A Smuthunter Short
Things were a little hectic, but then again things always got that way when the wife arranged our vacations. She’d already headed out of town with the kids, and work obligations kept me at home for a few more days than I would have liked.
Book deadlines, project deadlines, labor hours to bill, invoices from research assistants to pay, references to review, the massive army of details that made up my professional life were almost neatly stacked in the corner of my mind, but I wasn’t quite done yet.
The knock on my front door was unexpected, and the young woman responsible for it was also not expected, at least she wouldn’t have been, not until after we were home from out vacation.
“Hello Tania,” I said, as I comported myself appropriately, “has their been a scheduling mistake?”
I asked, while keeping my focus to her gray green eyes, and not to the revealing nature of her uniform. Our cleaning service, which this young woman worked for, required uniforms, and for most women they would be flattering as was their intention, but on this particular cleaner, it seemed to be all but immodest.
“Oh no Mr. Baker, your wife specifically asked me last week to come in today, to make sure the house gets a proper once over before you leave.”
Tania’s lips, like her nose, her eyes, and her cheeks, were sharp and angular, which in her black dress and white apron, were she to frown of which I’d seen her do a time or two, always reminded me in some way of a stern and disappointed nun more than an undergrad supplementing her earnings.
Needless to say, I’d never seen a nun with quite so much décolletage.
It helped me, I admit, to remain distracted from her considerable breasts, to think of her in such a way.
I am happily married and not keen to wander in any way, but their size and prominence, combined with the near comical fetishism of the fact she is also required to wear a white headpiece, has served what I assume is its intended purpose, to entertain the male gaze.
“Hmm,” in truth I always wondered why my wife was so partial to this service, but she insists that they are the highest quality. I have long assumed her tangential connection to the owner, who was a sorority sister of my wife, is the reason. “I suppose she thinks I can’t make too much of a mess in a day or two, do come in.”
Tania was tall, and she was as statuesque in her frame as she was her face. I never spoke directly with her for more than a moment or two, as this was all my wife’s business, but I have assumed she has some immediate eastern European heritage.
As the buxom young woman, and there was no more fitting way to describe her as I found myself glancing over long whilst she bent forward on some matter of her own needs, went to work so too did I return to my tasks at hand.
An hour later, there was a knock on my office door.
“Mr. Baker?” She stood in the hallway, and I was certain this was a matter of settling up and signing off, as she had to have finished her labors.
“Yes Tania?” There were several pressing correspondences, and between slack, discords, emails, and actual physical mediums of communication, those specifically relating to commerce, I was in a swamp of responses that had to be crossed before I could truly begin my vacation.
“I’m finished here, but…” She blushed, and it was surprising to me as she didn’t seem the nervous type. “No, you’re busy, just sign here.”
Her nails were painted black, with white tips, and as she handed me the invoice and a pen, I could tell there was something pressing on her mind. Many of my students, during my time lecturing would also find themselves flummoxed about expressing their curiosity. I signed her sheet and smiled, “What is it?”
“Are you a hypnotist?”” There was a curious sparkle in her eye, and her question, about a subject that was both whimsical, misunderstood, and of no small passing interest, could be understood as a difficult one to muster.
Hypnotism, perhaps, was more akin to séances, card tricks, or levitation, in the minds of many, and I smiled at her mustered embarrassment and interest.
“I wouldn’t say that I am, only that its connections to parapsychology, and its values in exploration of the self have brought me some understanding of it for my previous book. Why do you ask?”
I watched her smile with some relief, realizing she was not only able to, be encouraged to ask me questions. “I’ve always been curious about it, and you have so many books on so many interesting things. And the ones on hypnotism always stood out on your bookshelf for some reason.”
“Oh it’s not a curious thing, our minds are drawn to our interests, so when we see what fascinates us, those details tend to stand out.” This, of course, was correlation, an experience many were keen to link to some form of psychic phenomenon.
Not all of my work resources were in my office, many were in our converted library, a spare room with no closet that served no other purpose for us, and there is where she had seen said books. “Have you ever been hypnotized Mr. Baker, is it hard to be hypnotized?”
A condition of teaching, or of being passionate about knowledge is its contagiousness, the way another’s interest can cause one such as myself to become curious and engaged, and this odd world of questioning from such a source was compelling to say the least.
“I wouldn’t say it was hard to be hypnotized, after all, there are entire shows and cultural practices predicated on the ease in which many can be compelled into theatrics, but for myself, when I sought out the experience I think my curiosity and engagement hampered the possible experience. Have you?”
She adjusted the white lace headband that sat atop her long black hair, itself pulled into a tight French braid, “I haven’t, but it seems fun. It seems like, from what we studied in class, that the more you know about it, wouldn’t it make it harder to go into trance, or easier?”
“Ah, so you’ve taken some psychology courses,” my mind raced to some vague detail in the back of my mind, “isn’t one of the professors at your university something of an expert?”
I remembered a bit of where she said she went to school while she’d been in conversation with my wife. I hadn’t taught at her college, and we’d only found ourselves living here by chance, after my book on the psychology of mysterious thought was published.
I watched Tania smile, “Yeah, but she’s on sabbatical, for like a couple years I think. I just wondered about that, and since you know about these things, it’s something like, since hypnosis is real, you can understand and appreciate its systems so you know how and what to do? But also since hypnosis is a series of tricks, knowing what’s coming means you know how it works, so won’t it not affect you because of how tricks work on you?”
“You know,” and this had become a surprisingly interesting conversation, “one of the fascinating things about hypnosis is that you can know what is happening, in fact in nearly every case of practiced clinical or theatrical hypnosis, people are being told overtly that they are being hypnotized, and in process as I understand it, laying out the steps and the behaviors, creating a sort of corridor for the mind to follow, actually creates a more stable and effective opportunity to induce trance.”
“So,” I watched as Tania brought her hand up to her throat, “if you were to hypnotize someone, and you told them everything that was going to happen, and how everything was going to affect them, even if they also understood how that structure worked, it would still be effective, like a doubly direct guided suggestion, or like a triple-strength kind of induction process?”
“Well, I suppose yes,” her hand slid down from her neck between her cleavage, then back up, and while it was not lost on me, it felt neither scandalous nor particularly remarkable.
I myself have a habit of fidgeting with my ear as I speak, or when I think about things while in compelling conversation, one’s personal gesticulations and fidgeting habits are just that. “But hypnosis is always based on willingness, and even surprise or covert trance techniques still requires the subject to be a participant, either through a desire to be active, or to be passive.”
Her smile denoted some fundamental understanding, and while her questions could be seen as forthright in some ways, they were engaged and progressive for someone with likely only a 100 or 200 level exposure to the broadest elements of psychology.
“It’s funny you know,” I could see her interest continuing to peak as we spoke, and her enthusiasm was found in her voice as well, “hypnosis on TV is always this sort of ritual, but it seems like it’s mostly just talking right? And I’m sorry, I just wanted to say thank you for talking with me, I’ve always wanted to talk with you, but you’re always busy, so it’s nice to have this moment with you to just talk, and you’re really helpful, you’ve cleared up a lot of stuff that’s really interesting to me.”
Her finger had continued its up and down journey from her neck to her cleavage and back, and I’d found myself, perhaps in spite of myself, watching its journey. “I’m always happy to talk, and it’s nice to have a moment away from work, even though I’m only working this hard so I could step away from it longer.”
She laughed, ”I know what you mean, it’s like finals, you’re cramming at the end, just so you can be done, and even though you’re so close to being finished, you still need a break sometimes right? Like, your mind still needs a chance to relax in the moment because it’s happening now, and it really is nice to talk finally, I’m sure it’s kind of a relief to you too, since your wife likes me, and trusts me, but I’m still a stranger that comes inside your house, and I’m sure I’ve been on your mind, so it has to be nice to talk now, when you have so much else on your mind, and you can talk to me now, like letting go of some weight you didn’t know you were carrying, right?”
As she spoke, my eyes had found themselves bound to the casual up and down motion of that finger, not in that it was leading my gaze ever and always back into her cleavage, but because the motion of it had become a physical act of thought and consideration, a piece of the conversation I was engaged in, and so focused had I become on her that I hardly realized the shift in my shoulders as I did feel a weight drop.
“I think you’ve also been curious about me too, because we’re both curious people, and I’ve always been curious about you. It’s a relief to finally get to talk to you, and it’s nice to know we can just talk isn’t it?”
Her tone was that of a supplicant’s realization that their employer was a person after all, and it made me smile to see her feel more comfortable with me, for in truth as I found myself ever more fascinated by the motion of her finger, feeling no shame as my eyes continued to be lured into the depths of her cleavage, I too was feeling a much desired sense of relief.
There was a compelling sense of comfort to the swell of her breasts, and I, being only human, was still drawn in so small way as anyone else would to such a full and pleasing sight.
“It’s nice to be here with you too, I appreciate your trust in me, your wife trusts me, and she knows me, sometimes we talk, but it’s nice to know you can trust me too, and you should. I think about that, how I come into your life, how I come into your home, and letting someone into your life requires trust doesn’t it? That’s why you know you can trust me, because you wife does, and you do, because I’m here now. But I’m just talking right now, I’m just talking and talking, but you’re looking more relaxed, you’re looking much more relaxed, and I know I’m just rambling now, but you’re so focused on me, and that makes me feel really good, but I think you’d probably like to go into your office, you’d be more comfortable and we can keep talking, because I have another question for you.”
By the time I realized her finger had stopped its journey, as she too had ceased her speech, I found myself clearly and unabashedly staring directly between her prodigious breasts, and therein I did have to admit that perhaps I’d become somewhat enamored with such a sight, though I did realize I’d be better served to step back inside my office and sit down.
She stood over me, near the arm of my chair, and she smiled, “I should be getting back to work here,” I should, and I must admit I was feeling refreshed and relaxed by our conversation and that indeed inspired me, “but I suppose one more question wouldn’t hurt anything, as long as it won’t keep you from anything.”
She laughed again, it was a short merry sound, and her eyes were bright with curiosity and mayhap some mischief I was unaware of, “ I was just wondering,” she leaned toward me and the vision of her cleavage became central to me in a wholly inappropriate manner, “if you were aware I just hypnotized you and put you into a light trance full of mild and easily accommodated suggestions?”
The story has only just begun, this is only the tip of the iceberg!!!