The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“I heard a rumor...”

I blink, suddenly thrown off-balance by that simply phrase. I don’t know why. It’s so ordinary. Maybe it was the way she said it. I’m at a college party—a pretty normal one, although it’s lively and having a good time. The music is good, the alcohol is good, and the boys are good. I’m in the mood for a little no-strings-attached companionship tonight, but my attempts to get the attention of a cute boy have been interrupted by this girl—Allison—approaching me and engaging me in conversation. She’s tall, statuesque and beautiful, with warm eyes, a knowing smile, and long, frizzy, carefully-styled natural hair. She’s obviously into me, and while it’s kinda flattering to have such a beautiful woman flirting with me so openly, there’s a problem: I’m straight. I just told her that, straight-up. I don’t want to lead her on or accidentally give her any mixed signals. I was expecting her to express disappointment, or lose interest, or maybe feed me some crass line about persuading me otherwise. But no. She just smiled, and said ‘I heard a rumor.’

Her words stop me in my tracks. It’s hard to say why, but I feel a sudden fascination with what she might be trying to say. A compulsion to listen. Her tone is intimate, conspiratorial. All of a sudden she feels like an old friend, sharing a secret. I have to listen. I need to know. What rumor? She’s still smiling at me, and her smile promises forbidden knowledge. She pauses, keeping me in suspense. She leans in. I do too. Is she going to whisper it into my ear? Is it that kind of rumor? My heart rate quickens. I’m excited. What is she going to tell me?

Finally, she says: “I heard a rumor you’re into girls.”

I blink again, and my face morphs into a confused frown. Then, all of a sudden, her words hit me like a wave of force. It’s like a gust of wind out of nowhere, running through my whole body. I dismiss it as a strange, random feeling, perhaps brought on by the alcohol, but it’s hard when I can almost see her words hanging in the air, forming strange rings of distortion that twist the world as I look through them at Allison. I try to say something—a denial, a protest—but I can’t. It’s like time has stopped. All I can think about are the words she spoke. ‘I heard a rumor you’re into girls’. She heard a rumor I’m into girls. The words turn themselves over and over in my head, repeating and echoing endlessly, until they become simple, meaningless sounds, totally detached from all the meaning the would normally represent. I have to force myself to remember what they mean. She heard a rumor I’m into girls.

“W-wha,” I begin, stuttering uselessly. “What…”

“I’ll just give you a few moments to get to grips with that,” Allison says with flirtatious wink before walking off, probably over to the bar to get another drink, but I’m not really sure because I’m powerless to do anything but keep staring blankly at the space she once occupied right in front of me. How? How could I get so dumbfounded by such a simple concept? Is it the alcohol? I’ve been drinking, sure, but not that much. Anyway, this doesn’t feel like alcohol. Drinking makes it hard to focus. This is the opposite of that. I’m hyper-focused, tunnel-visioned, on the one, short, simple idea she just told me: she heard a rumor I’m into girls.

How the hell would she hear a rumor like that? Why would people be saying such a thing? Maybe they weren’t. Maybe Allison was lying. I discard that possibility as soon as it occurs. There was just something about the way she said it. She was telling the truth, I know it. Was she simply mistaken? Maybe the rumors were about a different girl. Somehow that seems equally hard to believe. There was no doubt, uncertainty or confusion about the way Allison had spoken. She heard a rumor I’m into girls. If she heard a rumor, that must mean people are talking about it. About me. Lots of people. I glance around. Before, I felt invisible, just as I usually do at loud parties, but now, it feels as though everyone is looking at me. Staring at me. Talking about me too. I can’t hear what they’re saying over the sound of the music, but I can see their lips moving. I try to read them, and the only word I feel I can see is my name. I shake my head firmly, trying to shake off the strange paranoia that’s suddenly gripped me. It’s irrational. I know it’s irrational. But despite that, it won’t go away. The impression just keeps getting stronger and stronger, until I believe it so strongly I can’t even bring myself to try and fight it. Allison heard a rumor I’m into girls. Of course she did. Everyone’s talking about it.

But why? That’s still what I can’t figure out. Why would people be saying I’m into girls? I can’t think of a single reason, a single thing that might spark such a rumor. I’ve never had an experimental phase, or fooled around with a girl while drunk, or anything. Could it be something that’s being spread maliciously? The problem with that theory is I can’t think of anyone who would who would want to spread a malicious rumor about me. It’s not like I have any enemies. Besides, there isn’t anything malicious about telling people I’m attracted to women. Could it be just a joke? Someone trying to mess with me for their own amusement. That doesn’t really make much sense either. It’s hard to imagine that anyone is amused right now, watching me get hit on by Allison and then watching me politely turn her down. So what could it be?

I take a few deep breaths, so I can really concentrate. Obviously this is the kind of problem I won’t be able to stop thinking about until I’ve figured it out. There’s no sense trying to just ignore it or put it out of my mind. I need to get to the bottom of this. Allison heard a rumor I’m into girls. Of course she did. I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone’s talking about it, that’s obvious. The only question is, why? Why would a rumor like that get started in the first place? I’ve already ruled out it being a joke or someone’s way of trying to fuck with me. What does that leave? I’m not sure. I ask myself how rumors usually start. They must start for a reason, right? The answer that pops into my head is that rumors usually start from something small, from a little grain of truth that gets twisted, distorted, misremembered and blown out of all proportion. No smoke without fire, as they say. That makes sense. That must be it.

Only, what’s the ‘fire’, in this case? What could have sparked a rumor like me being into girls? I’ve never had sex with a girl. I’m quite sure I’ve never even kissed a girl. But, I suppose, sometimes the smallest fire can give off a large amount of smoke. Perhaps it was something more minor. Something very small, but easily misinterpreted. Something I said. Maybe even a single word, or a stray look. I rack my brains. Have I ever said something that could be misinterpreted like that? It’s impossible to say. As futile and foolish as it is, I try to think back over every interaction and conversation I’ve had with anyone at school for the past couple years. I quickly give up. Maybe I should just accept that did or said something, probably a long time ago, that sparked a rumor. No, that’s not good enough for me. I have to know. I have to. What did I do? Do I ever say flirtatious things to girls? Do I ever look at girls suggestively? I think about the way I was looking at Allison earlier. Obviously I wasn’t trying to be flirty or suggestive. I’m straight. But perhaps I accidentally sent the wrong signals. I can vividly remember looking at Allison as she was talking to me and thinking about how beautiful her hair is, how glossy and luscious her lips looked, how pretty her eyes were, and how soft and curvaceous her body was in that flattering, body-hugging, red, velvet dress. Once I realize how clear and vivid all those details are in my mind, a mortifying thought occurs to me. Was I staring at her? Maybe even checking her out?

I blush. How could I have done that? I must have really embarrassed myself in front of her. That idea shouldn’t really bother me given that we only just met, but it does. It suddenly makes perfect sense that she was flirting with me so much. She must have thought I was flirting with her too! Especially given all the rumors. She heard a rumor I’m into a girls. Because of that, she came to try and pick me up, and I pretty much encouraged her to keep doing it with how I was behaving towards her. I’ve never felt so embarrassed. And of course, this is only going to spread more rumors. Everyone at the party saw us, flirting with each other and giving each other looks. That must have been how the rumors started in the first place. I must have done the same thing before, at other parties and with different girls, leading them all on and creating rumors that I’m into girls. What a mess.

I pause. But wait, isn’t there a bigger question? Why do I keep starting at girls in that way in the first place? I must be doing it a lot, to create these kinds of rumors. Why would I be doing that so persistently? Why would I be starting at girls, admiring their bodies and offering them flirtatious glances? It just doesn’t make any sense. I wish I could deny it completely, but given how clearly I remember behaving that way towards Allison, I can’t. At the same time, I can’t reconcile it with what I know about myself. It’s giving me a headache. I try stepping outside my own head for a moment. If someone else was behaving the way I’ve evidently been behaving, how would I explain that? The answer comes back immediately: I’d assume they were into girls. But in my case, that simply can’t be right. Or can it? I mean, I’m straight. That’s not going to change anytime soon. But at the end of the day, isn’t sexuality just a spectrum? Just because I’m straight, doesn’t mean I can’t occasionally be a little bit into girls, right? I know loads of straight girls who’ve had animated discussions about which celebrities they’d go gay for. That clearly implies some kind of attraction to other girls. I suppose it’s the same with me and Allison.

Once I frame it that way in my head, it’s much easier to accept. Yes, I’m attracted to girls. Of course I am. That’s obvious. That’s why I was enjoying myself so much, flirting with Allison and getting some looks in at her incredible body. This nothing strange about it. I’m just an open-minded girl. I still consider myself straight, of course, but everyone knows college is the best time to cut loose and explore things a little bit. There’s no shame in that. I smile, all my confusion melting away. I’m glad I got to the bottom of that. The middle of a party is kind of a strange place to have that kind of realization about myself, but I guess that’s just how it goes sometimes. It’s not like I have any reason to doubt it.

“Hey there.” I turn, and see Allison again. I’m surprised she came back, after how awkward and weird I was being. Not to mention the fact I told her I wasn’t into girls. I’m surprised, but not displeased. She smiles at me, and I have to strain not to blush. She’s so hot. “I got you a drink.”

“Oh, thanks.” I see that she’s holding two cups, and I take the one she offers me, sipping from it without thinking. Especially after my earlier awkwardness, I want to try and play it cool.

“So,” Allison says, “are you sure you don’t wanna take a chance on me? I can tell part of you wants to.”

I giggle. It’s tempting, admittedly. She’s very cute and very hot and her attention is incredibly flattering, but at the end of the day, I’m straight. “Sorry, but no. Sure, I’m into girls sometimes, but I just… don’t really do that kind of thing.”

“Oh?” Allison flashes me that conspiratorial smile again. “You’ve never fooled around with another girl at a party? Never even considered it?”

“Nope,” I answer, truthfully. Temptation isn’t the same as consideration. I know what I’m about: boys.

“That’s funny.” Allison leans in close. “The way I heard it, you’re not just slightly into girls.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I heard a rumor you’re a lesbian.”

I blink. My first thought is that she’s wrong, obviously, but that thought is obliterated when I’m hit by the same gust of force that hit me before, rocking me back on my heels. The air in between us seems to distort, ripples folding over each other in the air and surrounding me, making the whole world appear subtly different for reasons I can’t place my finger on. I quickly shake off the feeling. Maybe this new drink Allison got for me is something a little stronger than I’m used to. But even once that moment is gone and forgotten, I find it hard to properly focus on what Allison just told me. She heard a rumor I’m a lesbian? That can’t be right. That’s absurd. Isn’t it? But on the other hand, Allison already passed on one rumor to me tonight, and it turned out to be unnervingly accurate. I need to take this seriously too. The whole mental process I already ran through once begins to repeat itself. Rumors don’t start for no reason. No-one would try to mess with me or make fun of me this way. There’s no smoke without fire. Something started this—something I did. But what? I know I must be making a fool of myself all over again, staring into space, puzzled, right in front of Allison, but I just can’t help myself. I need to figure this out. She heard a rumor I’m a lesbian.

Maybe I shouldn’t consider that so surprising. As I’ve just figured out, I’m into girls sometimes, and sometimes I make that pretty obvious. If you’re a girl and you spend all day staring at other girls, it’s only natural that people are going to assume you’re a lesbian. It’s an easy mistake for people to make, and it should be easy for me to ignore it. So why can’t I? Why does this bother me so much? It takes a moment for it to click. Allison heard a rumor I’m a lesbian. People think I’m a lesbian. Everyone thinks I’m a lesbian. Why don’t they know I’m into boys? That seems weird to me. I’ve always considered myself straight, my newly-acknowledged attraction to girls notwithstanding. Isn’t it obvious to everyone else too? Maybe not. I suppose that rumors can start just as easily from what people don’t see as what they do see. What is that people aren’t seeing? I guess I’ve never had a boyfriend in my time at college. That’s not because I’m not straight, of course. It’s just because I haven’t really had the time, and besides, far too many college boys are total assholes. I’m still attracted to them. Don’t people see that? Clearly not. Why don’t people see that?

I think about the way I was looking at Allison earlier, with naked lust on my face. I often look at girls that way—I didn’t think I did, but obviously I was wrong about that. Allison heard a rumor I was into girls. But I look at boys the same way. Don’t I? I can clearly remember looking at Allison like that. When was the last time I stared lustfully at a boy? Wasn’t it just recently? I feel like there are a dozen recent memories I could call on, but as I try, each one in turn slips away from me like dust blowing in the wind, leaving me with nothing. Eventually I’m forced to admit: I can’t remember any such time. I can’t remember ever looking at a boy and feeling as though I was attracted to him. But I know it’s happened. Don’t I? I rack my brains, but I can’t find a single scrap of evidence for it. With each passing moment, I feel less and less sure that it’s ever happened at all. What does that mean, if I know I’m attracted to girls and I can’t prove I’m attracted to boys? I feel one of the pillars of my identity crumbling beneath my feet. I’m into boys. I always thought I was into boys. But Allison heard a rumor I’m a lesbian. Everyone’s talking about it. Everyone’s saying I’m a lesbian. Everyone knows I’m a lesbian. Everyone.

Even me.

I’m not even sure why I was trying to deny it. I’m a lesbian. That’s obvious. It feels like a relief to be able to say that in my head. Everything makes sense again. I’m a lesbian. It makes total sense that everyone would be saying that—I make it pretty obvious given the way I shamelessly flirt with and ogle every hot girl who comes my way, while totally ignoring all the boys. I’ve been exclusively attracted to girls for as long as I can remember. Now that I’ve figured it out, all the memories are coming back to me. Memories of stealing guilty looks in the high school changing room, and memories of feeling totally baffled by all the boy talk my school friends loved engaging in. Why was I so confused until just now? It’s all so clear, in retrospect. I guess being a lesbian isn’t always the easiest thing to accept. I come from a small town. It’s easier to just pretend to be like everyone else, even to myself. But now, the sense of relief I feel is immense. I look at Allison with new eyes. All of my inner turmoil played itself out in just a few seconds, and even though it was extremely awkward of me to spend that time staring blankly at her, she’s still looking at me with an expression of intense interest. I blush. A girl this hot, and she’s flirting with me? I can’t believe I have a chance with her. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to turn her down earlier.

“You sure about that?” Allison asks me.

I blink. I’ve already forgotten what the last thing she said was. “What?”

“About the fact you don’t fool around with girls.” I frown, unsure what she’s talking about. What I said was true. Despite my lifelong attraction to girls, I’ve never felt brave enough to act on it. “That’s not what I heard.

“What did you hear?” I ask. She grins.

“I heard a rumor you take girls home all the time.”

I blink. That strange wave of force, that bizarre, rippling distortion—how could I have forgotten it?—hits me again, but this time it’s the least of my worries. An instant later, I’m struck with a splitting headache. It feels like pressure, like there’s something pushing in, displacing and rearranging things in my head. Like there’s a tree growing inside my skull. I do my best to fight through it and focus on Allison’s words. She heard a rumor I take girls home all the time. How? Why? It doesn’t make any sense, but at this point, I’ve learned to trust what Allison says more than I trust myself. I don’t bother with denial. I trust Allison, and Allison heard a rumor I take girls home all the time. Allison and the rumors she hears always seems to be right about those sorts of things. Instead, I simply start sorting through my own memories as best I can, confident I’ll find something that explains this. At first there’s nothing. All I can feel is my headache growing, becoming overpowering. But then a memory starts to take shape, seemingly from nothing, like water vapor in the air coalescing into a familiar pattern. I remember dancing with a girl at a party, a year or two back. What was her name? Mary? Madeline? Madeline. We hit it off, and we were both more than a little drunk, and one thing led to another. Is that how it happened? It doesn’t feel real. I stumble for a moment as the headache rises, becoming a discordant, dissonant, deafening buzz. But then the memory becomes clearer, and the buzz fades. I smile bashfully. Of course. So silly of me to have forgotten.

But that was just the one time, wasn’t it? Maybe not. Allison didn’t just hear that I fucked a girl once. She heard a rumor that I take girls home all the time. Would there really be a rumor like that, if there had only been one time? Maybe. The nature of rumors is that they often start from something small, and then grow wildly out of proportion. Maybe it was just that one time. But somehow, I doubt it. Allison wouldn’t have said anything if that’s all it was. I feel certain of that. I turn to my memories once again, searching through them. All of a sudden, memories of casual lesbian sex are bountiful. It’s like I’m turning over stones on a beach, and finding a fossil under each one. My headache returns with a vengeance as memory after memory floods into my head, each one accompanied by associated feelings and experiences. It’s disorienting, even distressing, although it shouldn’t be—these are my memories, aren’t they? They don’t feel like it. But I rationalize: I’m a lesbian. Of course I’d be hooking up with girls. It only makes sense. All of my memories are real. That feels like a silly thing to assert. Aren’t all memories real? Once I tell myself that, they feel easier to accept. Acceptance is a warm, happy, relaxed feelings. I can it spreading through my head, massaging away all the quibbles and confusing implications that come to mind. They’re my memories. I’m a lesbian. I hook up with girls all the time. Allison heard a rumor, because it’s true.

I grin back at Allison, meeting her gaze and biting my lip enticingly. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. I must be off my game. A little ill maybe, or a little rusty. I wouldn’t normally be this awkward. Flirting with girls is what I do best. I’ve picked up girls dozens of times, if not more. A girl like Allison is a dream come true. She’s hot as hell, and she clearly knows how to have fun. Why was I trying to refuse her earlier? I must have been playing hard to get. Clearly it worked. I’ve got her interest. I’m going to enjoy making her moan.

“You heard a rumor, huh?” I step a little closer towards Allison. She smells so good. “I’m glad to hear people talk. It’s good to know I’m able to leave an impression.”

Allison laughs, and I get the sense I’m not quite in on the joke. “Sure you are. Although I have to say, you’re not quite what I expected.”

“How so?” This party is starting to bore me. I’m eager to get Allison back to my room.

“I heard a rumor you were more of a butch.”

I blink. The wave of force and the distortion wash over me almost unnoticed this time. I feel intoxicated by Allison. I want her so much, and with her scent filling my nose and her soft, tempting words in my ears it’s impossible to think critically about what she’s saying. Butch? Me? That doesn’t sound right. But then, after a moment, one side of my head starts to feel kind of itchy. I reach up and run a hand through my hair. All of a sudden, my hair doesn’t feel right. I remember thinking recently that I need to get a haircut. I don’t normally let it get this long. How long do I normally get it? Shoulder length? That doesn’t sound right. Chin length? No, shorter. What about a buzz cut? My first reaction is that that’s wrong. My second reaction is that I’m not so sure. My third reaction is that yeah, I definitely need to re-buzz my right side. A sidecut is definitely the right look for me. It’s what I’m most comfortable with. My clothes are weird too. A dress? Since when do I wear dresses? Memories of a closet full of dresses start to fade, growing dim and unconvincing. I shuffle uncomfortably, almost stumbling. A dress feels way too breezy, and I’m not really used to walking in heels. I’m more of a jeans and combat boots kind of lesbian. Aren’t I? For a moment, my mind rebels against that notion, but I quickly put a stop to that. Even though I’m feeling a little strange right now, mentally, Allison heard a rumor I’m more of a butch. She hasn’t been wrong yet.

“What can I say?” I reply, trying to play it off with confidence. “I’m trying something out. But I think I’m about ready to go back to my old style.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Allison says, licking her lips. She’s so hot I can feel my blood boiling with lust.

“Hey,” I say, smoothly slipping an arm around Allison’s shoulder. “How about me and you get out of here, babygirl?”

Allison giggles. “Sounds good to me.”

“Yeah?” I tease. I’m already leading her over to the door, and mentally picturing how good she’s going to look squirming on my strap. “You haven’t heard any more rumors you feel like sharing.”

“Nope,” Allison replies, her eyes twinkling with humor and power. “I think now I’ve got you just the way I want you.”