Brain Scam

BRAIN SCAM PART 1

Locale: San Jose, California Time: the near future Characters:

• Mike Stevens, a 23-year-old financial analyst

• Dr Donald Abrams, a wealthy, 51-year-old, retired neurologist

Dr. Abrams was startled by the knock on his office door. He looked up to see a tall, blonde, strikingly handsome young man standing in the doorway. "Come in," Dr. Abrams said perfunctorily. "You must be Mike Stevens."

"I am," Mike replied. "I'm grateful that you agreed to see me. I hope I'm not interrupting your work."

"You are," Abrams grunted, resenting the intrusion and hoping to get rid of the unwanted visitor as soon as possible.

"I can come back later," Mike offered.

"No! Let's get this over with."

If Mike hadn't already sensed the older man's irritation, that comment removed all doubt. "I won't take up much of your time, Sir. I just have a few questions about..."

"I know what you want, young man. But first I have a few questions of my own." The man rose to clear a disorderly stack of papers off a chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat," he said. It was more of a command than an invitation.

Mike sat. He had disliked asking for the appointment. He was not at ease in social situations or interacting with a stranger even for business reasons. It induced anxiety that often bordered on panic. But it was important to his accounting firm that he find out more about Dr. Abrams' company. He had to accept the unpleasant situation if he were to keep his job. The decidedly cool, almost antagonistic greeting made him uncomfortable. And it portended a confrontational meeting.

Dr. Abrams was equally distressed. He had been able to keep the nature of his business secret for ethical and legal reasons. But this young man might discover the goal of the research he was covertly performing. That could be disastrous. If word of his work got out it would no doubt prevent him from achieving the scientific breakthrough he fervently sought.

Abrams glared at his visitor and growled, "I understand from what you said on the phone that you want to snoop into my financial affairs. The fact that I agreed to the appointment should be sufficient proof that I have nothing to hide ... certainly nothing that an accounting firm would be interested in. Or, for that matter, even understand."

Mike found the Doctor's arrogant attitude highly offensive. He managed to keep his cool but only with extraordinary effort to quell the anxiety that had been growing steadily since the first telephone contact. Mike surprised himself when he replied assertively, "I'm not here to SNOOP,' Sir. As for understanding,' my inquiries will be limited strictly to financial details. My firm is highly qualified in that area. As am I!"

Abrams attempt to gain the upper hand in the verbal skirmish had been met by a prompt, and effective counter-offensive. This could only mean that the young man might prove to be a formidable adversary. The intruder may be more of a threat to his secretive research than he first feared. He returned to his tactic of intimidation by asking a series of rapid-fire questions. "What makes you think I have any financial information that would be of interest? Why are you here if I haven't used your accounting firm? My company is a privately-held entity. Private means immune to public scrutiny. What authority do you have to snoop— yes, I said SNOOP—into my business? And why do you have the audacity to interrupt me and interfere with what I'm doing? Do you realize that you're grossly exceeding the limits of courtesy? And most probably professional standards? Do us both a favor and go back to your number-crunching overlords and tell them I don't want to be harassed any more."

In other situations Mike would retreat and lick his wounds. But successful completion of his assignment was essential to his future in the accounting firm. So he absorbed the assault of the questions and paused to formulate a reply. "I could leave now, Sir, but it may very well trigger a subpoena from the courts for your financial records." He then smiled and continued, "I'm sure that would be more trouble for you than telling me what I need to know."

It was as much the young man's smile as the specter of a court appearance that softened Abrams' attitude. "What do you mean by a subpoena from the courts?"

"Your company is incorporated as a nonprofit. The state of California has not received what they feel is an adequate justification of your continued qualification as a nonprofit. They have hired my accounting firm to investigate." In an attempt to make the threat less harsh and to build on the Doctor's apparent change of heart, Mike continued, "I assure you, Sir, that I will be completely fair ... and discreet ... in examining your financial records. It's surely a better option than dealing with a prosecutor in court."

Abrams turned his back on Mike and stared out the window (which Mike thought was rude), weighing his options. The young man was right. The last thing he wanted was to be embroiled in a legal battle. But he couldn't risk the possibility of the young man discovering the nature of his research. Two unacceptable situations. He chose the lesser of the dangers. Turning to face Mike, he said, "I'll agree to show you my financial records. But let me be very clear. That's ALL you will see. I will not discuss the purposes, methods, or results of my research. So don't even ask! You will be accompanied by my assistant whenever you're in the building and she will prevent you from wandering anywhere except into the conference room where she will answer your questions and provide you with the financial information you may see. Any questions?"

"No, Sir. Can we begin the work now?

"No. My assistant is not available at the moment. Come back at eight tomorrow morning. She can help you until noon ... although I'm sure it won't take that long. And I hope it doesn't. She has other, far more important things to do than to babysit you. Now let me get back to work." He pressed a button on his desk phone and spoke, "Jennifer. My guest is leaving now." Moments later Jennifer appeared and escorted Mike out of the building.

Abrams sat for several minutes at his desk, pondering the wisdom of his agreement to give a stranger access to his financial records. If that's all he gleaned from his examination it would not be a problem. There was no need to conceal any financial data by sanitizing the records. However, he couldn't be sure that they might contain clues to the nature of his research. If so, would the stranger learn too much? Would he keep it a secret? Years of labor were at risk of being wasted.

But another thought intruded into his mind. For the first time, he recalled how handsome the young man was. The well-proportioned and symmetrical facial features approached perfection of masculinity: deep-set blue eyes that had a tantalizing sparkle especially when confronted with a challenge, expressive eye brows that reinforced the meaning of the words he spoke, a strong but not exaggerated jaw. And there was his body! Even covered by clothes—shirt, tie, and suit coat—it was obvious that his six-foot frame was trim and firm. Abrams chided himself for thinking of such minutia when his work, his dreams of fame when his research was published, were jeopardized. But then again ... this young man (What was his name? Mike Stevens.) would be the perfect subject in one of the planned experiments. The Doctor made a mental note to pursue the possibility. But VERY carefully. He would have to proceed slowly to be sure of the young man's willingness and, in the persuasion process, each step would have to be meticulously planned and allow for a reasonable way to terminate the relationship without arousing suspicion or endangering his secretive research. He chuckled aloud as he recalled how like it was to courting a potential bed partner when he was in graduate school. None of his attempts had been successful. But he had learned from his mistakes. He resolved to capitalize on those lessons now. For personal and professional reasons, the goal of recruiting Mike as a subject in an experiment was too important. To the research and to himself.

<><><><><>

Five minutes before eight the next morning, Mike entered the small, sparsely furnished lobby of the office building: two folding chairs and a small table with a phone on it next to the single locked door that led to the interior of the building. Attached to the wall next to the door was a small box with a glowing red light. He picked up the phone and punched the zero key as requested by a sign above the desk, a sign that was the only "decoration" on the four bare walls.

"May I help you?" came a voice over the phone.

"This is Mike Stevens. I have an appointment with Dr. Abrams."

"Dr. Abrams is not available."

"He asked me to meet with Jennifer, his assistant, this morning."

"Yes, I see you're expected. Please wait and Jennifer will let you in."

Mike sat on one of the hard folding chairs for nearly fifteen minutes. During that time three people came in through the front door. All of them looked at Mike suspiciously; two asked why he was there. Each placed an index finger on a tiny opening in the box by the door. When a chime sounded, they opened the door and went inside. Mike was puzzled by what he thought was extreme security measures. He shouldn't have been after Abrams' emphatic warning about seeing anything not directly related to the financial records of the company.

Just as Mike's patience was about to be fully exhausted, the door opened and a young woman in a lab coat came through the interior door. "Mike Stevens?" she asked.

"Yes. You must be Jennifer."

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said, "I'll escort you to the conference room. The computer there has all of the financial data loaded for you to examine." She immediately picked up the phone and punched zero. After a brief pause, she said, "This is January. I'm entering with a guest, Mike Stevens."

Mike couldn't help asking, "January? I thought your name was Jennifer."

"It is. January is my code word. You see, if two of us go through the door with only one fingerprint ID, it will sound an alarm. And by the way, you can't beat the system by using `January' because the code word can be used only once." Her expression and voice tone was not friendly. In fact, what she said sounded like a warning.

"That seems like a lot of bother," Mike said, hoping to add a little levity to the situation.

Jennifer just glared at him briefly without responding, which only heightened Mike's curiosity about the extreme security measures.

Jennifer led Mike to a conference room. Two computers were in place at either end of a rectangular table. "That one is yours to use," she said. "It has all the financial information. And nothing more. The wireless capability has been disabled so don't be tempted to try to access anything more than what's loaded in the computer."

Jennifer sat at the other computer and began working. Mike assumed she was writing a report of some kind because her fingers flew over the keyboard. For the next two hours, each attended to their separate tasks, interrupted only occasionally when Mike had to ask a question about something that appeared on his computer screen. Jennifer's answers were precise but succinct and delivered with no emotion. At one point, Mike said, "I see an infusion of cash ... a sizable amount ... two million dollars. But the source of the funds is not identified."

"A benefactor who supports Dr. Abrams' work. He wishes to remain anonymous." She immediately returned to her work.

It was not prohibited to accept anonymous donations. It was not even unusual. So Mike returned to his inspection of the financial records.

Eventually Mike interrupted Jennifer's work (she frowned ... again!). "I've reviewed everything. I've found no reason to challenge anything. My report to my firm will be very positive."

"As I expected," Jennifer said somewhat condescendingly. "I'll escort you out now."

When they parted ways in the lobby, Mike said with a smile to counter the woman's chilly attitude, "Thanks. I really appreciate your assistance."

"Part of the job," she replied coldly (or was it sarcastically?) and then promptly closed the door, which left Mike with a single thought: "What a bitch!"

<><><><><>

A week later, Mike called Dr. Abrams but was switched to his voice mail. "This is Mike Stevens. I've finished my report and submitted it. Please call me if you would like me to mail you a copy."

Less than an hour later, Dr. Abrams returned the call. "Hi, Mike. This is Don Abrams." The cheerful greeting was the opposite of what happened in their first meeting and momentarily confused Mike. "First of all, Mike, I'd like to apologize for what I said—and how I said it—when we talked in my office. I guess it was one of my bad days. Anyway, yes, I'd like to see your report. Perhaps we could have lunch if it's convenient for you. My treat. To make up for being such an ass. You can bring your report. I'll be interested in reading it. And I would enjoy your company in a less formal setting."

Having agreed to meet at a restaurant on Saturday, Mike was left with yet another puzzle, one that almost equaled in perplexity the extraordinary secrecy about what went on behind the lobby of the company's building. Why was Dr. Abrams suddenly so friendly when earlier he had been so arrogant and confrontational?

Mike—dressed with a tie and sport coat because he expected the restaurant to be upscale—arrived ten minutes early for his luncheon appointment with Dr. Abrams. Looking around, he didn't see his lunch companion. When someone at a table in the far corner of the restaurant stood and waved, Mike was briefly puzzled; he didn't recognize the man in a tee shirt and denim jeans. But then he realized that the man was Dr. Abrams who looked quite different without a lab coat. He walked over. Abrams greeted him warmly with a smile and a firm handshake. "Thank you for coming," the doctor enthused. "After the way I treated you, I was afraid you would not want to have anything to do with me."

Mike, still puzzled by the radical change of personality, replied, "All in a day's work, Sir."

"You're very forgiving. Thanks for that. But please drop the sir' bit. Call me Don'. I hope you came hungry. The prime-rib here is spectacular." Handing Mike a menu, he said, "But order what you want."

Mike followed his host's suggestion and ordered the prime-rib, which put another large smile on Abram's face as it was at least weak evidence that the young man was susceptible to suggestions.

Most of the conversation while waiting for the meal was Abrams questioning Mike about his background, his job, and what he thought of California after growing up on a farm in Wisconsin. A definite rapport developed, which, together with learning more about Mike, was the older man's primary intent. It was the first essential step in his plans for the handsome young accountant.

Abram's congeniality almost expunged Mike's memory of an arrogant, confrontational, and antagonistic owner of a company. His normal reserve in social situations was replaced by comfort in animatedly talking to a virtual stranger. When Abrams asked, "Found any pretty young women since you've been here? A handsome young stud like you should have no problem."

Mike was relaxed enough to joke. "That's a secret. But you know all about secrecy, don't you?"

"Touché!" the man laughed. "I guess I came across as an obsessive paranoid when you were in my office. My only excuse is that it's a hazard of heading up a leading-edge research operation. I apologize for my behavior. Let me simply say that we're exploring the most complex part of the human body: the brain. We're trying to—if you will—reverse- engineer that marvelous organ. Lots of researchers have identified parts of the brain that control various functions: muscular movement, sensation, creative and analytical thought, and even social and antisocial behaviors. But so far it's like looking down at the Bay Area from an altitude of 30,000 feet. We hope to map the brain in far greater detail."

"Sounds fascinating," Mike replied.

"It is. And it's extraordinarily difficult ... mostly because of the variability across the population. Genetic inheritance and environmental influences mean that ... at the level we're working ... no two brains are alike. Just like no two city blocks are alike. Each city block will have buildings but they're all quite different."

"Sounds like it's more than difficult. It sounds impossible."

"Somebody said that to Watson and Crick about their attempt to explain the human genome. But they kept at it. And now we know about the helix structure of DNA. And we use that information to predict and treat a wide range of what would otherwise be life-altering or life-threatening problems. With enough data and the right techniques, we should be able to map an individual's unique brain just as easily as we map a person's unique DNA. Can you imagine what that might mean for curing physiological defects and behavioral dysfunction?" Without waiting for an answer, Abrams continued, "Some things have been done already. Deep Brain Stimulation has given patients with severe mobility impairment the ability to walk and lead a normal life. It has eliminated the symptoms of Parkinson's disease. It's even cured mental depression that standard pharmaceuticals couldn't."

"Yes," Mike replied. "I've heard about the medical miracles. I'm not going to ask ... because you warned me about asking about anything other than financial data ... but I assume your research is to take a leap forward."

Abrams paused to decide how to answer the implied question. "Indeed! But there's a lot of work yet to be done." The comment was specifically crafted to confirm Mike's suspicions but ambiguous enough to hide the exact goals of the research. "Right now, we're building a database of just how much variability there is in the human brain. It's quite time- consuming to get enough data—that is, enough people to participate. It will take a broad cross-section of the population to have enough information to work with." Abrams fell silent and stared out the window. It was not a spontaneous act. It was more of a deliberate ploy, a part of his carefully scripted plan.

Mike grew uncomfortable with the interruption to what had been a lively conversation and said, "I'm sorry. I feel like I've accidentally made you violate your secrecy rule."

Abrams retuned his gaze to Mike and held it for a moment. "It's not that at all, Mike. Rather, it's a thought I had. Let me put it to you directly. That's the only way I know how to communicate with a friend." Abrams had successfully reached the second stage of his plan. Referring to Mike as `a friend' was a tactical maneuver to ensure the achievement of his next goal. "It occurred to me that you are exactly the sort of person that would help fill a void in my database. You're an accountant. That means you have an analytical mind, one that is comfortable dealing with reams of minute facts and details. Moreover, as you demonstrated when dealing with me when I was in a bad mood, you're sensitive to situations and are goal-directed. Those and other attributes are just the ones that I need to fill the gaps in my database. Would you be willing to volunteer as a subject in my research?"

Mike was flattered by the compliments on his analytical skills but was stunned by the final question. It was totally unexpected and countless questions invaded his thoughts. Among them was the lingering mystery of a man who behaved so drastically differently in his office and in the restaurant less than a week later. But more demanding of an answer was how to respond to the question and what might happen if he agreed to participate in the research. "I don't know what to say, Don."

"Of course," the man said with a friendly smile. "I should have known that. Because of your analytical mind. It's really very simple. I put a skull cap on you. It has a number of sensors that identify areas of your brain that are most active. The sensors are connected to a computer. And therein lies the technological breakthrough. A sophisticated computer program is able to isolate the activity in any part of the brain—to a level of precision that is unheard of. While you're wearing the skull cap, you will see a series of pictures, hear a variety of sounds, and listen to music and voices. I'll also ask you to do a series of simple movements. Nothing strenuous. Finally, I'll ask you some questions that will call upon your memory of events in your past. By the way, none of my questions will embarrass you or be at all threatening. It's simple. It's completely safe. One week later, you'll go through the same procedure. Repeating the session is necessary to assure the validity and reliability of the computer analysis. Will you be a part of a major scientific breakthrough?"

Abrams waited impatiently for Mike's response. Had he explained it well enough to be convincing? It had worked with many others ... but not all. A few, he recalled agreed only after learning of the compensation for their time. So before Mike could respond, Abrams said, "And ... I should mention that it pays very well for both of the two-hour sessions."

"I know that," Mike said casually. Jennifer explained those expenditures to me when I examined your financial reports."

Abrams smiled. "So, my friend, will you help me? And help the cause of scientific advancement?"

Mike mentally reviewed all that Abrams had said and weighed his options. Meanwhile, in the moments that seemed to the doctor much longer than they were, Abrams' anxiety mounted. Progress in his plan hinged on Mike's willingness to cooperate.

"Okay." Mike finally said. "It should be interesting. Will I get to see the results of my brain scan?"

Abrams succeeded in containing his elation—he felt like whooping with joy—and limited his reaction to a broad smile and the words, "Thank you. It will be very interesting. And extraordinarily useful to my research. And yes, I'll be happy to show you the results of the testing."

"May I make one request? I'd prefer to participate without Jennifer present."

He was about to explain why when Abrams burst out laughing and said, "She's a bit of a cold fish, isn't she? But she's absolutely brilliant. The most valuable employee I have. So I put up with her sullenness and limit our conversation to work matters."

Then both Mike and Abrams laughed.

Having agreed on dates and times for the two sessions, they finished their meal and walked to the parking lot in cordial conversation.

While driving home, Mike mentally analyzed what went on during the meal. He was extraordinarily pleased to have joined in the conversation, which was quite the opposite of previous, awkward attempts to be sociable with others. He was also enthusiastic about participating in the research. It would be an adventure and a welcome change from his predominately lonely and dull life.

Abrams was ecstatic over his success in winning Mike's cooperation. He eagerly anticipated having this handsome young man as a subject in his experiments. The crafty researcher had no guilt feelings about telling Mike only part of the purpose in the two sessions. The untold part was, in fact, the primary goal of his research. But for legal and ethical reasons, he could not reveal that to anyone beyond his few trusted employees.

<><><><><>

Mike drove excitedly to the nondescript building for the first of his two sessions. He had been looking forward to Thursday evening since the meeting with Dr. Abrams over lunch almost a week earlier. He arrived ten minutes early for the eight o'clock appointment and, not surprisingly, found the door into the lobby locked. What was surprising, however, was that the door opened less than a minute later and Dr. Abrams appeared, saying with a cordial grin, "Come in, my friend."

They walked to the interior door where Abrams placed his index finger on the small control panel. The chime sounded, he opened the door, and he motioned for Mike to precede him into the protected interior of the building. Mike paused and asked, "Isn't that a violation of protocol? Jennifer said that two people going through the door with only one recognized fingerprint would set off the alarm."

Abrams laughed. "One of the perks of being the head of the organization. I could let in a whole football team if I wanted."

Walking down the hallway to the laboratory, Mike said, "The place is different after hours. Dim lighting. No sounds of people working late."

"Don't let that concern you," Abrams said, sensing that his guest might be somewhat ill at ease. "Most of the lights are turned off automatically at seven and automatically turned on at seven the next morning. You'd be surprised at how much money that saves. But you're probably not; you're an accountant." They both grinned. "We're the only two in the building. It's not uncommon to run experiments in the evening since most subjects, like you, have to be at work during the day. Except when the subject is female. Then Jennifer must be present."

Mike chuckled. "As a chaperon or as a defense witness if you're accused of impropriety?"

Abrams just grinned and led Mike into a small room filled with computers and other devices he could not recognize. A video monitor was mounted on the wall just above one of the computers. Abrams briefed Mike on the procedures. "I'll be in here. You will be alone in the adjoining room. We can communicate with each other by voice only. Each room has a microphone and speaker. I'll be able to see you on this video monitor but you won't be able to see me. The reason is simple. It's called `experimenter bias' but simply means that for accurate measurements you shouldn't be able to see any of my reactions to what you say and do. Any questions so far?"

"No, Sir."

Abrams smiled and said, "Given the situation, you can call me sir' but in less formal situations, please call me Don.' Okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now let me show you the other room." Abrams led Mike into the adjacent room that was very comfortably furnished and unlike the rest of the facility that could only be described as austere. "For most of the time, Mike, you'll be seated in the easy chair watching the video screen on the wall opposite, listening to voices or music over the speakers or answering my questions. For a brief period, you will stand up and perform certain actions so I can get a reading on where in your brain muscular control is managed. Your primary concern is to be yourself. Don't try to please me. I must know what goes on in your head in normal circumstances. If at any time you're uncomfortable with what's happening, be sure to tell me. Okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You'll be fine. I'm sure of that. Sit down and let me fit the skull cap on your head."

When the skull cap was in place, Abrams attached small, numbered wires to each of several connection points. He then asked, "Is that comfortable?"

"A little tight but not enough to be a problem."

"Good. We can get started." Abrams left the room and closed the door. Within a minute, Mike heard the doctor's voice over the intercom. "We'll begin if you're ready."

"I'm ready. What's the first task?"

"I'm going to show you a series of photos on the video monitor. Just watch the monitor and enjoy the show."

Each photo appeared for only a few seconds. Scenery. Adults of various ages singly or in group activities. Children and babies. Animals. Significant events in history that included a few of violence. They were randomly mixed but unlike the sequence of photos used with any previous participant. Abrams had included a dozen photos that would give him specific information he hoped could be exploited later in the session. These extra photos showed attractive women and handsome men at the beach in swim suits. Abrams was extremely pleased with the display of brain activity when these photos were presented. In another departure from standard experiment protocol, Abrams enabled a capability of the skull cap sensors during the display of a short, contiguous series of photos taken from a helicopter above Manhattan. At the conclusion of that set of photos, he disabled the sensors' capability that was his most closely guarded secret.

Abrams voice came over the intercom. "That concludes the first part of the experiment, Mike. Before moving on to the second part, I need to ask you something. You will have noticed that the photos were presented randomly. Except for the aerial views of Manhattan. Did that seem unusual that they were presented together?"

There was a pause that Abrams welcomed before Mike replied. "I'm sorry, Sir. I don't remember anything like that. But I was paying attention. Honest."

"I'm sure you were, Mike." Abrams' next comment was intentionally deceptive. "I suppose it's my mistake that I didn't include them. Still, the data I got from all the other photos will be extremely useful." Also useful was the confirmation that Mike's memory of the Manhattan photos had been blocked. "Now let's move on to the second part of the session. In this part you will hear short pieces of music or brief segments of people speaking. Are you okay? Are you ready for the next part?"

"I am."

"Good. Be sure to tell me if you are tired or troubled in any way. It's important that I record your brain patterns without any mental distractions."

The audio clips were, like the photos, presented randomly. The music was both familiar and unfamiliar melodies. The interspersed spoken words from male and female adults were mostly noncontroversial but a few advocated universally unpopular beliefs. At the conclusion of the second part, Abrams asked again, "Are you still okay?

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. I'm going to ask you to perform a few simple tasks." They were, indeed, simple. Folding the arms. Standing and sitting back down. Touching or scratching the face, arms, and legs. That went on for about ten minutes and ended when Abrams announced over the intercom, "We'll now begin the final part of the experiment. I'd like you to close your eyes while I ask you several questions. Short answers are fine; there's no need to elaborate unless I ask you for more detail. If you don't know the answer, just say so. If you know the answer but would rather not answer the question, just tell me. Okay?"

"Fire away," Mike responded

The questions were in four parts. The first was standard for all participants and focused on short-term memory. The second had questions that called up long-term memories. The third asked Mike to solve problems. The fourth part, however, was added to the standard procedure and was engineered to manipulate Mike's consciousness in ways that suited Abrams' covert agenda, the success of which was assured based on preliminary brain responses from pictures that depicted muscular men and attractive women in swim suits.

Before launching into the fourth part, Abrams said casually, "We're almost finished, Mike. You're doing very well. I imagine you're getting a little tired. You are, aren't you?"

"No, I'm fine."

Abrams reactivated highly secret capability of the system. The sensors in Mike's skull cap, except for one brief period when displaying photos, had only been monitoring brain activity—doing no more than relaying signs of activity in various parts of the brain to the main computer. However, the sensors had another capability: to transmit signals INTO specific parts of the brain, something that had never been achieved by any other researcher. The signals targeted short-term memory only when the Manhattan photos were displayed. This time, however, they were also used to inhibit selected parts of the brain that processed ethics and self-restraint. After a brief pause for the signals to take effect, Abrams soothingly said, "You ARE tired, Mike. I want you to relax. You will not go to sleep but you will be totally relaxed. And at peace. You will hear my voice and be aware of what I'm telling you but nothing else will intrude into your mind. You trust me. You will respond to my questions and instructions without any reservation. Do you understand what I'm telling you now?"

"Yes, Sir," came a slightly slurred response from Mike.

The tone and inflection in Mike's response indicated that he was in an induced trance not unlike hypnosis. But it had been accomplished in a remarkably short time. Abrams continued his calm directions. "You are completely relaxed. It feels wonderful. Your friend will now guide you through a sequence of activities. I am your friend, am I not?"

"Yes."

"And you trust me to help you, to make you feel good. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"It's getting warm in the room where you are. Very warm. Unbutton your shirt. You'll be more comfortable."

As Mike unbuttoned his shirt, Abrams hit the record button on a second video recorder. The recording would be for his Abrams' eyes only to review and enjoy later.

"You're doing fine, Mike. But you're still uncomfortably warm. Raise your undershirt to expose your stomach and chest to the fresh air."

Abrams expected what he saw—flat abs and well-defined pecs—but it nevertheless affected him deeply. He felt a stirring in his groin.

"That feels good, Mike. The fresh air on your skin has helped. But you still feel too warm for comfort. You do feel very warm, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

"More exposure to the fresh air will help, Mike. Pull your trousers down to your ankles. Let the cool air sooth your legs." Mike dutifully complied while Abrams watched and adjusted his inflating penis. "That feels much better, Mike. You're much more comfortable now. Look down. Admire your body. The sight of your manly physique makes you proud. Now look at the bulge in your briefs. How often do you masturbate, Mike?"

"Five or six times a week," came the response with no hesitation.

"And how does it feel when you masturbate?"

"Wonderful."

"Of course. Every man masturbates. It's very normal. Have you ever masturbated with someone else?"

"No."

"You feel the urge now. You need to feel the satisfaction of stroking your cock and releasing your cum. The orgasm will be one of the best in your life. Pull your underwear down to your ankles, Mike."

Again, Mike complied dutifully and without any reservation or modesty.

Abrams was captivated by the cock that came into view on the monitor in the control room. The cock, although still limp, was impressive. This would be one of his favorite parts of the video recording. Abrams' own cock achieved full erection.

"You like what you see there between your legs, Mike. Touch it. Fondle it. Bring it to life. Make it stiff and standing tall, ready to give you the thrill of an orgasm."

It didn't take long. Mike's cock grew and stiffened. He began to stroke it, slowly but building up speed.

"That feels good, Mike. Your hand around your admirable manhood. The anticipation of a storm of pleasant sensations as your cum explodes out of your cock."

Abrams' plan was working perfectly. It was time to advance to the next carefully detailed stage of the procedure.

"You have a problem, Mike. When you spew your cum, how are you going to clean it up? There is a solution to that problem. I can help you, Mike. May I help you?"

"Yes," Mike grunted as he continued his feverish pace of jerking his throbbing cock.

Abrams immediately left the control room and walked into the room with Mike. Bending down on his knees in front of the object of his lust, he gently removed Mike's hand from the rock-hard cock. "I'll catch your cum so it doesn't leave a mess to clean up. More importantly, Mike, it will feel marvelous."

The man wrapped his mouth around the irresistible cock and began stimulating it with his lips and tongue. It was something he had done only once ... while he was in college years ago but the memory of that experience stayed with him in the following decades. When his current research proved to be capable of rendering a person cooperative and without inhibition, his fantasy of savoring a manly cock and relishing the tangy flavor of fresh cum other than his own became a recurrent hope. In a fortunate coincidence of perfecting the sensor/transmitters and the appearance of an attractive young man in his office, his dream of sexual gratification became an obsession.

As he engulfed Mike's primed rod, the extremely horny young man threw his head back and moaned loudly. The time seemed too long for Mike but much too short for Abrams before Mike's body stiffened and he cried out with a primal scream of sexual satisfaction. Multiple volleys of cum exploded into Abram's throat.

While the `victim' of Abrams' lust recovered from an overwhelming orgasm, the researcher retreated to the control room while swishing around a large load of cum in his mouth. Finally swallowing the creamy nectar and seeing Mike's movement on the video monitor, he said over the intercom, "How do you feel, now, Mike?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic!"

"That's good," Abrams replied. "You may now pull up your underwear and pants, button your shirt, and relax for a few moments." When Mike was fully dressed, Abrams turned off the second video recording and said, "You feel wonderful. Now listen to me carefully. I will soon restore your awareness of your surroundings. When I do, you will remember nothing of what happened while you were relaxed. When I walk into the room and shake your shoulder, you will suddenly be aware of where you are and what we're doing here. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

Abrams then returned to the room in which Mike sat starring at nothing in particular. He shook Mike's shoulder. Mike jumped and asked, "What happened? I thought we were going to finish the interview."

Abrams smiled and said, "You fell asleep. But don't be concerned. It allowed me to get readings of your brain activity during slumber. What is the last thing that you remember?"

Mike struggled to recall what happened. "You asked if I was tired. I said I wasn't. But I guess I was if I fell asleep."

"You've been a fine subject in my experiments, Mike. I'm grateful for your help. And you've made a major contribution to a very significant research project. I look forward to your second session next Thursday evening."

"I'll be here," Mike replied. He chuckled and said, "And I'll try not to fall asleep."

"Don't let that worry you, my friend. The second session will be almost identical to this one. Its purpose, as I mentioned before, is to assure the validity and reliability of the readings we took of your brain activity."

Abrams escorted Mike out of the building and, in parting, said, "I meant it when I said I'm grateful for you help, my friend. And for your contribution to the advancement of neurological science."

Abrams immediately returned to the control room. It was essential to edit the video recording of the experiment by deleting the final portion and to retrieve the secondary recording that showed the sexual encounter. While doing that, he congratulated himself on successfully achieving his clandestine goal. He should have felt guilty for manipulating Mike and for engaging in profoundly unprofessional behavior. But he didn't. The first reason was that the results of the first session strongly indicated that Mike was attracted to men and was probably gay. His responses to photos of bare-chested men where elevated while those to women were not. His answers to interview questions were more subtle clues but nevertheless supported the conclusion. The second reason for not feeling guilty was that his obsessive lust had seized control of his thinking and blinded him to the potential risks. The highly charged eroticism of watching a handsome young man disrobe and masturbate only fueled his lust and further clouded his judgment. His original plan included only watching Mike masturbate in each of the two sessions but the compulsion to do more than watch and to actively participate in the sexual scenario was overpowering. The experience of suckling on a virile cock and tasting the warm cum was almost enough to give him a spontaneous orgasm. He resolved that before the second session he would meticulously plan how to do more than watch.

He deleted the evidence of his depravity from the regular recording. He took the second recording to his office and was he was compelled to view it. His cock started to inflate as he connected the flash memory card to his computer. He eagerly watched the computer screen as it showed Mike undressing. As Mike fondled his cock, Abrams unconsciously did the same to his own already stiff rod. When the computer screen showed him entering the room and engulfing Mike's cock, the highly aroused man began stroking his throbbing hard-on vigorously. His orgasm produced a prodigious amount of cum that stained his lab coat from neck to navel.

He secured the flash memory card in his office safe, knowing that he would retrieve it frequently and that each viewing would produce far more stimulation than Internet porn because it would recapture the ecstasy he experienced when the recording was made.

It was almost midnight when a very satisfied Abrams left the building. On the drive home, he reflected on the experience in the lab. It was, without a doubt, far more gratifying than any sex he had with the wife. They divorced decades ago for a number of reasons including one that was never mentioned. He had been attracted to men from an early age but for career and reputation married Suzanne. Since the divorce he had remained chaste and celibate but masturbated frequently. The frustrations of living alone and having to satisfy his own libidinous needs had two consequences. The first was that he channeled all of his energy into his medical practice and, later, into his research company. The second consequence was a steadily growing need to enjoy sex with a man. Mike, in spite of being more than twenty years younger—or perhaps because of that—gave new urgency to the frustrated man's craving for male sex.

Abrams was impatient for the next session with Mike on the following Thursday. It would be another opportunity to live his fantasies and to do more than suck the young man's cock. On the periphery of his anticipation lurked a question: Could he manage to have more than just two sexual encounters with Mike? He mentally put that question aside for later consideration.

Mike's drive home was quite different. Unaware of the doctor's betrayal of trust by forcing cooperative but nonconsensual sex, he could only recall the standard part of the experiment. It was, he concluded, interesting but also somewhat mysterious. How could the sensors in the skull cap monitor his brain activity with the precision that Abrams claimed? Why should his research be such a secret? Could there be more than fear of competition from other research organizations? Did he fear condemnation of his peers for his methods? Why was he wide-awake one minute and asleep the next? Was a repetition of the session necessary to get accurate data? Regardless of those imponderable questions, Mike looked forward to the second session even though it would likely duplicate the first.

While getting ready for bed, Mike noticed a familiar stain on his underwear. He had found a similar stain several times when he was not sufficiently careful in cleaning up after an orgasm. Why would the stain be there tonight since he had not jerked off for two days? It was a question he could not answer. But he resolved to be on the alert for a recurrence that might indicate a medical problem. Before falling asleep, he re-evaluated his opinion of Dr. Abrams who definitely had a gentle, considerate nature. Their first, confrontational meeting must have been atypical because he was irritated at having his finances scrutinized.

<><><><><>

Mike slept in late on Saturday morning. At about eight, the rays of the rising sun were just barely leaking into the bedroom from around the edges of the drapes. Mike enjoyed the luxury of not hearing the blare of the alarm and having to rush to get ready for work. Half-awake and half- asleep, he gradually became dimly aware of his morning woody. Without conscious thought but out of pure habit, he laid a hand of the swollen member and caressed it. That soon led to instinctive fondling. The routine for Saturday mornings was a prolonged, leisurely period of stimulation followed by an explosive orgasm. But the routine took a sudden and unexpected detour. A half-formed memory intruded into his senses. He was sitting in Dr. Abrams' lab, half naked, and masturbating. It jarred him into full consciousness instantly. He sat up in bed and for several minutes tried unsuccessfully to understand why he had such a bizarre thought. The details of the memory—or was it a delusion? —were vague but it was very disturbing. What caused it? Surely it didn't happen. He would never do such a thing. So it couldn't be a memory. Was it a fantasy? Perhaps wishful thinking? No, he reasoned, it was not something he would want to do. Certainly not in that situation and not with Dr. Abrams. Could it have been a dream? Dreams are famous for being irrational and can sometimes be remembered after waking. He sat pondering the odd experience. Finally, he concluded that it must have been a weird dream. He had been half way between asleep and awake. The sleeping half could have generated the dream. The waking half could make it easy to remember. Confident in his analysis, he turned his attention to his deflating cock, restored its full stature, and brought himself to a satisfying climax.

That afternoon, he watched a football game on television. The Green Bay Packers, his favorite team, easily won. He pressed the off button on the remote and picked up a magazine to read. Five minutes later, he realized that he had read the article before so he laid the magazine in his lap to think about whether to fix dinner or go out to eat. He hated eating alone in a restaurant so he decided to fix a batch of spaghetti. Glancing down at the magazine in his lap, he was startled by a hazy image. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared but it was extremely disturbing. It was a head of salt-and-pepper hair bobbing up and down between his bare legs. It took only a moment to recognize whose hair it was: unmistakably ABRAMS! He inhaled sharply and his heart began to race. It was NOT a dream! But what made such an improbable image pop into his mind? He sat, almost in a cold sweat, for several minutes trying to make sense of the impossibly bizarre notion that it would ever happen or even that he would want it to happen. There was no rational explanation.

For much of the rest of the day, he was haunted by what he thought was a dream of masturbating in the lab and by the more distressing image of Abrams giving him a blow job. At several points he worried that he was losing his mind. More specifically, he wondered whether the two hours with sensors monitoring his brain activity had caused unwelcome disruptions to his mind. If so, should he cancel next Thursday's session?

The next four days passed without any recurrence of strange ideas popping into his head. His life returned to normal. His fears of unintended consequences of the experimental procedure abated. By Thursday, although he still had no reasonable explanation (His analytical mind thrived on reason and verifiable facts.) he decided to return to Abrams' lab that evening for the second session. A small part of the decision was knowing that Abrams would be extremely disappointed and possibly angry over the cancellation.

The second session was a virtual repeat of the first. Abrams was very friendly when greeting Mike and effusive in his appreciation for the time and valuable assistance in the research. There were two variations in the procedure, however, that Abrams had planned. First, there was no need to test the effectiveness of the disruption to short-term memory by including the sequence of aerial views of Manhattan and questioning Mike about it. The second variation, however, was far more significant and included an addition to the sexual activities.

A hypnotic-like trance was induced as before. But Abrams entered the testing room at an earlier stage—before Mike had fondled himself to erection. He wanted to do that himself and take more time to relish the taste of the young man's stiff cock. Consumed by the sensual gratification of the moment, he teased the cock with his tongue and lips for so long that Mike was writhing and pleading for relief. Grudgingly, Abrams stroked vigorously while making sure that his lips were tightly wrapped around the top third of Mike's cock so as to be sure to capture all of the hot, creamy ejaculate. As before, Mike screamed when his orgasm overwhelmed his senses. After a few moments of relishing the massive load in his mouth, Abrams swallowed in order to launch into the part of the procedure that he had eagerly anticipated for days.

In a soothing voice, he asked, "That felt wonderful, didn't it, Mike?"

"Yes! Wonderful!"

"You want to return the favor now." It was not a question. It was a declaration made with confidence that Mike would be especially susceptible to following instructions. The man stood and lowered his trousers, releasing his steel-hard cock from the confinement that, until this moment, had not been a concern to Abrams. "Get out of the chair and stand, Mike." Dutifully and almost mechanically, the young man complied. "You're doing fine. You feel good about what's happening. Now get down on your knees." Again, Mike responded as directed. "Good. Now I'm going to put my penis in your mouth. It will taste fantastic." Abrams almost collapsed when the warm lips surrounded the tip of his cock but he managed to continue his directions. "You're happy to return the favor. You want to show your gratitude for what I've done for you. And prove to me that you are capable of giving satisfaction to a needy man. Suck my dick, Mike. Slowly at first but gradually increase the pace."

Abrams was in erotic bliss as he felt the moist mouth stroking his cock. Only with great effort did he manage to periodically compliment Mike, tell him what a good job he was doing, and implant the idea in Mike's artificially acquiescent mind that he enjoyed sucking cock. In order to prolong the ecstasy of his first blow job, Abrams struggled to control his arousal and delay his climax. The intensity of the experience was so great and he was so completely consumed with pleasure that he lost track of time. It would prove to be disastrous.

Just as Abrams felt he could delay his orgasm no longer, Mike withdrew and sat back down on his heels. Abrams looked down to find Mike looking up at him with an expression that clearly revealed alarm and confusion. It was only then that Abrams remembered the safety trigger in the computer program that was intended to automatically shut down the transmission of signals from the skull cap into the subject's brain. It was feared that prolonged stimulation of the brain might cause damage to the neurons and lead to permanent impairment of critical brain functions. Abrams knew about the automatic shut down but he had been distracted by the extreme pleasure of what Mike was doing to him. In abject horror, Abrams realized that Mike was no longer being controlled by signals transmitted into his brain.

Mike shook his head to clear his mind. When the effects of the induced trance began to wear off, he screamed, "What the fuck is going on?"

Abrams was in total and debilitating agony—physically because his orgasm had been denied at the last possible moment but mostly mentally because he had no reply to Mike's demanding question. Nothing he said would have eliminated or even reduced the predicament he was in. All he could do was whimper, "I'm sorry."

"As you very well should be," Mike exclaimed. "You manipulated me. How many times have you done this and gotten away with it?"

"Nevcr! Only with you. Because you're irresistibly handsome. And sexy. I'm sorry, Mike. I wronged you. You have every reason to hate me. But I had to do it. You're my idea of perfection in a man." Abrams slumped and dropped his head in overpowering shame.

Mike's anger caused him to be silent and let Abrams suffer. But from beneath Mike's anger arose a compelling sympathy for a man who was a victim of his own lust, a man whose dream of scientific fame was now in jeopardy, a man that could face criminal prosecution and disgrace rather than respect. The odd mixture of anger and compassion prompted Mike to say, "Why the fuck couldn't you have won my WILLING cooperation? We could have been friends if you had the decency to earn my respect. And you could have been honest about what you wanted. I might have declined your request but we could still be friends. Or I might have granted your request and had sex with you. It would then be fully consensual and pleasurable. But no. You abused your power for the selfish purpose of sexual satisfaction. You may be a brave pioneer in scientific research, Abrams, but what you've done to me is pure cowardice."

Mike then remembered that he was half naked. He pulled up his trousers, turned, and left the room without bothering to button his shirt. He ran down the hall and into the building's lobby. The outside door, although locked, had a push bar that would open the door in case of emergency. He opened the door and escaped into the evening's fresh air. As he ran to his car, he heard the alarm blaring behind him. As distraught as he was over what had been done to him, it was miraculous that he was able to drive home safely.

Meanwhile, Abrams crumpled to the floor, crushed as much by his stupidity as by the inevitable damage to his research and to the company.

To be continued

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: Iatia's editing, encouragement, and valuable suggestions are greatly appreciated.