The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“…three.” Snap. “Wide awake.”

I blinked, drawing in a deep, refreshing breath and sitting up in my chair. It had been a long day of travelling—I must have nodded off.

I looked around, trying to ascertain my surroundings. Bright lights shone down on me, and I looked out across a bare gray-black stage toward a shadowy darkness. To my left stretched a long row of seats, with a few on my right as well, each occupied by a groggy person sitting upright, seemingly correcting himself.

Shit. The hypnosis show. Somehow, I was still onstage. Hadn’t I planned on begging off as soon as I got up here if those hot girls disappeared?

I stared down the long row of chairs to my left, noticing a number of people who seemed weirdly familiar, and pretty much all of whom were dressed kind of strange. Most had what looked like underwear pulled on their heads, though my friend Ryan was for some reason naked, and a couple other guys near me were dressed only in tiny briefs! What was going on? And how long had I been up here?

Turning to my right, I was relieved yet partly mortified to find Josh sitting next to me. I was even more mortified when I noticed he, too, seemed to have a pair of boxers on his head, which I recognized as the American Eagle underwear he had pulled on this morning as we were getting dressed at our hotel.

“What’s going on?” whispered Josh, before I could get a word out. “Why are we up here?”

“We should tell him we wanna go,” I said, and Josh nodded in agreement, though neither of us made a move.

Before I could remember to ask Josh what was going on with his clothes, I heard the familiar voice of the hypnotist and noticed him striding across the stage out of the corner of my eye. “Rise and shine, guys. It’s nice to see everybody back. I hope you enjoyed your break as much as we did.”

I looked around confusedly. What break? Hadn’t we just gotten up here? What did he mean by “back?”

“Before we get started with the rest of this evening’s demonstration, I couldn’t help but notice some of you seem to have made some fashion adjustments during intermission,” the hypnotist continued.

“Kyle,” he said, turning toward a shaggy-haired, kind of slacker-looking guy in a blue t-shirt midway down the row. “You wanna tell us anything about the way you’re dressed?”

Kyle shrugged and shook his head. “Whadda you mean?”

“I mean, uh…” the hypnotist motioned up at his head. The audience chuckled.

“My hat?” asked Kyle, looking perplexed. The audience laughed.

“Did you come in wearing that?” asked the hypnotist.

“Yeah,” said Kyle, crossing his arms and adding, “nice try getting me to shove it down my pants.” The audience burst out laughing.

“Ah, you got me,” the hypnotist shrugged sheepishly. “You woulda looked pretty stupid, right?” he asked.

Kyle smiled. “Yeah. I’m too fast for that shit, though.” The audience chuckled again. “What’s so funny?” Kyle added, looking confused.

“I don’t know, man, let’s check with Arpit. You know what everybody’s laughing about?”

Arpit shrugged. “No idea.”

“That’s some nice headgear,” said the hypnotist, indicating Arpit’s plain pair of white briefs.

Arpit smiled. “Thanks.”

“How about you, Dylan? You like Arpit’s hat?” the hypnotist asked.

Dylan, this scrawny hipster guy with glasses wearing a baggy tank top and shorts, looked over to his left, and while I couldn’t see his expression, his voice seemed to indicate he was bewildered.

“That guy’s got underwear on his head,” Dylan said, looking at the hypnotist, confused.

“He told me he was wearing a hat,” said the hypnotist.

“Looks like underwear to me…” Dylan replied, looking back over at Arpit, who in turn was staring back, chuckling in bemusement.

“You seem pretty fashionable,” the hypnotist said. Dylan looked down at his clothes and then back up with a shrug. The audience laughed again.

“You probably know your own style when you see it, right?” asked the hypnotist. Dylan nodded again. “Would you wear anything like that?”

“No, it looks fucking ridiculous,” Dylan laughed, and the audience burst out giggling. I noticed Arpit laughing as well.

“Sleeeep…” cooed the hypnotist, brushing a hand past Dylan’s forehead. Dylan’s eyes fluttered closed as though going into a faint, and his upper body collapsed forward, torso landing neatly in between his half-spread legs, arms flopping toward the ground.

Holy shit! Was he actually hypnotized? I guessed that explained the weirdly oversized shirt and shorts, but I wondered if that was the case with the other guys onstage. The audience, meanwhile, was tittering expectantly.

“Would you mind lending him that hat, Arpit?” asked the hypnotist. Arpit shrugged.

“At the count of three, Dylan, when I snap my fingers,” said the hypnotist, gently laying a hand on Dylan’s bare shoulder, “you’re going to find you want to wear what’s on Arpit’s head more than anything in the world, and you’re gonna beg him to let you have it. You think it’s the most fashionable hat you’ve ever seen, and you know you just won’t look your best without it. Nod if you understand.” Dylan’s head nodded softly in his lap.

“At the count of three, wide awake. One… two… three.” Snap.

Dylan’s torso popped back up and he looked around, blinking his eyes. After a moment or two, they alighted on Arpit’s headwear, and he instantly began effusing into the hypnotist’s outstretched microphone, “Holy shit, dude, where did you get that hat?”

Arpit laughed, shrugging. “I don’t really remember, I just wore it here,” he said with a grin.

“Dude, can I wear that? Please? I’ll give you twenty bucks.” The audience was in hysterics. Dylan sure was cutting right to the chase.

“Uh, it’s all right, you can borrow it if you want,” said Arpit awkwardly, seeming nonplussed by the guy’s enthusiasm.

“Shit, seriously?” asked Dylan, nearly yanking the underwear off Arpit’s head and immediately slipping it onto his own. “Thanks, man. I really mean it.”

The audience’s reaction was a mixture of laughter, groans, and applause, making me pretty damn certain these were really Arpit’s underwear. I had to admit, it was gross, the idea of wearing another dude’s undies—not to mention on your head!

“Lookin’ good, Dylan?” asked the hypnotist. Dylan nodded and smiled, giving a thumbs-up. The audience laughed even more.

“How about it, Ryan? You think Dylan looks pretty good with that on?” asked the hypnotist.

“Shit, that’s fuckin’ nasty,” grimaced Ryan, eliciting another round of laughter.

“You wouldn’t do anything like that, right?”

“Fuck no,” said Ryan firmly.

“You look pretty good already, am I right?” said the hypnotist, turning toward the audience. The whole room erupted in applause and cheers. Ryan nodded, seeming proud as shit with himself. Great, more fuel for the ever-blazing ego. What I couldn’t figure out was why no one seemed to notice Ryan was naked.

“You think your outfit’s missing anything?” asked the hypnotist.

Ryan shook his head. “I think it looks damn good,” he said, casting a glance down at himself. Again, the audience broke into applause and cheers.

“We’ll see as the night goes on if you notice anything,” said the hypnotist. “In the meantime, I’m gonna ask everybody onstage if they wouldn’t mind removing their hats for right now, since we are inside. You can just throw them up here in this lost-and-found pile and forget about them,” he said, pointing down to indicate a strange pile of old clothes near the center of the stage. “Don’t worry, Dylan, you can leave yours on. I know how much you like it,” he added with a smirk.

Dylan smiled and sat back in his seat, looking content as a barrage of underwear flew through the air, landing in a small patch around the pile indicated by the hypnotist.

“I’m actually gonna organize these for just a second,” said the hypnotist, stooping to grab some of the underwear and toss it onto the nearby mound of clothing. “We’ve got quite a lost-and-found up here tonight,” he continued as he went about his work cleaning the stage, “so I’m gonna be calling out an item every now and then to see if we can’t find its rightful owner. And actually, funny enough, I happen to have a pair of underwear right here…” The hypnotist raised the last pair of jettisoned undergarments, a pair of blue and green plaid boxers that I think belonged to Kyle. “I don’t know how you’d manage, but anybody up here happen to lose these?”

A few of us looked around, kind of bewildered, including Ryan, who, after finally glancing down, went wide-eyed and quickly leapt out of his seat, snatching the underwear from the hypnotist’s hand.

“How the fuck did you get these?!” Ryan asked, looking like he was about to belt the guy.

The hypnotist shrugged. “View?” he asked innocently, though I had no idea what he meant.

All of a sudden, Ryan’s look of extreme pissed-off-ed-ness broke into a broad grin and he extended his hand, offering the boxers back to the hypnotist. “Thanks, man,” the hypnotist said, grabbing them and tossing them back in the pile as Ryan turned around and plopped down naked again.

“I’m not quite ready to give that up,” said the hypnotist, and the audience chuckled.

“So, everyone else happy to be back from break?” he continued, walking back down the row of seats toward me.

“Jay, Sam, looks like you two were pretty successful out there,” he said, nodding toward the boys’ laps. Looking down confusedly, both of their eyes bugged out as they noticed the wads of bills stuffed down their underwear. Each quickly began reaching in and pulling them out, seemingly still unaware the underwear was the only thing they had on.

“What the fuck…?” muttered Jay.

“Don’t worry, you guys may remember later. Just go ahead and pile that under your seats—it’s yours to keep, and I think we all agree you earned it.” There were appreciative hoots from the audience as the two continued fishing around in their briefs, grabbing the last errant bills as the hypnotist approached me. “How about you, Mike, everything all right? Any more trouble with your tiny cock?”

“What?” I asked, bewildered. What a completely inappropriate joke. Was it supposed to be inherently funny just insulting me out of the blue? Not that this shitbag was ever going to find out, but his guess was pretty far from the truth!

Before I could say anything, the hypnotist sauntered back down the row, muttering, “Don’t worry about it. I’m just gonna check in with Paul down at the other end here…”

The hypnotist strode down the length of the stage, quickly reaching Paul, who I noticed still had no pants on—though I couldn’t remember where I’d seen him like that before.

“How’s it goin’, Paul?” he asked. “Look good feel good?” Paul nodded. The audience giggled.

“How about that hat trick?” asked the hypnotist, turning to Len.

“Yeah, nice,” said Len, sounding kind of half bemused and half annoyed. “You almost got me with that one. I had to go change.”

“Good thing you didn’t end up looking stupid, right?” asked the hypnotist. Len nodded, pleased with himself.

“Now, here’s something pretty interesting,” said the hypnotist, turning to Ant, who was beside Len. “Can you stand up for a minute and show everybody what you’ve got on?”

I leaned forward and peered down, since it was kind of hard to make much out from as far down the row as I was. Ant stood up, amid an increasing wave of chuckling that was rolling through the audience, affording me and everyone else a better view of his attire.

For some reason, Ant’s shirt was completely missing, exposing almost all of his scrawny, tattoo-covered upper torso. His camo shorts looked pretty much normal, aside from a strange black bunch of fabric dangling down through one of the legs, the origin of which I couldn’t discern. Stranger still was Ant’s attempt at upper-body wear, consisting solely of what appeared to be his baggy checkered boxer shorts, which it looked like he’d attempted to pull on in the manner of a t-shirt. His left arm stuck through one leg and his entire right shoulder and neck through the other, creating an awkward, tight replica of a sleeveless cutoff: swaths of leg and taint fabric covered his pecs and left shoulder while a strand of waistband slid under and around his furry right armpit.

“Now, can you maybe… turn around and tell us a little bit about what you’re wearing?” asked the hypnotist, a hand laid on Ant’s bare shoulder giving him a subtle push to the side, affording the audience a view of how exactly the underwear was lying across his back.

“You tricked me into switching my shirt and underwear, so I switched them back,” Ant said, looking confused by the attention. The audience laughed in disbelief.

“So right now, you’ve got everything on the right way?”

“Yeah,” said Ant, looking perplexed that the hypnotist was even asking the question.

“Didn’t I tell you he’s one of our best subjects?” the hypnotist asked the audience. “Ant, when I snap my fingers,” he continued, “you’re gonna realize what you’re wearing on the top of your body.” The hypnotist clicked his fingers into the microphone, all the while looking Ant straight in the eye.

Ant blinked for a second, seemed to notice something out of the corner of his eye, looked down, and then loudly muttered, “Ah, shit!” He reached up and yanked his head back through the leg-hole of his boxers, pulling the underwear over his head and tossing it away in disgust. The audience was howling. Admittedly his reaction was pretty funny. Ant didn’t seem to find it amusing, though.

“What the fuck, dude?” he said, turning to the hypnotist and looking pretty pissed off.

“Now, now, no need to make a spectacle,” said the hypnotist, and immediately Ant’s face went blank, his anger melting away instantly. Almost automatically, he turned around so his back was to the audience, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, bent over and pulled down his shorts, affording a brief view of his baggy black wifebeater underneath (he’d stepped through one sleeve and out the bottom) before it slid down his legs and into a pile on top of his shorts.

Before I had time to laugh, though, I suddenly realized I had something very important to do. I quickly rose to my feet and, as if in a dream, strode purposefully across the stage, bent down, and pressed my lips to Ant’s butt, planting a nice big kiss on his ass cheek.

Turning around, I started back to my seat, and I was vaguely aware of thunderous laughter and applause echoing off somewhere far in the distance, when suddenly I was shaken from my reverie by a firm, “Hey, Mike!”

I blinked, turning around to see the hypnotist standing next to Ant, who was bent over, pulling his shorts and what looked like an inordinately baggy black diaper up over his ass. The hypnotist, briefly glancing down, laid a hand on Ant’s bare back and stated gently, “Sleep. You can stand.” Ant’s torso slumped forward, his body bent in half, arms hanging low, pants dropping back around his ankles to expose his ass to the audience again. Automatically, I bent back down and pressed my lips to Ant’s ass.

“Step out of those underwear before putting your shorts back on,” said the hypnotist, his hand still resting softly on Ant’s back. “Then sit back down and enjoy the performance.” He slapped the guy on the ass and snapped.

Already back on my feet and dazedly moving toward my seat, I felt the snap jar me out of my stupor, and turned around to see what was going on.

Standing next to the hypnotist, I noticed Ant, the mohawked guy, pulling his heavy boots out of a pile of black fabric on the floor, tossing it to the side, and reaching down to pull his baggy camo shorts up over his scrawny, pale ass. For some reason, I felt a strange fogginess float over my mind, coupled with an intense and urgent desire to do something, but the hypnotist placed a firm hand on my chest as I started in Ant’s direction and stopped me, snapping his fingers right next to my line of vision and stating firmly, “Wide awake.”

I blinked, shaking my head, and suddenly realized I was up near the front of the stage, in the middle of a hypnosis show, standing next to the hypnotist in front of a room full of people.

“Just wait there a second, Mike. Jesus, it’s hard to keep track of you.” The audience chuckled as he turned back around and stooped to grab something off the floor. I turned a little and saw Ant, shirtless for some reason, buckling his belt and hiking up his shorts before trotting back toward his seat between Len and Parker. The hypnotist tossed the dark wad of loose fabric in the direction of a large pile of clothing while behind him, Ant plopped down in his seat and looked around, blinking groggily.

The hypnotist, still behind me, moved over to my right, forcing me to turn and look back at him over my other shoulder. By the time I refocused, I saw he had grabbed another piece of fabric from the floor of the stage—a checkered fabric pile that looked like Ant’s boxer shorts—and was rising, holding it out in front of him.

“I know we all probably think we know where these came from, but I just wanted to check and make sure—did anybody happen to lose this pair of boxers?”

A few people behind me onstage looked confused, but Ryan, who’d somehow been sitting in his chair stark naked this whole time, suddenly popped up, striding over to the hypnotist and snatching them out of his hand. “What the fuck!?” he asked, the audience tittering as he stooped to yank the boxers on. He cast a sickened glance over his shoulder as he turned around and strode back to his seat, sitting down in a huff.

“Sorry, man, I just wouldn’t want you looking foolish,” said the hypnotist, walking back behind me and over to that large pile of clothes again.

“While we’re at it, I seem to remember someone earlier thinking he might have been missing these,” he said, holding up a pair of blue-and-green checkered boxers.

Everyone looked around, bewildered, until after a second Ryan, after glancing down and raising his hands in exasperation, sprang to his feet again, stomped over to the hypnotist and snatched this pair of underwear out of his hand too.

“How the fuck do you keep doing that?” Ryan yelled as he leaned down and stepped into the new pair of underwear, pulling them up over Ant’s even baggier shorts, to which he seemed totally oblivious. Ryan looked ridiculous as he stomped back to his seat, Ant’s boxers—checkers clashing with Kyle’s—poofing awkwardly out of the leg holes and waistband of the second, tighter pair of undies.

“All right, we’ll deal with the rest of this later,” said the hypnotist, stepping away from the pile of clothes and back over to me. “Right now, Mike, I just wanted to ask you a few questions about what you’re wearing.”

He held out the mic, and I blinked and stared at him confusedly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, a lot of the guys up here are wearing some pretty strange shit, don’t you think?”

I cast another glance behind me. Things didn’t look quite as bad as when he’d started, but considering most of the people onstage were either naked or had been wearing underwear on their heads, I guess I had to concur. I nodded.

“I was just wondering if you thought everything was okay with your outfit.”

I looked down: tight t-shirt, tight jeans... Seemed like what I usually wore.

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“Okay, cool,” said the hypnotist. “Would you mind turning around so everyone can see?”

He gave me a gentle push on the shoulder, and I turned, spinning around in a slow circle, stumbling a bit—I forgot how tight my jeans were today! A mild tittering rippled through the audience, and I wondered if someone behind me was doing something embarrassing.

“That’s what you came in with?” asked the hypnotist.

“Of course…” I said, my voice probably conveying that I was annoyed by the question. What else would I have been wearing?

“Hey Mike, just between you and me,” said the hypnotist, leaning in to whisper but still holding up his mic, “What do you think of what Dylan’s wearing?”

I glanced back at the little hipster sitting behind us, who, as I mentioned, kind of looked like he’d only had his pick of clothes that were three sizes too big. It went without saying, of course, that he also still had Arpit’s underwear on his head!

“I mean, I don’t really get why everyone had underwear on their heads…” I muttered, the audience chuckling.

“You will in the next few minutes,” said the hypnotist. “But aside from that, everything looks normal?”

Not even having the time to fully contemplate his first remark, I glanced behind me again, quickly, to see if Dylan was paying attention. It did look like he was staring in the general direction of the hypnotist, but his eyes had a kind of fuzzy, unfocused look about them. Just to be safe, I leaned in.

“Well, I mean, what he’s wearing looks pretty goofy. His clothes are way too big…”

Suddenly, the hypnotist did the absolute last thing I wanted. “Hey, Dylan, come up here a second,” he said, turning around and motioning the little hipster forward. Dylan stood and walked over, seeming perplexed as to why he’d been called up front.

“Dylan, Mike here thinks your clothes look baggy. Can I ask how you think they look?”

Dylan glanced over at me, annoyed, and then looked down at his outfit, giving it a quick once over. Shrugging, he raised his head. “I think I look pretty good.”

“Is that what you came in wearing?”

“Yeah…” said Dylan, sounding—like me—perplexed. I was starting to get the feeling that in Dylan’s case, perhaps he might have been mistaken.

“Can you tell us where you got your outfit?”

Dylan shrugged. “Uh… The shirt’s from American Apparel. The pants… I’m not sure where I got ’em, I think a thrift shop. And the hat I’m trying to buy from that guy over there…” he said, pointing at Arpit. The audience laughed, and I smiled too, knowing exactly what was going on there.

“That’s a great hat,” said the hypnotist.

“It really ties the outfit together,” said Dylan, dead serious. The audience guffawed.

“What do you think of what Mike’s wearing?” asked the hypnotist.

Dylan glanced over at me again and laughed. “He looks like an idiot. He’s got his pants on backwards.” The audience chuckled.

“In just a moment, I’m going to snap my fingers and you’ll realize exactly whose pants he has on backwards,” said the hypnotist. “Same goes for you, Mike. You’re both going to realize exactly what you’re wearing.”

That sounded all right to me—I was wearing my own clothes. But I was looking forward to seeing Dylan embarrassed after his remark. How did he think you were supposed to wear pants? They wouldn’t fit any other way. I reasoned the hypnotist may have been messing with his head more than I realized.

“One, two…,” started the hypnotist. I cast one last glance at Dylan. It was sadistic, but I was gonna enjoy seeing him realize he had some dude’s underwear on his head.

“Three.” Snap.

Dylan, looking over at me, glanced down toward my jeans and suddenly had a weird, panicked look come over his face. “What the—” he started, then, reaching up, yanked Arpit’s pair of tighty whities off his head, yelled “Ew!” and hurled them away as fast as he could. Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but notice his sleeveless t-shirt seemed kind of familiar. In fact, hadn’t I been wearing…?

“Fuck!” I yelled, reaching down and yanking off his t-shirt just as he began doing the same with mine.

“Why am I wearing your clothes??” he yelled, tossing my shirt away.

“Dude, give me my fucking—” I started, but stumbled as I took a step toward where Dylan had tossed my shirt. Sprawling to the stage floor, I dropped Dylan’s shirt at his feet as my hands reached out to break my fall. Looking back to see what my legs had become caught in, I recognized Dylan’s tight gray jeans, which I had on backward for some reason. Too tight to either zip or button, the open fly revealed underneath a pair of striped briefs that, sized for Dylan’s frame, where absolutely microscopic on me.

“Aw, gross!” I yelled as I frantically started trying to shuck Dylan’s jeans down my legs. Unfortunately, they were so tightly plastered on I was barely able to get them off, and the constriction of the fabric helped bring the underwear mostly with them.

It was just as I had finally managed to yank the jeans off that I heard the hypnotist remark, “You boys do know you’re in front of a roomful of people, right?”

My eyes going wide, I whipped my head up and stared out into the shadowy murk past the stage lights, which was indeed roaring with laughter. My face flushing bright red and my mouth dropping open, I leapt to my feet again, yanking Dylan’s pair of colorful briefs, which had been bunched up around my knees, back on in one swift motion. Disgusting as it was to be wearing another dude’s underwear, it was still better than being naked in front of a roomful of people!

“Mike, sleep,” said the hypnotist, snapping his fingers, and suddenly I felt a strange sense of calm rush over me, even as I had just started dashing toward the curtains at the side of the stage. Feeling my entire body go limp, I sprawled back to the floor, everything fading into peaceful blackness.

“Wide awake,” was the next thing I heard the hypnotist say, and I blinked my eyes, pushing myself off the ground. I wasn’t sure how, but I had ended up on the floor.

“You okay, Mike?”

“Yeah…” I mumbled into the hypnotist’s outstretched mic. I blinked and rose the rest of the way to my feet. “I need to find my hat,” I said. Off in the distance, I heard the audience giggling.

“Here you go, man—grabbed it for you,” said the hypnotist, holding it out to me. Smiling, I took it from him and pulled it back on my head. I’d been really happy to find this on the way down with the guys earlier, and I wanted to be sure I didn’t lose it. With its baggy white cut and snug fit, I knew this was gonna catch some eyes when I wore it on the beach.

Turning to my left, I noticed what all the giggling had to be about. Dylan, who unlike me was clad in nothing but a single pair of baggy boxer shorts, was climbing to his feet and shucking his way out of them, leaving his round, pale ass naked under the stage lights. Reaching down, Dylan grabbed his underwear and, incredibly, pulled them on his head, apparently convinced that he too had a hat.

Chuckling and shaking my head, I turned around and headed back to my seat, as I heard Dylan say into the microphone behind me, “Why did I have my hat in my pants?”

“Beats me, man. You guys are all fucked up tonight,” said the hypnotist. “Why don’t you grab a seat so we can get started?”

Plopping back into my chair, I heard Josh whisper, “What the fuck are you doing?” but didn’t have time to ask him what he meant before Dylan appeared in front of him.

“This guy’s in my seat,” Dylan said, turning back toward the hypnotist.

“Josh, do you mind moving over?” asked the hypnotist. “Dylan needs to sit down.”

“I- Why can’t—” Josh started, before quickly giving up and sliding over to the empty chair to his left at the end of the row.

Looking more content, Dylan plopped down beside me, reached over and grabbed my hand, which I clasped back. Somehow, Josh must have forgotten that Dylan and I always hold hands.

“You guys more comfortable now?” asked the hypnotist. We both nodded.

“Great. Now that we’ve got Mike and Dylan squared away, I think we’re about ready to get started with the second half of our show. I’m just still trying to figure out who’s supposed to be in that last seat…”

All of a sudden, a sprightly piece of classical music began to play over the PA—not like I’m a big fan of ballet or anything, but I think it was that Christmas song, “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies”—and I heard gasps and laughter begin rippling through the audience.

Glancing over, I saw, stepping out from behind the curtains to my right, Hector, dressed in nothing but a frilly pink tutu and pair of matching skintight leggings! He was naked above the waist, and his tan muscles shone under the bright stage lights. Much like Dylan, he, too, wasn’t wearing any underwear, and I could make out the long, thick form of his cock against his thigh as the tight leggings held it in place.

“Of course, how could I forget?” said the hypnotist over the tinkling music. “After our favorite frat boys’ performance, I couldn’t help thinking that we needed an encore from our most graceful ballerina.”

The audience burst out in cheers and applause. From the back of the room, I heard a raucous yell of “Fuck yeah, slut!”

Hector seemed oblivious. His eyes had a faraway look as he stepped forward on the stage, back arched, chest and head held high and poised. As the music continued, he raised his arms at his sides and pranced forward, landing on his toes and, using his arms for balance, quickly transitioning into a pirouette. I wasn’t quite sure what to feel. He was far from perfect, but in some strange way he was kind of graceful. The music continued and he raised his arms in a little tent above his head, twirling around on his toes. There was a surprising delicacy to his motion, though I have to admit the thick tufts of fur under his armpits definitely made him seem less ladylike.

The audience was eating it up, laughing and applauding and cheering, and it made me mad to think of this roomful of strangers laughing at my friend. Hector and Ryan may have been closer, but Hec and I had still had some pretty good times. Watching him make a fool of himself in front of all these people made me feel sick. For some reason, though, I remained transfixed, and it didn’t occur to me to get up or interfere.

Everyone else onstage seemed just as bewildered as I was. A few people were looking around a bit, and it looked like Len, the Asian guy down at the other end, was smiling and laughing, but for the most part, everyone else seemed to be watching placidly, strangely fascinated but rather confused by what was going on.

Still lost in his own world, Hector was sticking one muscular leg out to the side now, bending and extending it in a graceful kick. Bringing it back in, he rose to his toes again and extended his arms, rushing back and forth across the stage and taking huge, flying leaps in time with the music. After three or four of these, which drove the audience wild, Hector started spinning around again, leaping from one side to the other, only to catch himself and spin around once more.

Just as Hector was taking off in one of these jumps, the music suddenly stopped, and he seemed to become disoriented, stumbling as he landed and sprawling forward into a crouch, thankfully catching himself from taking a worse fall.

Looking around wide-eyed, Hector rose to his feet, his gaze wildly scanning the room for some clue as to what had been going on.

“Hector, man, what are you doing?” asked the hypnotist, stepping forward and holding out his mic like a reporter.

“Uh… I…” Hector babbled, panting for breath.

“You looking to be in the hypnosis show?”

Hector shook his head no. Still panting, he finally looked down at himself and suddenly noticed the tutu.

“What the fuck am I wearing?” he asked in disbelief, flushing red and looking back up at the hypnotist as the audience burst into laughter.

“Sleeep,” cooed the hypnotist, passing a hand in front of Hector’s face, and Hector suddenly keeled over, eyes rolling back up into his head like he was going into a faint. The hypnotist caught him as he swooned and gently lowered him the second half of the way to the stage, resting his prone body against the floor.

“And actually, let that go for the rest of you, too,” he said, rising and holding up his right hand.

“All eyes focused right here, and at the count of three, two, one… Sleep.”

His hand gently lowered and I felt my eyelids do the same, my entire body seeming to lose all energy as I collapsed.