The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

NATHAN HUNTER

“I know you can help me, William,” I plead to Wilder as we’re coming out of our shared Creative Writing class.

“Yeah..?” he dismissively says. “I don’t know about that…”

“But your girlfriend… Tiffany—“

He spins around on his heels to interrupt. “What about Tiffany?”

So, that stopped him, but I’m not sure I like the way he’s looking at me. I pause feeling tongue-tied and he seems even more offended that I am.

“Well..?” He impatiently says, eyes vexed and waiting.

It looks like I’ve accidentally angered him. Not the way I wanted this conversation to start… or go at all for that matter.

“Tiffany says you make great mixes…”

“And?”

“And I need someone who knows music for some market research.”

“Wait. That’s it?”

“You’re going to think I’m dumb, but…” I pause, partially for dramatic effect and partially because I’m still not certain that he doesn’t want to kick my ass. “I want to start a girl group.”

He looks at me and all his features go from pissed off to amused. Friendly, even.

He smiles as he says, “Shit, man. That’s all you had to say. What’s your name?”

“Nathan. Nathan Hunter.”

He shifts all the way from friendly to downright jovial. “Tell me more, Nathan Hunter.”

I find a nearby bench, bring him to it, open up my laptop, and lay my whole spiel down upon him, courtesy of PowerPoint. He remains silent as I explain everything.

“The world is ready for another Destiny’s Child. Another Pussycat Dolls. Another… Spice Girls.”

I show that, by my calculations, the best group size is five, with each member appealing to a slightly different demographic. Women need to see themselves in at least one of the members and men need to want to be inside at least one of the members.

“They don’t even have to play their own instruments, or all be that great at singing… the packaging sells everything. But… I mean… it doesn’t hurt if they can sing.”

And then I lay out my pitch about me. “Well, I’m a master assembler. As such, I’ll take in a cool twenty percent as manager.”

I finish and Wilder, silent still, appears deep in thought.

“Well..?” I impatiently ask, taking a page from his book of impatience.

“If I help you… what’s my cut?”

“What?” I ask. I really didn’t see him going that particular route. I just wanted to bend his ear and see if what I’m saying made sense to someone who appreciates and understands music.

“If I can assemble the perfect five for you, a truly perfect five… then, what’s my cut?”

Now, I wonder if I’m being scammed. “How do you propose to do that?”

“Oh, I’m not about to reveal any secrets until I know you’re good for it.”

His answer does nothing to abate the feeling of “scam” circulating around my head. I close my laptop and start to walk away. He slides next to me and says, “If I show you something that changes everything, you’ll cut me in?”

He extends his hand.

A handshake deal?

With no particulars associated with it?

He’s no business major and I have nothing to lose.

We shake on it.

“So that you know, Nate. You flake on me and I’ll turn you into a newt.”

I laugh, but he doesn’t.

I wonder what exactly did I just bring down on myself?

WILLIAM WILDER

I’m not sure I can turn this guy into a newt, but I hope he heeds my warning regardless. I’d hate to have to go through the process of cycling through lizard songs until I find the right one.

I lead him to the Student Union, the hub of all student life. Basically where everyone goes to slack off between classes or get a slightly better meal than the commissary. We’ll need a “volunteer” so that I can demonstrate the true power of the dark side… of music. Thankfully, I keep an entire folder’s worth of WeaverTunes on my phone—in case of emergency or, you know, boredom. Not the whole library, mind you. There’s a lot of songs in existence. Just enough to get me by, in case of bad cell coverage. Not sure what would happen if a song stalls out mid-transformation and I’m not about to let that happen on my watch.

(Note to self: in safety of dorm room, test out what happens if a song stalls out mid-transformation.)

I can tell my new friend Nate is chomping at the bit, wondering where I’m taking him and what I have planned. I find someplace that’s enough of a hub to have good foot traffic, but somewhat scarce so no one will pay attention to what we do in secret.

I find some unoccupied couch space where the nearby booths are more like alcoves with limited lines of sight. I gesture out to this kingdom and say to Nate, “Pick a girl. Any girl.”

“You do magic?” he asks.

I chuckle a little. I remember my Little Magician’s kit from when I was a little kid. This ability is so much better than interlocking rings. “In a manner of speaking…”

I can tell the prelude is starting to freak him out. I watch his eyes scan the potential candidates. They’re limited, because there aren’t a lot of people sitting alone and I hope I won’t have to explain to him that I just need one for demonstration’s sake. I probably should have taken him back to my dorm room, but I’m really happy with how things are with Tiffany right now and she’s really happy and I don’t want to mess with that mix just to show off the power of songs.

I see him spot a girl sitting solo and finishing off her lunch in a larger-sized booth. She looks sad and lonely. Her hair—neglected. Her makeup—neglected. The only thing about her that isn’t neglected is the set of plates she’s devoured. She appears to eat her emotions… and she has a lot of emotions. She will do nicely. I think I’ve got a tune or two that could add some sunshine to her day.

When he nods to her, I start cycling through my songs. The trick is to get her to put in earbuds handed to her by two strangers. The moment we arrive at the table, I turn on the charm.

“Hello, I’m William. This is my friend Nathan. Can we have a moment of your time to do market research for a class?”

Before we arrived, I thought she was lonely. Standing above her, I’m certain of it. The way this heavyset, sickly pale girl looks at us, like we’re the first people she’s seen after a lifetime in outer space, hurts my soul. I’m glad he spotted her. It’s good karma to start a friendship and an endeavor with an act of benevolence and I’m reasonably sure that every song I have loaded up on my phone would improve this girl’s life.

“Oh, please,” she says while gathering her stuff up to make more room. “Please!”

“What’s your name?” I ask. I can tell Nate’s trying to suss out what we’re doing. I enjoy building up the anticipation and the more we get to know the girl as she is now, the more impressive her metamorphosis.

“Maria,” she says with a blush.

I can tell she doesn’t know why we’re talking to her, but she appreciates the attention. “And where are you from, Maria?”

“Michigan.”

“You get a lot of surfing done in Michigan?”

She laughs and her simple word lasts longer than its one syllable because the laughter carries through. “No.”

Her face brighter, I can see the girl beneath has a lot of potential and I’m ready to set that girl free. “Do you like music?”

She nods.

“I just need you to listen to a song and tell me what you think. Is that cool?”

She nods.

I extend earbuds out to her and she takes them.

I make sure Nate is watching closely and then I hit play.

I’ve never used this song before, but I felt like the results will be dramatic and have a positive impact on Maria.

A visible aura of ocean blue shimmers and sways around her, gently ebbing and flowing. I catch Nate out of the corner of my eye rubbing his eyes as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. I guess I’ve grown cynical in my months of exposure. It’s a pretty cocoon, but I’ve seen them before. I look at him and nod with a knowing smile, hopefully conveying silently with my eyes that this is just the beginning. The blue cascades down off of her and what’s left in its wake is something to behold. The girl sitting in the booth with us now is a child of the sun, a deep all over tan that suggests she has no tan lines. More than that, any and all excess weight vanished, leaving her fit and tone. Her hair, like her body, is sun-kissed, with blonde replacing the dingy brown from mere moments ago. She wears a tank top that wouldn’t have fit half of her before and a now-unnecessarily oversized pair of board shorts. She looks fresh from the beach, which stands out in the northeast, and specifically, the northeast in the winter. Elements of the girl we sat down with are there, like she’s a distant relative to herself, but all I see are the changes, especially when she turns to me and, with a carefree smile the previous her had likely never known, says, “I totally love that song. It’s killer.”

I get out of her way and she scoots out of the booth, taking what’s left of a kale smoothie. Nice touch there, magic transformation.

I wave after her, calm in the face of this completely unbelievable phenomenon, because for me, it’s old hat. “Have a nice day!”

“Totally,” she says back to us, and she walks away.

Nate looks confused so I thrust my phone out towards him with my music app open to show that the song I played for her, the song she listened to which remade her, was Surfer Girl.

NATHAN HUNTER

When we approach the girl, one I’d never randomly approach for any reason, I have no idea what to expect. She reveals herself to be Maria and I’m ready to dismiss her. She seems… nice… friendly. I’m not shallow. I’m really not. She just doesn’t seem like anyone I’d ever associate with and definitely not anyone I need for my girl group.

He chats her up and then he looks at me like I’m supposed to be impressed that he’s getting her to wear his earbuds. I mean, sure, hygiene, but still not worthy of a devilish grin on any levels.

Then, when the music starts to play, something unlike anything I’ve ever seen before takes place. It’s like the world, however briefly, vibrates at a different frequency. It’s clear, watching some sort of cocooned metamorphosis that a change is happening to Maria right in front of us. I don’t know how, exactly, it’s happening, but it’s happening.

When the cocoon washes away, the Maria left sitting in the booth next to us is a dream girl… literally. I think I’ve had dreams about this girl. There are elements of the old Maria in there—the shape of her eyes, for instance—but Maria v2 looks like she’s Maria v1’s better-looking sister. If this is magic, illusion or otherwise, I’m in. 100%

Even her voice is different, higher… lighter… when she says, “I totally love that song. It’s killer.”

Her vocabulary, apparently, too.

I catch an even better look at her body, clad in beachwear, as she gets up to leave.

I’m still dumbstruck, but Wilder says, “Have a nice day!”

With a prototypical Valley girl accent, she chimes back, “Totally!”

The big board shorts don’t give a total picture of her body, but if the bottom is anything like the top, she’s going to turn a lot of heads when she slips down into her bikini.

I turn to Wilder. He shows me his phone and the song she just listened to—Surfer Girl. He seems to think that will answer everything, but all that does is create even more questions. Mainly, “What… just… happened?”

“Not here. Come to my dorm room.”

I think, Oh, sure, that transformation here in absolute public, but heaven forbid we engage in an actual conversation about it, but dazed, all I can muster aloud is a simple “okay.”

MARIA v1 → MARIA v2

I contemplated a salad today, but thought why the fuck would I do that to myself and just went for the usual lunch. College was supposed to be a change of pace but it’s all the same. The same cliques. The same torment. The same isolation. Dorming on campus, I hoped to make friends, but here I sit, just like I always sit, alone and stuffing my face as quickly as I can so I can go back and be alone in my dorm room. Then, sit alone in a classroom. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. I swear, my world is an ocean of sadness. Horrible thought, I know, but might save that nugget for my poetry class if it’s not too cliche. I loathe the day the professor takes me aside to ask if everything’s alright, because it isn’t and it never has been.

Two boys approach.

I swear to god if this is some kind of prank, I’ll do something horrible. To them. To me. I don’t know, but something. One of the boys has a confident look on his face. The one trailing behind, slightly taller and a hair slouchier, looks as confused to be approaching me as I am to see their approach.

The more self-assured one starts talking to me as he swoops down into the bench. “Hello, I’m William. This is my friend Nathan. Can we have a moment of your time to do market research for a class?”

An actual human conversation? Just so long as it doesn’t get weird or personal or weirdly personal, that sounds delightful. “Oh, please,” I say and tidy up my two lunch trays to try and make more room for my impromptu visitors. “Please!”

I look at the silent, taller one. Why can’t a guy like that be interested in me? I’m funny. I’m cool. Who knows? Maybe he will be if these questions let me show him my true self.

“What’s your name?” The confident one, apparently named William, asks. Pretty basic question, but I still feel my cheeks blush at these two young men as I say, “Maria.”

William leans in closer. “And where are you from, Maria?”

Apparently, they have an entire questionnaire of simple questions for me. “Michigan.”

“You get a lot of surfing done in Michigan?”

I laugh. I don’t know anyone in my life, extended family or online friends, who is a surfer. “No.”

He leans in and whispers, conspiratorially, “Do you like music?” And I nod.

I wonder what silent Nathan’s voice is like. He’s handsome in an untidy sort of way. I look at him, but he seems to just be following his partner’s lead. Maybe he’s the shy type. Maybe I stand a chance. His partner asks another question while I’m lost in the thoughts of running my hands through his wavy hair, “I just need you to listen to a song and tell me what you think. Is that cool?”

I nod and hope that at some point, quiet Nathan will chime in.

I take a pair of earbuds from frontman William. He looks at Nathan and then I do and then a song fills my ears and works its way down to my soul.

My world is an ocean.

No, my world is the ocean.

I can’t wait to go outside once I finish my second cheeseburg—my kale smoothie with added protein. I don’t know where that thought came from. Like I’d ever eat meat. I am a friend to the creatures on this planet and the planet herself.

I look outside. I don’t know how my cousin convinced me to visit her at her school. How could I ever go someplace landlocked like this?

My vision clarifies and a stop daydreaming and I remember I’m in a booth with some boys. I pluck the earbuds from my ears. “I totally love that song. It’s killer.”

One of the two nods. The other looks at me like my head’s on fire. It’s not, but I’ve got a fire under my ass to get out of here and get back to the sea. After all, neither one of these boys is appealing or my type. Not a hint of a tan between them. Oh well. A girl should know what she wants and what she’s looking for. I’d stay and chat, but since they’re a dead end and seem a bit stuffy, I’d rather just catch some rays outside until my cousin frees up to take me to the airport. I can’t wait to get out of this weather.

The smaller dude calls out after me. “Have a nice day!”

I smile and turn to them. “Totally.”

And I totally will because I’m on the redeye back to the land of sunshine and fun. This is a place a girl would come to die and this girl wants to live. There’s an ocean of possibility out there and I’m going to ride it.

NATHAN HUNTER

Safely behind his dorm room door, I finally ask Wilder, “What… the fuck… was that?”

He launches into a convoluted story and rambles on about some Weaver—an ancient godlike creature empowered by and empowering others through stories, if you’d believe that—as well as some free music website that he stumbled across and used accidentally before experimentation led to a lot more understanding and control. All of this would set off my bullshit detector if I didn’t just see the results of a single song upon a random girl with my own two eyes. Chunky, pasty, and generally unattractive transformed into some sort of surfer beach bunny that I would fall over my own feet to ask out given the chance. He finishes his spiel and I ask, “What else can it do?”

He asks, in return, “How many songs do you think there are in the world?”

“I don’t know… a lot?”

“A lot a lot. Something for everyone, literally.”

“So what happens after?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” He asks, leaning in towards me.

“That girl, clearly not the same girl, walks away into what life? Does she still have classes? Will teachers even recognize her as her? Does she still have a life to live?”

“Tell me about my girlfriend…” he says.

“I don’t know why I’d tell you about—“

He interrupts, “Just humor me. Describe Tiffany to me.” I can tell that he sees my eyes go wide and, realizing I might still be a little gun shy on the subject, adds, “Nothing you will say will offend me.”

“In a nutshell, she’s a beautiful geek girl. Friendly. Considerate. Sexy in a not-so-overt way.” I say, checking his response to see if I’m in for a barrage of punches.

“She’s only been a geek about a month now. Not so much before that.”

“Um. I’ve been in class with her longer than that and she’s been a geek since day one.”

“And that’s what happens after. Everyone who wasn’t made aware of the change when the change occurs thinks how they are post-song is how they’ve always been. Reality rewrites to accommodate. Voila!”

“Whoa!” I say, inadvertently channeling Keanu. “That’s some powerful mojo.”

“Partners?” He says, sticking out his hand for a handshake.

Now that I know the existence of all this… magic music… I could probably track some down and baby step my way through some trial and error experimentation. Kind of like he did. But one thing I’ve learned in life is to trust experts and William Wilder is my expert. I shake his hand and echo, “Partners.”

“So…” he says, “What are the five types you need to fill out your group?”

I offer him a knowing smile and open my laptop back up.

I start with the band name and logo I’ve designed.

He gets it immediately.