MIKE THE SOMNAMBULIST
Act 1 (Part 3)
by StageShowMM
“—wide awake.”
I blinked, shaking my head. I must have zoned out for a second. I looked around. A number of guys were seated in chairs on either side of me. To my left was someone who seemed vaguely familiar. To my right…Ryan. Now I remembered. I was onstage at that hypnosis show. I couldn’t believe I’d let it get this far. I had to get out of here as quickly as possible. I certainly didn’t want to make an idiot out of myself, or be part of the act.
“Where the fuck are all the chicks, dude?” Ryan hissed. “I can’t believe I let you get me into this.”
“Don’t worry,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “I’m sure he’ll ask if we want to do it and we can just leave.”
“Fucking better,” was all Ryan could grumble.
The hypnotist was at the other end of the stage, down by the Indian guy. Funny, it seemed like someone else had been down there before. For that matter, I didn’t recall sitting next to Ryan when I came up here. But then, when I tried to think back on it, I really couldn’t recall sitting down at all...
“How’s everybody feeling?” the hypnotist asked, voice echoing through the speakers in the room. Everybody on stage kind of nodded and muttered. I was feeling pretty fine, I guess—in fact, all told, I felt pretty good. Not nearly as tired as I might have expected after a long day, and actually kind of refreshed and euphoric. I couldn’t remember how many beers we had slugged back before all this began. I figured that must have something to do with it.
“We’re gonna start things in just a second, I promise. But first, I just want to ask a few questions to make sure you’re all able to be put under.” Oh, good. I could just throw whatever questions he had and get us out of here.
The hypnotist squatted down by Arpit and moved the microphone between them.
“How’s it going, man? You excited for the show?”
“Sure,” Arpit nodded.
“You said you were looking forward to it, right?” Arpit nodded again. “You ever been hypnotized before?”
He shook his head. “I was always curious about it. I’m looking forward to seeing what it’s like.” A chuckle rippled through the audience. The hypnotist smiled.
“You think you’ll be able to tell?”
Arpit shrugged.
“Hey, tell you what, man: hold out your fingers and just count through them for me real quick, all right? I know it seems kinda dumb, but the smarter you are, the better hypnosis actually works, so I like to make sure all my subjects have all their faculties, you know?”
Arpit nodded and held out his hands, fingers spread wide apart.
“Okay, so just real quick, count through them for me.”
He held up the microphone to Arpit’s mouth. Arpit proceeded, looking around a little awkwardly. “Uh, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, seven, eight…nine?”
He stared at his hands, blinking rather incredulously. What the fuck was this guy’s problem? Stage fright, maybe?
“You only got nine fingers?” asked the hypnotist.
“Not… last time I checked,” said Arpit dumbly, to laughter from the audience.
“Why don’t we try again?”
Arpit took a deep breath and stared intently at his fingers, really focusing this time. More forcefully he stated: “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, seven, eight, ni…nine…” He tilted his head, bewildered.
“Seriously man, you lose a finger or something?”
“I had them all when I came in!”
Everyone was laughing hysterically. I didn’t see what was that funny. What was this guy’s problem? He was just saying seven twice for some reason.
“Tell you what, how many fingers you got on each hand?”
“Five,” Arpit said matter-of-factly.
“Let’s take them one-by-one.”
Holding out his left hand, he quickly counted: “One, two, three, four, five.”
“Great. That’s right, right?”
Arpit nodded happily and smiled.
“Now the other.”
“One, two, three, four, five.”
“Five and five is…”
“Ten.”
“Great. Now count them through.”
Rapid-fire this time, full of breezy confidence: “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, seven, eight- What the fuck?!” he shouted. Everyone burst out laughing, never having seen him lose his cool before.
“You’re all messed up,” deadpanned Len, grabbing the microphone from next to him.
“What’s that?” asked the hypnotist. You could barely hear him as the laughter died down.
“He’s messed up,” said Len, looking irritated.
“What’s wrong?” asked the hypnotist.
“He’s saying gibberish and adding numbers,” Len said, frustrated.
“All right, let’s work through this,” said the hypnotist. “Give him your hand, man, let him help you out.” Arpit turned slightly and held out his hands toward Len. “What do you do for a living?” asked the hypnotist.
“I’m an accountant,” Len said.
“Oh, great, so this should be no sweat, right? Okay, why don’t you count him through?”
Len grabbed each finger as he proceeded: “One, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, e…?” he trailed off, sounding utterly perplexed. There was still one finger to go.
“Wait, now he’s got an extra?” asked the hypnotist. He moved behind them.
“What are you doing? You skipped two!” Arpit laughed.
“See, you did it again! You keep saying that!” said Len. “That’s not a number. That’s just nonsense!”
“Two?” asked Arpit in disbelief.
“Yeah, what do you think that is?”
“Uh, it comes between one and three,” said Arpit, grinning.
“This guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Len muttered. People were rolling in the aisles. I was just getting annoyed. I needed to get out of here and these fucktards were fighting over counting to ten? Give me a break.
“And you’d know, right? You’ve probably got a good degree or something,” said the hypnotist. Len nodded.
“So, you’ve got ten fingers, right?” the hypnotist continued. Len nodded again. “Maybe try your hand.”
“One, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…” he trailed off on the last little piggy.
“Eleven?” asked the hypnotist. Len just stared at his hands in confusion, like they were some sort of alien life form.
“Tell you what,” said the hypnotist. “Why don’t you try one-by-one. That seemed to work for him.” He motioned to Arpit. “Break it down…”
Len held out his hands and took a breath. “Okay. One, three, four, five, six.”
“Okay, now the other,” said the hypnotist.
“What the fuck are you talking about? You skipped two!” Arpit yelled, laughing in disbelief.
“There’s no such fucking thing!” Len practically screamed. The entire audience was howling. Most of us on stage were just sitting bewildered, staring at these morons.
“Try the other one, see if it comes out,” said the hypnotist, trying to keep everyone calm.
“One, three, four, five, six,” said Len matter-of-factly.
“Good,” said the hypnotist. “And six and six is…”
“Twelve,” Len said quickly, before suddenly looking completely flummoxed.
“Wait. Now you have another one?” asked the hypnotist, incredulous.
Len stared in utter consternation at his hands. “What the fuck…?” he muttered.
“So, ok,” said the hypnotist. “What we’ve determined is, you guys either have nine or ten or eleven…or twelve fingers…?”
Everyone was busting a gut.
“Okay, tell you what. Let’s try one more.” He held the mic out to Jay or Sam, sitting beside Len. “See if you can settle this. Can you count through your fingers real quick?”
The guy nodded and held out his hands. “Bur, chu, chin, chong, ba, feng, ghee, si, sai, lo,” he said, nodding at the end in a satisfied manner. The audience howled again.
“Is that right, man?” asked the hypnotist, holding out the mic to Jay. Jay nodded. “How many fingers you got?” he asked.
“Bu shu bin fong chin-cho la!” he said confidently. I could hear people in the front rows gasping they were laughing so hard.
“These guys are both fluent in Chinese,” said the hypnotist. Sam nodded.
“That’s not Chinese,” said Len. He rattled off something at them I couldn’t hope to understand.
The hypnotist, not missing a beat, quickly turned the microphone back to Sam. “Bu shu bin fo la! Fo la!” Sam yelled angrily.
“They don’t even know the tones!” scoffed Len.
“And how many of them are there?”
Len stared at the guys for a second longer than he should have, then looked up confusedly at the hypnotist. “Three?” he asked, like he was looking for approval. Everyone lost it.
The hypnotist gently placed a hand on his forehead and pushed him back into the chair. “Sleeeeep...” Len’s eyes slid smoothly shut and his entire body slumped into the chair, going completely limp. His arms hung by his sides and his head lolled, mouth slightly open. He looked totally peaceful and relaxed, like he had been asleep for hours.
“Holy shit…” I heard myself mutter.
“Len, when I snap my fingers, you’ll be wide awake, speaking only German. German is the language your parents taught you, Germany is where you were educated. You’re a hundred percent, completely fluent in German and nothing else—you don’t speak a word of English or Chinese. You’re going to begin arguing with these guys, because you know the way they’re counting their fingers is wrong. You’ll still be able to understand English, but you’ll only understand unconsciously, truly believing with your conscious mind that you completely, totally, only speak German. On one... three.” He snapped, giving the audience a wink.
“So, show him what you were showing me,” said the hypnotist, holding out the mic to Sam again.
“Bur, choo, chi, cho, la, bu, fe, chu, ni, guo,” said Sam confidently, counting off his fingers. Everyone was still chuckling.
“Du beinest aischtein! Do beineh dah feh, fai, fufenhausen! Eins, drei, feir, funf, eiben, aben, seuin, noof, ben, berben!” Len’s tirade in pidgin German launched the audience into new hysterics. All three began shouting at each other in what I assumed was made-up gibberish.
“I guess we’ll let them sort that out,” stage-whispered the hypnotist as he turned back to Arpit. “You think they’re hypnotized?”
Arpit laughed. “Yeah, I think so,” he said, grinning back conspiratorially.
“You think you’re hypnotized?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Arpit laughed. “I counted the numbers right.”
“I thought you had eleven fingers, dude.”
“Five on each hand,” he held them up, smiling like cock of the walk.
“You wanna watch the rest, or is this kind of annoying?”
“Eh, it’s kind of annoying,” Arpit shrugged. The hypnotist tapped him on the forehead and made a little tailspinning sound. Arpit’s eyes crossed and his lids fluttered closed as he plummeted forward, folding down on himself so his head rested between his legs, arms hanging limply at his sides.
The hypnotist quickly walked past Len, Sam and Jay, snapping his finger by the left ear of each, sending them slumping over into the side of the person next to them. The domino topple ended with Jay flopping over onto Parker’s lap, his head basically landing right between his legs. The audience tittered immaturely.
“Woah, sorry man,” said the hypnotist. “You mind?”
“Uh…kinda,” said Parker, looking uncomfortable.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that,” said the hypnotist, reaching in. Instead of moving Jay, however, he placed a palm gently on Parker’s forehead and gave it a quick, soft tug back, whispering, “Sleep.” Parker slumped back, his head flopping down over the back of the chair, brown hair rustling wildly. His body sagged, his crotch sliding forward a little, taking Jay with it.
“Who’s your hottest celebrity, Parker?” asked the hypnotist, holding the mic down in front of Parker’s soft, parted lips.
“Beyonce…” he whispered, a smile creeping in at the corners of his mouth.
“Parker, when I wake you up, that person is your lap is Beyonce. You’re not gonna find it weird at all and you’re not gonna mind—she’s just decided to come up here and get hypnotized like everybody else. Your job right now is to protect her while she’s under, keep her from flopping all over the place. And since you’re her number one fan, if you want to steal a few kisses, you know she won’t mind. Now, on the count of three, coming back with Beyonce… One… two… three.” He snapped his fingers.
Parker blinked groggily for a second and sat up. After a moment he looked down in his lap and his eyes bugged out.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. Everyone laughed.
“Who’s that?” asked the hypnotist.
“That’s fuckin’ Beyonce!” he yelped into the microphone.
“What’s she doing in your lap?”
Parker just shook his head, wide-eyed.
“You wanna help her up?” the hypnotist asked.
“Oh, yeah…” Parker nodded, reaching down and gently grabbing Jay’s head and shoulder. Carefully, he lifted him and slid him to the side, so he was sitting more upright. Jay’s head lolled into the crux between Parker’s shoulder and neck, and Parker grinned a million-dollar grin.
“Pretty sweet, huh?” asked the hypnotist.
Parker could barely respond. “Yeah!” he laughed stupidly, grinning ear to ear.
“What’s she wearing, man?” asked the hypnotist.
“Oh-ho…” Parker just laughed. Everyone in the room busted out, too.
“That hot, huh?” asked the hypnotist.
Parker nodded frenetically, rustling Jay’s hair.
“You wanna give her a kiss?”
He laughed and smiled more, looking a little spacey. “Should I…?”
“Go for it, man. She told me she likes you.”
Parker laughed and jumped up and down in his seat, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. I couldn’t believe this. Couldn’t he tell that was a guy?
“Dude, if he starts any gay shit with us, I’m fucking leaving,” Ryan muttered to me. I was a little worried, too, deep down beyond my complete awe that this stuff was actually happening in front of me. Parker certainly seemed straight enough. If he wanted to, could the hypnotist make me do something like this?
Parker was leaning in and gently pressed his lips to Jay’s. He gave him a long, sweet kiss, like the kind you’d see in Sleeping Beauty or something, and the audience laughed and cheered wildly.
“Dude, sick,” Ryan muttered. I didn’t really wanna see two dudes kiss either, but he seriously needed to take a chill pill. It wasn’t going to turn him gay in a heartbeat.
“Now you keep her safe, okay? And don’t worry about getting close—she likes it!” the hypnotist said, patting the still-grinning Parker on the shoulder as he walked off. Parker nodded again and pulled Jay closer, nuzzling into his dark hair and giving it a sniff. He emerged with a look of total contentment on his face and sat back, grinning from ear to ear. The audience cackled.
The hypnotist made his way behind us, stopping as he was passing me.
“How’s it goin’, Mikey? You still mad at Kyle?”
I tried to think. I could vaguely recall something happening, but I couldn’t for the life of me place it in any context. I knew who Kyle was, and I could kind of remember him laughing at me when I told him my name, but I had no idea why we would have been talking to one another. Hadn’t I just sat down? I could have sworn I was sitting by Hector, too. I looked and saw Kyle down at the far end of the row, to my right, and figured maybe we had passed each other or something. (But the stairs to the stage were on the left...) Had the hypnotist told us to trade seats?
“I guess,” was all I muttered. I wanted to go with something fairly non-committal, and that definitely seemed like it.
“Wanna see me do something funny?” the hypnotist asked playfully.
“Uh, all right…” I said. Half of me thought maybe now was the time to ask him about bowing out, but another part of me figured he wasn’t really at me yet, and it sounded like he was going to move on in a moment or two, so I didn’t want to interrupt his flow.
I was right. The hypnotist quickly strode down the rest of the row of chairs, speaking into his microphone:
“I kind of feel like we’re back in nursery school, right? We did numbers already, so usually I like to have everyone sing a little song. I think you guys can help me out. It should be one everybody knows. We’re just gonna make sure everyone responds correctly. Now, just to get our audience up to speed, ’cause I want you to sing it with me, this is just like ‘Old McDonald,’ except here it’s, ‘Old McRosco.’ So when I go, ‘Old McRosco had a farm…’” he quickly sang. He pointed the microphone out toward the audience.
“Ee ai ee ai oh!” a few of the more outgoing members called.
“Very good, you remember from last year. So right after I’ve done my line, wherever that call goes, you’ll respond…”
He held out the mic again, as though it helped.
“Ee ai ee ai oh!” more sang.
“Excellent. And we’ll just see if everybody gets their parts right. ’Cause a few other people are going to be helping us out, too...” he added mischievously. Some audience members chuckled. I wondered what they thought he meant.
“Ok, here we go,” said the hypnotist. He cleared his throat. “Old McRosco had a farm…” he sang.
“Ee ai ee ai oh!”
“Very good!” Back to singing: “And on his farm he had—Mike’s probably gonna agree with me on this—a jackass!” he exclaimed with a grin.
“Ee ai ee ai oh!” Some people in the audience tittered. What was I going to agree with? His dumb Old McDonald song?
“With a...” Standing right behind Kyle, he held the microphone down next to Kyle’s lips and placed a hand on his right shoulder.
Suddenly, and apparently uncontrollably, Kyle’s mouth opened wide, and he emitted at the top of his lungs a bellowing “HEE-HAW!” straight into the microphone. The hypnotist removed his hand and Kyle seemed to come to his senses, whipping his head from side to side awkwardly, as though hoping to see that the moronic sound had come from somewhere else, all while flushing a deep crimson, indicating he knew it hadn’t.
The audience, for its part, guffawed uncontrollably, and Ryan, ever the dick, snickered to himself.
“...here and a...” the hypnotist continued, having whipped the mic back up to himself. He brought it down again just as quickly, barely giving Kyle time to recover. His hand, hovering ever so slightly over Kyle’s broad, strong shoulder, flitted down again.
“HEE-HAW!!” Hand removed. Kyle looked down and flushed even redder.
“...there. Here a...”
“HEE-HAW!”
“...there a...”
“HEE-HAW!
He was going so fast now Kyle didn’t even have time to recover or regain his bearings. He just sat there, obediently belting out this idiotic sound.
“Everywhere a...”
Tap. “HEE-HAW!!” Firm grip. “HEEE-HAAAAW!!!!” Even louder that time, more obnoxious and moronic. Kyle was blazing red now under the lights, desperately trying to hide his face. The rest of us looked around worriedly, except for Ryan, who was still snickering like a prick.
“Old McRosco had a farm...”
“Ee ai ee ai oh!”
“Very good!” said the hypnotist brightly, taking a step to his left, behind Hector. Oh no. It was bad enough this had to happen to Kyle, who honestly I had nothing against and couldn’t even remember why I was supposed to be mad at, but not one of my friends!
Hector looked up worriedly, craning his neck to get a view behind him.
“Dude, I don’t—” he began, but the hypnotist cut him off, singing loudly into the mic:
“Old McRosco had a farm!”
“Ee ai ee ai oh!”
“And on this farm, he had… a dog!”
“Ee ai ee ai oh!”
Hector tried vainly to protest again but was drowned out.
“With a...”
Gentle touch on the right shoulder.
“Heh heh heh,” he panted into the mic. “Ruff!” he concluded.
“...here and a...” The hypnotist was moving fast now, not even giving Hector time to recover.
“Woof! Woof!”
“...there! Here a...”
“Woof!”
“...there a...”
“Woof!”
“...everywhere a...”
He was tapping Hector’s shoulder frenetically now: “WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!”
He took his hand away and Hector collapsed forward, elbows on his knees, breathing heavy from the full-body exertion of his barks. He, too, was blushing big time.
“Old McRosco had a farm!”
“Ee ai ee ai oh!” The audience was getting really enthusiastic now, laughing hysterically and singing along at the top of its lungs.
“Now… Old McRosco had a farm!”
“Ee ai ee ai oh!”
The hypnotist had moved behind Josh, who was similarly trying to protest, not that anyone could hear it: “Look dude, this isn’t cool—”
“And on this farm he had a…COCK!”
The audience applauded and cheered wildly. “Look, man, I’m not gonna—” I could just barely hear Josh saying before it was washed away by a thunderous:
“Ee ai ee ai oh!”
“With a...”
He tapped Josh and his eyes too glazed over. Puffing out his chest proudly and inhaling a humungous breath, he proudly bellowed out, “BRAWWWK!”
The hypnotist continued unabated: “...here and a...”
Tap. Another deep breath. “BRAAAAAAKAWWWW!”
“...there! Here a...”
“BRAAAAKAAAAWWWW!”
“...there a...”
“BRAAAAAAWWWWWK!”
“...everywhere a—feeling of being a rooster doubles now,” the hypnotist quickly interjected before pressing his hand down one last time.
“BRAWK-BRAWK-BRAKAWWWWW!!!!” Josh bellowed at the top of his lungs, his strong, flat swimmer’s chest held perfectly erect to give him maximum lung capacity.
“Old McRosco had a farm!”
Josh collapsed forward, panting too.
“Ee ai ee ai oh!”
Now that he was on deck Ryan didn’t seem to be laughing anymore.
“Look man, you try that shit on me I’m gonna turn your faggot ass into—”
“Old McRosco had a farm!”
“Ee ai ee ai oh!”
Despite turning around and threatening a fist, Ryan hadn’t gotten up. I couldn’t understand why. Of course, it didn’t occur to me that I hadn’t gotten up and left, either. At the moment I was just a person watching a performance.
“And on this farm, he had… a real pig,” said the hypnotist, looking down at Ryan contemptuously. Applause and cheers poured out from the audience. I was sure he probably hadn’t ingratiated himself to them with his non-PC comments, but for the life of me I couldn’t think of more than one or two he’d made. We’d only been up here a few minutes! He hadn’t had the time. So, I was a little surprised to find their animosity so overwhelming. I know Ryan’s a bit of an asshole sometimes, but he’s not that bad.
“With a...”
“EEE! EEEEE!” Ryan squealed into the mic, his eyes closing, torso shaking involuntarily and his lips pointing up in a little piggy sneer.
“...here and a...”
“EEE! EEEE! EEEE!”
“...there!” The audience was absolutely howling as Ryan made an idiot out of himself.
“Here a...”
“EEE! EEEEE!”
“...there a...”
“EEE! EEE EEE EEE!!”
“Everywhere a...”
Again, the hypnotist tapped his shoulder furiously:
“EEEEEE! EEEEEEE! EEEEEEE! EEEEEE! EEEEEE! EEEEEE!” he made Ryan continue, long after it had fallen out of all rhythm with the song.
“OINK, piggy!” he yelled, pressing down one more time, forcefully.
Ryan snorted a couple times just like a big, and then really let it rip: “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! EEEEEE! EEEEEE! EEEEEE! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”
“Oooooold McRosco had a farm!” the hypnotist finished with a grand flourish, eliciting more wild applause and cheers as Ryan dropped forward too, hands on his knees. He was panting—or was it nearly sobbing?
“EE AI EE AI OOOOH!” came the long, loud, enthusiastic call.
My stomach dropped. Suddenly he was behind me. Somehow, just like with Ryan, it hadn’t really occurred to me that I was on the chopping block until I was Right. Fucking. There.
“Hi Mike,” said the hypnotist sweetly. “What do you think is going to be the next animal on Old McRosco’s farm?”
He held out the microphone. “I…I don’t want to be up here. Please let me go. I don’t want to be hypnotized today,” I stammered stupidly. Why was I asking his permission to leave? I was a grown man.
“Not quite, but good answer!” he exclaimed, and everyone laughed. Already I was blushing. I didn’t want this to happen! I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of a roomful of people, yet somehow I was sure I was going to, even though if you’d asked me at the moment, I still would have sworn I wasn’t hypnotized.
“Ooooooooooooooooooooold...” he held the note for an insane length, only allowing my panic to simmer. Why didn’t I just get up?
“McRosco had a farm!”
“EE AI EE AI OH!”
“And on this farm, he had a…” He looked down at me with a grin. I stared up at him, pleading, eyes probably glistening with the beginnings of tears. Down the row, Kyle, Hector and Josh had managed to recompose themselves, and stared down at me helplessly.
“Cow,” stated the hypnotist, simply. Everyone in the audience tittered. I didn’t want to be a cow!
“EE AI EE AI OH!” They were really getting into it.
“With a...”
He moved in. No! I don’t want to!
Suddenly his hand connected with my shoulder, and I can’t describe it. I had to make a cow noise. It wasn’t like I was a cow, or thought I was a cow, or anything like that. It was just, at that moment, there was nothing in the world I wanted—no, needed—to do more, out of everything on the planet, than make as long and as loud a cow noise as I possibly could, with all the might I could muster. I completely forgot about the fact that I was sitting on stage in front of a room full of strangers, in front of my friends, possibly in front of girls I would have liked to impress. At that instant, I was born, my entire life had been lived as a long prelude to, making a cow sound right now as long, loud, and best as I could.
I instantaneously straightened, drawing in a deep breath, and somehow, ever so slightly aware of the microphone in front of me and making sure to project myself toward it, emitted a loud, rumbling, thunderous, “MOOOOOOO!!!”
The audience erupted into wild cheers. The hypnotist removed his hand from my right shoulder and I immediately came to my senses, instantly recalling the embarrassing sound I had just made and, even worse than that, the utter pride and energy with which I had made it. I had put every ounce of passion I had into making that sound, had thrown my heart and soul into it, into embarrassing myself in front of my friends and a roomful of strangers.
So wrapped up was I in remembering and processing all that, that in the millisecond between touches, I barely had time to register the hypnotist continuing:
“...here and a...”
Touch. Instantly I felt it again, but a thousand times stronger. I could do even better this time, draw more air, bellow louder. “MOOOOOOO!” He removed the hand, and again, as suddenly as I’d gone in, I was out of it. Everyone was laughing at me. Even Parker, down the line, unaware that he was cuddling another guy, was snickering. I wanted to die a thousand deaths, be obliterated from the Earth and have every memento of my existence erased, so no one could ever point at them and say, “That belonged to the fucking idiot who makes cow noises on command.” Completely losing control of myself like that felt so violating I barely wanted to go on.
“...there!” The hypnotist blustered. “Here a...”
Tap. Despite all those previous feelings, I knew I wanted to do it again, more now than ever!
“MOOOOOOOO!!!”
I could barely catch a breath as he blurted out: “There a...”
“MOOOOOOO!!!”
Milliseconds after it was over, I was keenly aware of the way my jaw had gaped open, how my eyes had clamped tightly shut as I turned all my concentration inward, making me look as well as sound retarded. I inhaled again, barely able to keep up with the physiological pressure of expelling that much air again and again over such a short span of time.
“Everywhere a...” the hypnotist sang, squeezing my shoulder tightly this time and whispering, “Total loss of control.” He seemed to know exactly how to push my buttons.
“MOOOOOOOOO-OOOOOOOOO!!!!” I cried. After him having said that, I was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I couldn’t even move my arms of legs. They dangled limply, lifelessly, as though I were paralyzed, dragged around as my torso jutted forward uncontrollably, inhaling great quaffs of air and projecting “MOOOOO! MOOO! MOOOO! MOOO! MOOO! MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” in perfect time with the hypnotist’s squeezes.
Finally, he let go and I collapsed forward, just like Ryan and everyone before him, gasping desperately for breath. I couldn’t believe how worn out I was simply by the involuntary act of emitting a sound at the top of my lungs.
“Old McRosco had a farm!” the hypnotist could barely get out over the wild cheers from my humiliating performance. But these quickly subsided, the energy being immediately channeled back into a thunderous:
“EE AI EE AI OH!”
The hypnotist sidled along, halfway between me and Dylan, sitting next to me. Meanwhile, I was trying to catch my breath, not burst out crying, and/or melt straight into the floor.
“Ooooold McRosco had a farm,” he sung in a lower basso, changing it up.
“EE AI EE AI OH!”
“And on this farrrrrrmmmmm….” he dragged it out. I was able to rouse myself a little better now and saw Dylan eyeing him nervously, his eyes occasionally darting down to me in a presumptive look at his approaching fate.
“He haaaaaadddd….” He hypnotist droned. He paused, letting it drag on cruelly. All of a sudden in the once-raucous room you could hear a pin drop.
“A farmboy slut,” he finally finished, with just a twinkle of mirth that I should have been in no place to notice at the moment. Applause erupted throughout the room, and wild cheers broke out. Dylan glanced around frantically from behind his thick black glasses as though looking for some sort of way out (like he too couldn’t have just gotten up and left).
The hypnotist waited a second, then impatiently held his microphone out at the audience, who had in their excitement forgotten the rules of the game.
“EE AI EE AI OH!” they cried excitedly, and completely out of unison.
“With aaaaaaaa….” he wiggled his fingers in the air, slowly bringing them down onto Dylan’s delicate shoulder. The moment they connected, Dylan’s entire demeanor changed. He slid back in the chair so his back was resting against it, pushing his hips forward. His head flopped back over the seat, making it even easier for the hypnotist to place the microphone up right next to his lips.
Dylan already moaned as he slid back, but once he was in position, it seemed to unleash a reservoir of passion within him. His hips ground erotically into the chair, his eyes closed tightly behind his glasses and his entire body squirmed with pleasure as he began moaning into the mic. It started out slowly, like some of the best orgasms, and built steadily and quickly in intensity: “Oh. Oooooh. OH! OH! OHHHHHHH!!!!” he was crying, tears forming at the corners of his tightly clamped eyes, his entire body beginning to buck with uncontrollable pleasure. “UH! UH! UH!!!” he cried, completely coming undone, gripping the hypnotist’s arm with both hands to hold his hand tighter against his shoulder. As the hypnotist’s fingers flitted away, Dylan fell off into deep, ecstatic panting, the orgasm apparently having subsided, but the pleasure lingering.
The room went fucking nuts. Everyone was cheering and clapping wildly. I heard some guy scream out from way back in the audience, “Yeah, slut!” For my part, I found myself wondering how Dylan could possibly top that, and so soon. Had he really had an orgasm?
The answer was not the one I wanted. The hypnotist continued, after the cheering died down:
“...aaaand a...”
Suddenly, he reached over, and, to my absolute horror, placed his hand on my left shoulder, quickly pressing the microphone to my lips.
As awesome as the pleasure looked when I had seen it on Dylan’s face, it was nothing compared to what it was like feeling it. Just like Dylan, I found myself collapsing back in my seat, head rolling over the back and my legs jutting out in front of me, pleasure coursing through my body like nothing I had ever felt before. I was quivering, and my hips were gyrating uncontrollably, making love to the air above me. To my amazement, I found my left hand gravitating up, pressing on top of the hypnotist’s smooth, warm, welcoming flesh, pushing it down harder onto my shoulder as my right hand roamed my entire body—though focusing primarily on my crotch, where I was quickly developing an absolutely massive boner. Unlike Dylan, whose moans tended a little more toward the girly side, mine came out as a series of deep, shuddering gasps. “Oh…” I whispered into the mic. “Oh… Oh god…” My voice quavered, and I began spasmodically whispering, “Uh. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh god!” I swiveled and squirmed, never wanting it to end. As horrible as the last thing had been, at this moment, in my mind, this more than made up for it. Hell, it more than made up for anything!
“Oh….fu-huck!” I sobbed, truly feeling like I had just blown a load of my soul straight into my shorts, though thankfully they remained dry. My grip on the hypnotist’s hand loosened ever so slightly, and he gently pulled it away, leaving me to collapse back into the seat, a quavering, panting mass that was just slowly coming to realize the humiliation it had managed to inflict upon itself.
“Here a...” the hypnotist pressed on unabated, and grabbed Dylan’s right shoulder again. Once more he turned into a squirming pile of pleasure, moaning and groaning and thrusting his hips out toward the audience as everyone stared in awe. I was just barely rousing myself by this point, opening my eyes again and trying to see what was going on with my neighbor, when I heard the hypnotist say the dreaded “There a...” and felt him press down on my left shoulder again.
As wonderful as the first time was, the second was a thousand times better. Instead of the calm, cool, writhing orgasm I had had the first time, this was like a lightening bolt pulsing through me. My left hand slammed down again, forcing the hypnotist’s palm firmly against my shoulder as my right quickly traveled down to the side of the seat, gripping it to restrain myself. I was utterly out of control, my upper and lower halves bucking in wild asynchronicity. “Fuck!” I started screaming. “Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” It was like my entire soul and every ounce of sperm I had ever and would ever produce were gushing out of me at the same time. I was in a completely different universe, just writhing psychotically with pleasure.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity (of a microsecond! I never wanted it to end!) I guess it became clear I wasn’t stopping anytime soon, and the hypnotist was forced to wrench his hand away. I barely heard him chuckle into the mic as I tried to regain control of myself.
“Fuckin’ everywhere a…” he purred, the entire room full of breathless anticipation.
I don’t know where he stuck the mic, but at that moment, he pressed down on both Dylan’s and my shoulders simultaneously. Again, as incredible as the last time had been, this was, once more, a thousand times greater. (I seemed to remember that phrase from somewhere, “a thousand times greater…”) I began moaning and thrashing, struck dumb but for repeating “Oh god… Oh god… Oh god… Oh god…” on a seemingly endless loop.
Suddenly (it was almost like this was something I heard…somehow I just knew it), I realized that my pleasure would be multiplied if I simply touched the person next to me, and my left hand instinctively groped beside me, thrashing across Dylan’s squirming body until finally our palms connected. Our fingers interlocked quickly, our arms intertwining as I slipped mine around his. I could feel the taut flesh of his thin, pale limb, its forearm decorated with a little rose tattoo rubbing smoothly against my tanner, muscled skin, and the feeling of this touch, coupled with the realization that I had someone to take this incredible journey with me, released a thousand more pleasurable sensations coursing through my body. Each of us was pulling the other toward him, toward the boundary between our seats, and I pressed myself up next to him, every quiver of his pleasure only magnifying mine, and, I assumed, vice versa. I was curling into a ball, feeling his tight arm pulse against my side with his pleasure contractions, causing me to shake violently and continue moaning, “God… God… Oh… Oh…” over and over, quieter and quieter (my voice giving out), tears streaming down my cheeks (the left one of which was, incidentally, now pressed up against Dylan’s, which was also hot and wet with tears).
Finally, after what again seemed at once an eternity and yet infinitely too short, the hypnotist let go and both of us sank back in our seats, bodies limp, panting and moaning with exertion. I had no idea where I was or what was happening. I was completely drained. “Old McRosco had a farm,” I heard the hypnotist singing, seemingly far, far away.
“EE AI EE AI OH!” the crowd screamed, erupting into thunderous applause. I just lay there, my eyelids hanging nearly shut, chest heaving with exertion.
“I had a few more for you guys, but I think if we go on any longer, we might kill ’em,” I faintly heard the hypnotist say. A chorus of boos quickly followed. I had no idea what implication this might or might not hold for me. I was still trying to catch my breath.
“Now, now, maybe later…” he replied in a teasing come-on. I could hear some shouting from next to me, but I could barely focus. I tried to push myself up in my seat, and did about halfway. I felt the hypnotist walking off to my right again. “Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.”
I could just barely peel my eyes open enough to look groggily to the right. Next to me, Kyle, Hector, Josh and Ryan were keeled over in their seats, crumpled into each other like a row of dominoes, breathing deeply. Ryan, occupying the seat next to me, sprawled backward over the chair, his upright torso providing support for the three others. Had they been like that before? It seemed like the hypnotist might have gotten to them.
“Just the boys I’m touching now, all those commands gone,” said the hypnotist, walking past Kyle and my friends and gently laying a hand on each one’s shoulder. “No longer making any noises when I touch your right shoulder, completely forgetting everything that just happened. Simply drifting away and focusing only on going deeper… deeper and deeper to sleep...”
The hypnotist crossed behind me as my head drooped once more, so exhausted from my exertion I couldn’t even keep it up.
“And the four boys I’m touching now,” he continued. “Back to your regular languages. No longer speaking Chinese or German or anything else, unless you spoke it before. The new understanding of numbers I gave you… Eh, what the fuck?” he muttered. “Will remain.” The room chuckled. I wondered what was going on.
“And as for you two…” he said, moving back behind Dylan and me. “Since you both seemed to get pretty heated up during that last performance, I bet you’d love a nice, cool shower right about now, huh? Thankfully, we’ve got a couple of private shower stalls right up front,” he said, pointing to a corner at the front of the stage. “Just set your clothes gently on the floor and hop in.”
Snap.
I looked up, blinking groggily. That was all I needed to hear. I wasn’t sure exactly how I’d gone this long without noticing those two showers, but at the moment, I was glad they were there. He was right. I needed to cool down like nothing else. My entire body, not to mention my libido, was riled up. Both Dylan and I thanked him and got up, making our way to the showers at the front of the stage.
Quickly, I peeled out of my shirt, sandals and shorts, leaving them in a pile just like the hypnotist said, and stepped into the shower, sliding the curtain closed behind me. I then hurriedly shucked off my underwear and slipped them out too, letting them fall gently on top of the pile of my clothing. I reached forward and turned on the water, feeling its refreshing coolness streaming down over me. Damn, it felt great. Just what I needed. I could faintly hear laughter and applause off in the distance. I wondered if something was happening in the hypnosis show. I could hear the hypnotist beginning to talk about something, food or nutrition or something like that, but I wasn’t really paying attention. This shower just felt too good to focus on anything else.
I turned my face up to the head, feeling the cool spray against my hot flesh, and reached up with both arms, letting it run back through my hair like I was in a shampoo commercial. God, it felt so good! Reaching out, I grabbed a nearby bar of soap and began washing myself, rubbing it slowly over my arms, torso, and finally down over and between my legs. More cheering and applause. The hypnotist must really be up to something funny. I hoped he wasn’t making too much of a joke of my friends—I guess fun is fun, but they were guys I respected and didn’t really want a whole roomful of people laughing at.
“Hey, Dylan and Mike?” I heard the hypnotist call. I turned in his direction, though I couldn’t really see him through the shower wall. “I don’t know if you noticed who you’re showering with, but the most attractive person in the world is actually right there beside you. And right now, more than anything, they want you to scrub their back.”
I looked over. How had I not noticed this was a two-person? He was right though. Right next to me was Taylor Swift—svelte, cute face, long blonde hair, button nose, gorgeous breasts, everything. I couldn’t believe it! How could you get in a shower with Taylor Swift and not notice ’til somebody pointed it out to you?
Taylor looked at me with this come-hither glance, and I have to admit, I was absolutely powerless to resist. This girl was a goddess. I couldn’t count how many times I had popped a load checking her out online. She was my absolute dream girl—beautiful, blonde, statuesque, rich, famous, young and sophisticated. If she needed her back cleaned, I was definitely the man for the job!
I reached out and began gently scrubbing her back with the bar of soap. She almost looked like she had wanted to do me, but I figured a gentleman goes first. I gently, sensuously caressed the soft flesh of her back, savoring the slick feel of her smooth skin beneath my fingers. Deciding to dare being forward, I pressed my nose into the nape of her neck. I could hear the sound of the audience in hysterics over the pounding of the water. Something really funny must be going on. Back onstage, I could hear the hypnotist was saying something about a straight guy doing something to a gay boy. For my sake I hoped it wasn’t Ryan.
Ignoring that, I took a deep breath and gently inhaled Taylor’s scent. It was like ambrosia! Like I said, I try to be a gentleman, but I have to admit, all this got me a little excited. I felt myself growing hard again, my half-inflated cock brushing against the alabaster flesh of Taylor’s perfectly rounded buttocks. My heart skipped a beat as I felt her press back, leaning into my embrace. I wrapped my arms around her, noticing a little rose tattoo on her forearm. I’d never seen that before, and I thought I knew her backward and forward. I wondered if she’d just gotten it. Something about it seemed strangely familiar...
“All right, you two,” I heard. “That shower’s supposed to cool you down! Fantasy lover’s gone now. Finish cleaning yourself off, put on a towel and come back out.”
I looked around. Where was Taylor? I couldn’t see her anywhere. I must have been having a strange daydream. Today was really a bizarre day.
At the moment, though, I knew I needed to get back onstage and back to the hypnosis show. I still wanted to leave, but I couldn’t manage that if I didn’t talk to the hypnotist. I quickly gave my chest and pits another pass with the soap, ran it over my butt cheeks for good measure, placed it back in the soap dish, rinsed myself one last time and turned off the water. I grabbed a towel hanging over the curtain rod and quickly rubbed it through my hair, then down the length of my body—face, shoulders, arms, torso, and over and between my legs. Pulling it behind myself, I did the classic between-the-legs back-and-forth, wrapped it tight around my waist, yanked open the curtain and stepped out onstage. The whole audience was laughing uproariously, with scattered cheers and applause. I had no idea what was going on in the show, but it certainly must have been wild. I knew I didn’t want to be the butt of that. I made up my mind to ask the hypnotist next thing if I could leave.
Dylan wasn’t out of the shower, I guess, because as I headed back to the row of chairs, there were still two empty seats where he and I had been sitting. It briefly struck me as odd that I was coming up onstage wearing nothing but a towel, but I figured it was spring break and I felt pretty comfortable with my body, so no big deal. I didn’t want to waste a bunch of time getting my clothes back on in the dripping shower stall.
I was going to take my old seat next to Ryan (though for some reason that still don’t feel right), but the hypnotist motioned for me to take a seat next to someone who was awake, so I obediently plopped down by Paul, who gave me a strange look as I sat next to him. Once he noticed I’d seen him, he seemed to avert his gaze, and took a big bite out of something he was holding.
Stepping up behind me, the hypnotist proffered something. “We’re just stopping for a quick snack before the show,” he said with a smile. “You look hungry, Mike. How about a nice apple?”
I stared at his hand. He was indeed holding the biggest, juiciest looking apple I had ever seen. It was absolutely perfect, like out of a fairy tale book in the story of Snow White. And besides that, I was fucking starving all of a sudden. I don’t know what it was—probably a long day travelling and checking into the hotel—but right now I was definitely in the mood for something to snack on. I’m usually not a big fruit guy (in fact, for some reason I still really wanted a popsicle), but right now, a nice, juicy red apple seemed mighty appealing. I quickly grabbed it and took a huge bite. The entire audience groaned—I had no idea why. “Thanks man,” I mumbled through my full mouth into the microphone the hypnotist was holding. “This tastes delicious.”
The audience burst out laughing. I looked around, wondering what was going on.
“Holy shit, he’s doing it too!” I heard from down at the other end of the (now fairly small) row. Glancing over, I saw Ant leaning forward, his black tank top hanging loosely from his gaunt, tattooed frame. His right elbow was on his knee, and in his hand, he held what looked like a large, peeled yellow onion, from which had been taken several gigantic bites. Beyond that, I noticed both his boots were missing, as well as a single sock, which made him look even stranger. I wondered what on earth was going on.
“What’s up, man?” asked the hypnotist, darting over to him.
“That guy’s eating an onion!” grinned Ant, laughing in disbelief. “That’s two of these motherfuckers. There’s some weird people here,” he muttered.
I looked around. What was he talking about? He wasn’t talking about me. I was eating an apple. I looked over at Paul and again seemed to catch him staring at me out of the corner of his eye. In his hand, he too held what appeared to be a large yellow onion, from which a number of bites were missing. Aside from him, though, the only other person I could see onstage who appeared to be eating an onion was Ant.
“What’s going on? What’s everybody doing?” asked the hypnotist.
“I told you, those guys are eating onions,” said Ant, pointing down in Paul and my direction. “That guy’s eating a stick of butter, and that dude’s got his hands all over another guy,” he added.
“You wouldn’t do that, would you?” asked the hypnotist.
“No, man! I’m straight as an arrow!”
“And I’m sure I couldn’t get you to…put your head on his butt like a pillow, right?” asked the hypnotist.
“I’m not touchin’ some dude’s butt!” said Ant. The audience laughed.
“So, seriously,” asked the hypnotist, “those guys are eating onions and butter?”
“Hell yeah, it’s nasty!” said Ant.
“But you’re eating an apple?”
“Yeah man, I’m fuckin’ starving,” said Ant, taking a huge bite of the onion and chewing loudly. The entire audience broke down laughing. These guys must have already been hypnotized. I had no idea how he could sit there like that, eating a raw onion. I took a big bite of my apple and adjusted my towel, continuing to watch. I needed to make sure I didn’t end up doing something stupid.
“There he goes again!” yelled Ant, mouth still full of onion chunks.
“Oh, come on now, they wouldn’t do that! Paul, you’d never eat an onion, right?” asked the hypnotist.
Paul shook his head no and took another huge bite. From right next to him, I could tell from the smell he was definitely eating an onion. The scent almost made me gag. How could you take a whole mouthful of that?
“He’s eating an onion. I’m eating an apple,” said Paul. The audience laughed. I chuckled too. What was with these guys?
“And Jake, you look pretty health conscious. I’m sure you wouldn’t eat a stick of butter, right?”
Pretty boy Jake groggily shook his head no.
“What have you got there?” asked the hypnotist.
“Banana,” muttered Jake, leaning in and taking another dainty bite from the top. Looking more closely, I could see it was in fact a stick of butter. The wrapper had been carefully peeled off halfway in strips along the side, in a simulation of a banana peel. I shook my head and took another big bite of my apple. This was fucked up.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Dylan must have finally finished his shower. He was striding up to the row of chairs we were seated in, but the funny thing was, he was missing his towel. I could see every inch of his long, smooth, well-defined calves (the only part of a hipster that ever seemed to be toned—I presumed from constant biking), and between them, a long, thick, flaccid penis flopping inside a trimmed nest of brown fur, to the top right of which sat a little tattoo of a tribal insignia. I started laughing, but quickly stopped myself, not wanting to embarrass him. Dylan must have been hypnotized, too. I couldn’t believe the hypnotist could get him to walk around like that!
“Dylan, man, have an apple,” said the hypnotist, tossing him a big off-white ball. “You’re hungry as shit.” He snapped.
The audience laughed. Dylan sat down, bare-assed, straight on the chair next to me, and took a huge bite. “Thanks,” he said, chewing. The audience howled some more. I joined them. This was too much.
“Dylan, help us settle a debate. What are these guys doing?” asked the hypnotist, coming over and holding out his mic.
Dylan broke out into a broad, incredulous grin. “They’re eating onions,” he laughed in disbelief. His eyes shone behind their thick black frames. He brushed his brown emo flop out of the way and took another huge bite of the onion he was holding.
“And what are you eating?” asked the hypnotist.
“Apple,” Dylan smiled, taking another huge bite. The audience cracked up. I laughed too.
“What’s so funny, Mike?” the hypnotist asked.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I just broke down. “He’s eating an onion,” I laughed, half bending over it was so hysterical. The hypnotist followed me with the mic while I giggled. Finally, I managed to look up again, and coughed out with another laugh, “Dude, you don’t have any clothes on.” I broke down laughing. The audience followed suit. Dylan really looked like an idiot.
“Nah, you’ve got a towel on, right Dylan?” asked the hypnotist, as though it was the most sensible thing in the world. He was really fucking with these guys!
“Yeah, I don’t know who you’re looking at. You’re gonna get yourself arrested,” Dylan muttered. I had no idea what he meant by that. I couldn’t stop laughing. This kid was up here in front of a crowd of people, without even a towel on, completely naked and eating an onion. It was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever seen.
“You think he’s hypnotized?” asked the hypnotist.
“Uh, yeah,” laughed Dylan, taking another bite of his onion.
“What about you, Mike? You think these guys are hypnotized?” the hypnotist asked.
I shook my head in disbelief. “Yeah, I guess they’re probably pretty hypnotized,” I grinned.
“Not you though?” asked the hypnotist.
I shook my head no, composing myself. I took another big bite of my delicious apple.
“Seriously, Paul, you wouldn’t eat an onion, right?” said the hypnotist, patting my new left-hand neighbor on the shoulder. He just shook his head, taking another big bite of onion. He was whaling on that thing. It was half gone.
“I do have one question, though,” said the hypnotist. “You look pretty calm right now. But doesn’t sitting next to a hot naked guy make you kind of antsy?”
Paul looked up with an embarrassed smile, blushing a little, then suddenly started squirming in his seat, his smile quickly transforming into an uncomfortable grimace as, with his left hand, he reached down and started tugging at the crotch of his cargo shorts, pulling at the fabric and scratching at his balls like all of a sudden he had a horrible itch or something. I seemed to vaguely recall the hypnotist doing some skit like this with Paul earlier, and I started chuckling again, not least because now I knew from the hypnotist’s comment that Dylan must be naked—though I wasn’t quite sure whether he qualified as hot or not (or why the hypnotist had even felt the need to bring it up, for that matter).
The hypnotist reached down behind the row of chairs and retrieved a small plastic child’s sand bucket, which he placed in Jake’s lap. The audience chortled.
“Can you just hold that for me for a second, Jake?” the hypnotist asked. Jake nodded, taking another nibble from his stick of butter.
“Now Jake, you’re not hypnotized, are you?” Jake shook his head again, chewing, his soft lips glistening with grease.
“And you would never eat a stick of butter. That’s so unhealthy.” Jake shook his head again.
“What do you have there?”
“Banana,” Jake said again, looking up a little blearily.
“Take a nice big bite,” said the hypnotist warmly. “You’re not going to throw up, but there’s a bucket in your lap for you to spit,” he added, patting Jake gently on the shoulder.
Jake gave him a confused look, then leaned in, wrapped his lips around the head of the stick of butter, and took off a good clean inch-and-a-half of it. His began to slowly chew, barely able to keep his mouth closed. Everyone cringed and groaned, including all of us up on stage except for Paul, who was currently too preoccupied.
“Nice and healthy, right?” asked the hypnotist. Jake nodded, chewing.
“Because you’re eating a…?” the hypnotist held out the microphone again.
“Banana,” muttered Jake through a mouth full of yellow goo.
“Great, I’m glad you like it,” the hypnotist said, clicking the fingers of his free hand right next to Jake’s temple. Jake instantly dropped the stick of butter, grabbing the little bucket in both hands and pulling it to his mouth at lightening speed. A big gob of disgusting, masticated yellow fat slipped from between his lips as he wretched, a trail of shiny saliva following, dribbling into the bucket. The audience burst out laughing. I felt a little bad for the poor kid, but I couldn’t help smiling. It was a pretty amazing trick, and the look on his face when he realized what he was doing was priceless. I stole another bite of my apple.
“Hey, Jake, flavor’s gone, flavor’s gone,” said the hypnotist, waving his hand in front of Jake’s mouth and giving him another pat on the shoulder. Jake looked up at him, confused, his tongue darting around in his mouth, trying to figure out what had happened to the powerful flavor.
“Here, I’ll take that,” said the hypnotist, grabbing the bucket. He rubbed the back of his hand across Jack’s temple as he pulled away. “Sleeeep...”
Jake sprawled out cataleptically, his entire body instantly transforming into a limp noodle and sliding straight out of his seat and down to the floor. The audience burst out laughing in surprise.
“Jesus, I forgot he does that,” laughed the hypnotist, setting the bucket back down in the seat Jake had just occupied. He grabbed the remaining stick of butter off the floor and tossed it in, too.
“So, what’s up, Ant?” he asked, turning to the shoeless, onion-eating alt boy next to Jake’s empty seat. “Still think you’re not hypnotized?”
“I know an apple when I see it,” Ant said, sounding annoyed and taking another big bite in defiance.
“Do you?” asked the hypnotist, snapping straight in front of Ant’s nose. Again, the expression on the guy’s face was priceless. He immediately gagged, spraying half-chewed onion chunks out in front of him, and he dropped the “apple” and quickly grabbed the bucket from the hypnotist’s hand. Holding his face straight in it, he heaved, coughing out a mouthful of disgusting spit.
“No vomit, no vomit,” said the hypnotist, patting his shoulder. “That goes for all of you,” he said, looking down at the rest of us. I guessed he must be talking to the other guys. My apple I would have no problem keeping down. Still famished, I took another bite and continued watching the show.
“Flavor’s gone now, flavor’s gone,” said the hypnotist, snapping again beside Ant’s ear. He looked up, bewildered, and the hypnotist snapped again—“Sleep. Deep down. Deep down.” The hypnotist pulled the bucket from Ant’s hand as Ant’s torso slumped onto the seat next to him, leaving him sprawled in a rather uncomfortable position, ass still half in his original chair, upper body resting on the chair beside him.
“You can make yourself as comfortable as you want. Going deeper and deeper…” Ant slid slowly across the seat, becoming a little more stretched out, but not really looking any more comfortable.
“You get a load of this shit?” asked the hypnotist, turning to Parker.
He chuckled. “Pretty wild.”
“What the fuck is with these guys?”
Parker shook his head and smiled a lazy grin. “I don’t know, man.”
“You wouldn’t do anything like that, right?”
“Nah way,” he said, lazily shaking his head and laughing.
“Who you got there?” asked the hypnotist, indicating the sleeping little hipster Parker had pulled up deep inside his shoulder.
“Beyonce, I told you!” he exclaimed eagerly. The audience burst out laughing. Me and the two onion-eating idiots did too. My stomach growled and I took another bite of my apple. I was almost making as much progress as Paul, who, though sitting there squirming in his seat and scratching his balls furiously, was still taking bites of his onion in between peeks over at me and Dylan, which was starting to increasingly annoy me.
“That’s awesome, dude!” said the hypnotist excitedly. “Are you sure it’s really her?”
“Uh, you don’t mistake Beyonce,” Parker said sagely. The audience cracked up.
“I bet. You wanna know a great way to find out, though?”
Parker shrugged as the hypnotist reached into his vest and pulled a small, metallic tube out of his pocket.
“As it just so happens, I have this incredible substance right here that can help distinguish the real Beyonce from a fake,” he said. “You wanna try it?”
Parker chuckled. “I know it’s her, man.”
“Perfect, then you’re gonna love it. See, the thing about this stuff is, Beyonce had it made for Jay-Z so she could know he wasn’t cheating on her. Don’t ask me how I got it, but the thing is, if you put it on and kiss anybody other than the real Beyonce, you fall right to sleep.”
“So why put it on?” asked Parker.
“Because man, it’s about keeping someone loyal. So, if you put it on and you kiss the real Beyonce… Boom. Instant orgasm!”
Parker laughed in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“Oh god, dude, it’s the best thing ever!” said the hypnotist.
Quickly, Parker snatched the metal tube from the hypnotist’s hand, popped off the cap and began fiddling with the bottom, trying to make it work.
“It’s like an invisible lip balm. Just put a nice, thick coat of it all around your lips. The more you put, the greater the- Yeah, there you go,” said the hypnotist, as laughter rippled through the audience. Peering down the row past Paul to try and get a better view, I could see that Parker was slathering his lips and parts of his surrounding face with a thick layer of bright, red lipstick.
“That’s good, man, that’s good. Just a little more,” said the hypnotist. “The more you put on the better it feels.”
People in the audience were howling as Parker rapidly transformed himself into some kind of cross between a hooker and Heather Ledger in The Dark Knight. I chuckled to myself, and heard Dylan laugh behind me too before taking another bite of his onion. In front of me, Paul was watching the whole spectacle as well, still squirming uncomfortably.
“Okay, man, that’s good, that’s good,” said the hypnotist. Parker grinned, his bright white teeth looking ridiculous amidst the mass of red goo shellacking his lips. He held the lipstick back out to the hypnotist.
“Nah, that’s cool, man, you keep it,” he said warmly. Parker grinned and stuffed the tube into the pocket of his baggy cargo shorts. “As a matter of fact, you’ll be convinced that is lip balm for the rest of the month,” added the hypnotist, snapping nonchalantly.
Parker blinked, just a little groggily, and looked up at him. “It… It is, though…” he muttered, confused.
“Go on and try it out!” said the hypnotist.
Parker grinned and looked around sneakily, then quickly leaned in, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to Jay’s. Instantly he crumpled, his body collapsing like a wet dishrag all over the little hipster under his arm. The audience burst out in hysterics.
“How about that, Paul?” asked the hypnotist, smiling. Paul nodded distractedly as he continued squirming and pawing at his balls.
“Bet you wouldn’t mind being in that hot seat, right?” the hypnotist smiled.
“I’m not big on the lipstick,” Paul muttered, squirming.
“Well, we can take care of that,” said the hypnotist. “If Parker took off the lipstick, I bet you’d love the chance to cuddle up, right?”
Paul blushed and nodded, still squirming in his seat, but trying to hide it now that people’s attention was on him.
“In fact, I’d bet you’d be downright antsy to get over there, huh?”
So much for that. Paul’s squirming suddenly seemed to get ten times worse. He dug one hand straight up under his balls, scratching away furiously. His face contorted in frustration as his body writhed in the seat. He kicked around and nudged Ant’s right arm, which caused him to readjust, rolling forward on the seat and tumbling down to the floor. The audience gasped and laughed wildly as Ant, completely oblivious, simply rolled around and rearranged himself, head resting peacefully next to Jake’s hip.
The hypnotist laughed. “Hey, how about that? Hop on over and I’ll set it up for you. Only thing is, when you change seats, that itching gets ten times worse.”
Seemingly oblivious, Paul eagerly slid over the two seats so he was sitting next to Parker. The second his butt hit the chair, however, he started struggling wildly, kicking and thrashing, jostling the guys on the floor below him as he squirmed. “No need to be discreet,” said the hypnotist nonchalantly.
Face a grimaced mask of discomfort, Paul quickly reached up with his empty left hand and started unbuckling his belt, loosening it and shoving his hand straight down his pants, scratching frenetically and throwing his head back in a look of semi-relief. The audience, along with Dylan and me, were laughing in disbelief. Even the hypnotist cracked a smile.
“Sleep, Paul…” he said, placing a finger on Paul’s forehead and pressing him back so his body sprawled into his chair. His right arm flopped onto the empty seat next to him where Ant’s upper half used to be, the spittle-covered remnants of his once giant onion thumping to the floor next to Ant’s butt. Paul’s contorted face went slack, his shoulders drooped, his ass slid forward in the chair as his leg muscles finally relaxed, and his left arm, hand still shoved straight down his half-open cargo shorts, sagged into a “Little Teapcup” position, his elbow rubbing up against Parker’s side.
“That’s way too good not to just leave him like that, right?” asked the hypnotist. The audience chuckled.
“So then there were two,” he said, picking up the newest fallen onion and tossing it in the bucket as he walked back over to us. Rounding the end of the row, the hypnotist took a place behind our seats, resting the bucket in his hand on the back of our chairs.
“That’s some pretty freaky shit, huh?”
Dylan and I both nodded, turning our heads to try to see him behind us.
“And I’m pretty sure we know at least one more of you up here is hypnotized, right?” he asked. Dylan and I both laughed, casting a glance at each other.
“Mike, Dylan tells me you’re eating an onion. Is that true?”
I shook my head. “No way, man. Big red apple.” I took another huge bite for emphasis and smiled.
“You think you’re hypnotized, Mike?” he asked.
“Nah-ah,” I said, shaking my head.
“Then it must be you, right Dylan?”
Dylan laughed and shook his head. “Look and this guy, man!” he said in amazement, pointing at me. “He’s sittin’ there eating an onion buck naked!”
The audience laughed.
“You’d never do anything like that, would you?” asked the hypnotist.
Dylan shook his head, grinning in disbelief. I smiled, finally realizing the hypnotist must have hypnotized him into thinking I was doing everything he was. God, it was going to be nice to see this little hipster get his comeuppance. I suddenly remembered why I’d been so annoyed with Kyle. Hypnotized people really act like idiots!
“Okay guys, here’s the deal. I’m gonna count to three, snap my fingers, and the instant I do, whoever’s eating an onion is going to realize it instantly. Sound good?”
He held the mic out at Dylan. Dylan just nodded. He held the mic out at me. I shrugged.
“Why don’t you both take one more big bite? One…”
CRUNCH. I tore off a huge chunk of juicy apple and chewed it slowly, savoring the sweet flavor as it ran through my mouth.
“Two.”
The hypnotist held out his pressed thumb and middle finger between us, right next to the microphone. I looked over at Dylan, who had just torn a big chunk off his huge yellow onion. I couldn’t wait to see him coughing it up in about half a second.
“Three.” Snap.
My throat seized up. Chunks of half-chewed onion sprayed out of my mouth, splattering all over Dylan’s body just as I was covered in a similar spray of his. A taste of unimaginable foulness flooded my mouth, and I reached frantically for the little bucket as I felt myself gagging from the odor. I had my hands on the bucket and was trying to pull it toward me, but Dylan’s were yanking it in the opposite direction, and we ended up both kneeling awkwardly on our chairs, asses in the air, both trying to cram our faces into a teensy plastic child’s toy bucket. I coughed violently, feeling my entire body heaving to get as much of the nasty, masticated raw onion out of my system as I possibly could. Dylan’s spittle dribbled into the bucket next to mine, and he seemed to be coughing just as violently, if not more.
“What the fuck are you guys doing?!” the hypnotist was yelling. “Where are your clothes?!” There was an absolute cacophony coming from the audience, all of which I knew was directed squarely at Dylan and me. I hadn’t even realized up to that point that I was naked! I slapped my left hand over my dick as I continued retching into the bucket, Dylan doing likewise beside me.
“Put your clothes back on, guys! The taste is all gone when you put your clothes on!” said the hypnotist.
That was all I needed to hear, even though if I’d stopped for even a second to think about it, I would have realized it didn’t make any sense. I collapsed out of my chair and, holding my hand in front of my bare crotch, scampered across the stage, Dylan in hot pursuit, as the whole audience howled with laughter.
“The only thing is,” added the hypnotist, “you think the opposite pile of clothing belongs to you.”
I was barely paying attention and didn’t know what he was talking about. I could certainly recognize my own clothes. I raced to the front of the stage, grabbed my t-shirt and jeans, and started trying to get everything on as quickly as possible. For some reason, my striped 2(x)ist briefs felt a lot tighter than I remembered—uncomfortably tight, almost—and so did my jeans as I tried to pull them on. In fact, my jeans were so tight I couldn’t even manage to get the zipper up! It’s not like I’d gotten fat all of a sudden or anything—I’m in great shape—it was almost just like they were for someone smaller than me. I had no idea how I’d managed to get them on this morning.
Ignoring the jeans dilemma for now, I quickly pulled on my teal V-neck, which was also so tight it felt like it was about to burst. My biceps strained at the fabric of the sleeves, and the shirt itself barely even came down far enough to cover my whole stomach. Was this how I left the hotel this morning? I must have been doing something wrong in my hurry.
Dylan was already scampering back upstage, back to his seat next to Ryan. I didn’t remember him looking so dumpy before—he had on a really baggy sleeveless T-shirt along with a super loose pair of cargo shorts. He had cinched the belt up so far to get them on that it was dangling out from under the bottom of the shirt like a donkey dick. Had he had three seconds to grab his clothes out of a freebie pile this morning? Come to think of it, I felt like he hadn’t even been wearing those clothes before.
Too busy to worry about it, I quickly grabbed my designer boots and started hobbling up to the front of the stage, staggering awkwardly in my far-too-tight, still unzipped black jeans. The hypnotist, standing behind Dylan, placed his fingers on the guy’s forehead and pulled gently back, whispering “Sleeeeeep…” He wilted straight down into Ryan, a look of relaxation and bliss washing over his worried features. I staggered forward.
“You got a problem there, Mike?” asked the hypnotist, to more laughter from the audience.
“My… pants don’t fit…” I muttered, hobbling forward.
“Your pants don’t fit?” he asked for the audience’s benefit. Everyone laughed. “Maybe that’s because you have them on backwards.”
I looked down. What a fucking idiot! In my haste, I’d pulled them on in the wrong direction. Dropping my boots, I quickly shucked my jeans down the length of my legs, virtually prying the stretched fabric off my flesh. Stepping out of them, I suddenly realized I was still in front of a roomful of people, and, blushing bright crimson, quickly dropped to the ground as everyone laughed, turning the pants around and pulling them on the right way.
I stood up again. There we go. A nice, solid surface in the front, just like it was supposed to be. The pockets on either side looked a little prominent, more like the pockets you usually see on the back of jeans than the front, but I figured the style must be changing or something. I couldn’t remember where I’d bought them.
I lifted my leg awkwardly, trying to slip it down into one of the boots. The pants still felt tight…
“Worry about those later, Mikey, just bring them back here,” said the hypnotist. It was clear he had other things to do.
Quickly grabbing the boots, I turned and made my way up the rest of the stage, the flaps of the jeans’ fly patting my ass as I walked. It still felt like something about this wasn’t quite right.
“Sit down,” urged the hypnotist, still rushing me. I dropped the boots next to me and awkwardly flopped into my seat next to Dylan. I still couldn’t bend my knees, for some reason.
I looked up all of a sudden as I felt, from behind me, the hypnotist’s hand reach over and cover my eyes, the top resting against my forehead.
“Deep sleep,” he said as I felt him pull me gently sideways. My eyes fluttered shut and my entire body went limp as I collapsed into Dylan.