voice trail off, and just watched her face.
Her eyes seemed to double in width; her face split open into a wide grin, and I was still stroking her hand. Her breath came in short gasps.
“You... bloody hell,” she said, still trying to get her feelings under control. I let go of her hand to help her. She reached out with her right hand, grabbed my neck, and pulled my head in toward her, locking her lips with mine. Tongues came to life and began to explore.
I was extremely glad I’d gone to the club that night.
After the kiss, we talked a little. Maria wanted to know what other turn-ons I could come up with. I told her about the whole robot thing, which she wasn’t interested in, and continued, “In most of them, you’re like you would be normally, but certain suggestions can make things more fun.”
“Like what?”
“Much more fun if I show you. Your get-out clause every time, of course.”
“My... Oh. You mean, the ‘if I don’t want to do this...’”
“That’s it, yeah.”
“Well, good. I mean...”
I went to her, put my arm around her. “This is all assuming you want to see me again, that is.”
“Well...” she paused, then looked up, said “Why not?” and smiled.
Two months later she moved in with us. I told her exactly how much of what she’d seen that first night in the nightclub was a routine for picking up girls, and she just smiled, said “Well, I’ll give you this; it worked,” and kissed me, which she always does when she wants me to change the subject.
It works.
Will and Steph started taking hypnosis more seriously, but this was balanced out by them taking me less seriously, now that they have concrete evidence that I do, indeed, sometimes use hypnosis for sex.
Steph got her part in that sitcom. Then I got an audition for another part in the same show. I got the part as her boyfriend on camera, but nothing’s happening off camera.
Which didn’t stop Will and Maria turning up for the pilot filming and trying to distract us all the way through the show.
Ah well, that’s how it goes sometimes.