This is dedicated to H.S. who appreciates these kinds of stories and who is old enough to be invited here to read them. If you are less than 18 years old, you are not invited, in fact shooed away. The writer also does not want anyone who is offended by these stories, either. HS and all others welcome.
My name is Dr.Jules Manfried. My friends often say, "You're not a real doctor." It's true, I am a psychologist and the PhD ought to be appended, but using doctor professionally is correct, and when used non-professionally, it can often get me a plane reservation or a table at a crowded restaurant. Once it got me excused from a ticket by an officer who sought my medical advice. I gave it. I hope he is still alive.
I used to do conventional therapy, but I found, now that I am in my forties that smoke secession offers me better office hours and a steady income. Also I do not have to deal with serious mental problems.
My patients generally are long-time smokers, folks in their fifties and older. But occasionally I get younger patients. Recently I got a call from a young-sounding male who said that I had treated his uncle successfully and he would like to make an appointment. I set him up for the following Wednesday. I do not have a secretary; I take care of the calls and the paper work myself. I do have a reception area and waiting room with four chairs. My own treatment room is a separate private area. When I do not have a patient I leave my office door open so I can see who comes in from the hall of this professional building.
The door was pushed open and a young man stood as it closed behind him. I called out that I just have a few minutes of paper work and then I'll see him. He was actually fifteen minutes early.
I came out and handed him a clipboard and some routine medical forms to fill out. "Call me when you are finished." I got a good look at him. He bore a strong resemblance to Andre Grenier, if you know the actor, similar generous mouth, curly lashes and thick hair. He wasn't quite as tall as Grenier. Oddly his first name was Andre, but not Grenier, it was Gold.
"I finished, Doctor."
"Fine, come in. We'll talk today, then make an appointment, if you decide to continue, for a few days from now. Give me a moment to read over your history."
The fellow was twenty-two. He lived in the City, unmarried, no medications, no operations. Distinguishing marks included a tattoo on his upper left arm. When I mentioned it, he pushed up his sleeve docilely. There was a Ying/Yang in black and white. "Are you interested in Eastern philosophy.?"
"Not really. I just liked it and picked it out from the inker's sample book."
I noted he was 5' 11" and 160 pounds. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He was slim and fit. It was his face that was unusual, those curvy lips, red, as if lipsticked, and those unnaturally long eyelashes. He wasn't so much handsome, as unusual. Especially his eyes that were very dark brown and they seemed to glimmer as they floated in his bright whites.
"Tell me about your smoking. I know you wrote it down on the charts, but I'd like to hear it in your own words."
"Well I started smoking when I was thirteen, cigarettes at that time, but later I switched to cigars." He took out a case and showed me his large, fat cigars that he smoked. "I generally smoke three or four a day. They take so long that I cannot light up at work. I smoke after each meal." He was a junior stockbroker, really in training. He was born in a small town in Alabama. He sure had the accent, it was charming, really. He moved to New York City for his present job.
"What do you know about hypnotism?"
"I've never been hypnotized. Maybe I can't be. I did see a theatrical act in Las Vegas."
I sighed. "Ah yes, those stage acts. They give us a bad name and they make it seem that going into a trance is something scary and exotic. Actually it is quite normal and happens to people all the time, except they don't think of it as a trance."
"I don't think I have."
"Yes you have. What about when you're watching TV and someone talks to you and you do not hear it, you are so involved in the screen."
"Is that a trance?"
"Yep. Say, would you like to take a quick test to see how you rate as a subject?"
"Sure."
"Put your elbow on your knee with your index finger pointing up. Now rest the palm of your other hand on that finger. Good. Now listen to what I say. Your hand is supported only by that finger. At the count of three, lower your arm quickly. One...two...three."
At the count of three he removed the supporting arm and his other arm fell heavily to his lap. "That's excellent. May I call you Andre. Perhaps your friends call you Andy."
He spoke softly, I think he was impressed with his own ability to concentrate and take orders. "Andy is what my Mom calls me. That's okay with me."
This little demonstration had quite an effect on him. He was subdued.
"You can see that you are an excellent subject, that means you have a good ability to concentrate and are intelligent. Everyone can be led into a trance, but some are very difficult. Now I see you nodded that you want to continue the treatment. I do not want you to stop smoking before we meet again. How is Friday around the same time? You can think about stopping, that will get you used to the idea. Incidentally, why did you decide to quit at this time?"
"My sex partner complains about my smelly breath. "
"That seems like the trigger, but you should do it for yourself, for your own health."
I noted that he did not reveal the sex of his partner and I never asked. As he was leaving, he mentioned to me with a smile that the founder of psychoanalysis, Freud, was a heavy cigar smoker. "Yes, that's was true. Did you know he died of cancer?"
On the appointed time Andy appeared in the waiting room. I had just ushered the previous patient out the side door in my office. It is better not to have patients meet each other. "Hi Andy, I see you dressed comfortably, tee shirt and shorts, good, we don't want restrictive clothing. Did you continue to smoke?"
"Yes, in fact I was about to light up in here, but I thought I'd ask permission first."
"I would like to see your actions in handling the cigar, so we can break down the familiar actions patterns and make them conscious. Come in and light up."
He sat opposite me, and extracted a cigar from the case. It was big and fat. He smelled it and smiled at me. "It's going to be hard to give it up."
"How much do they cost?"
"They're a luxury for me. About $3.00 each."
"What you going to do with all the money you save. $9.00 a day, $63.00 a week. You can eat out in some pretty fancy restaurant for what you save. Go ahead, light it."
He bit off a piece of the end. He took out a match and lit it carefully, turning the cigar in his mouth. His eyes looked distant. When he put it into his mouth, it seemed incongruous, so large an object in his baby face. He began to draw the smoke, suckling the cigar, like a prick, I thought, or a teat. "Were you breast fed as a baby?" I asked.
"I am not sure. I never asked Mom."
I clapped my hands. "Are you ready for a change?"
His eyes opened wide. "Yes I think so."
"Take the cigar out of your mouth and drop it in this glass of water."
He hesitated. I sharpened my voice. "Do it now."
His hands shook as he wasted the cigar. "Now take the remaining cigars in your case and crush them into pulp and drop them into this basket."
He obeyed, his eyes tearing slightly. These were his props, his smoke-breast. It was very hard for him to do. "Now look at me, right into my eyes."
I began the induction. I relaxed his body. He was a great subject. He had difficulty in keeping his eyes open even though I hadn't reached that part of the trance induction. His eyes were blinking rapidly; his face became slack, his mouth slightly open. "I am going to count to three. When I reach three you will be already heading for a deep sleep." I counted, even at two his head was sagging down. When I reached three he let out an audible sigh. I had never seen that before. His chin now was on his chest. I came forward and lifted his head. He was rigid and pale. "You may speak, but remain deeply asleep. Do you understand?"
He whispered yes.
I decided to press this spectacular control further. It was mad and I could lose my license and even face criminal charges, but I could not stop myself. "Andy, you are now a five years old boy." I could see the change in his face. His young man expression became a gentle boy's expression. "It is bath time. Do you want to play with your rubber-ducky?"
He giggled. "I will get you undressed." I lifted his arms and slipped his tee shirt off. When his arms were up I saw his dark armpit hair, wrong for a five year old. His arm-pit hair was moist, perhaps from nervousness earlier. The odor was intoxicating...very intimate and hot. His chest had a small patch of hair in the middle between his somewhat muscular pecs. He was a bit of a hairy boi. Yes, his arms and legs were decorated with glossy dark hair. When I removed his shorts and briefs, the hair was thick on his belly and pubes, surprisingly going from hip to hip. There was heavy hair on the inside of his thighs.
He sat sleeping in the chair. I mixed a bowl of warm soapy water and took a fresh safety razor and began. His hair came off like butter, leaving his skin smooth and glossy. Shaving around his hooded, five-inch soft penis took lots of care. I found that shaving away from the shaft helped. His balls were hairy and required even more care, but when I finished there was no hair to be seen except on his hair and his beard shadow.
During the shaving, he had a fixed, relaxed smile on his face, but when I finished he was shivering. I think he was chilled. I got a diaper from my locked cabinet and stood him up and wrapped it around his cute backside, took it around the front and closed the Velcro. I had a nice, large, white baby blanket that I covered him with. His face slipped into that serious child-like slumbering face. He slept so peacefully. I watched him worshipfully.
The only sound in the room my his soft regular breathing, but soon my own heavier breath began. He was turning me on to lustful heights, my prick was painfully hard inside my dress pants. Then I noticed that his curvy lips had puckered and were pushing in and out slightly. Perhaps deep in his subconscious he was desiring his fat cigar or maybe a childhood memory of the teat. In any event, I decided to satisfy both our cravings. I stood and dropped my pants and came over to the sleeping babe. I think he smelled my arousal, when my rampant cock and balls were with smelling range. His cute nose twitched and his lips puckered further, pushed out like a trumpet player. I put the moist head of my cock on his hot lips. He opened and began licking as my foreskin retreated, exposing the red, shiny knob. He swallowed the head, suckling gently. My head was spinning with the sensations he was producing. He lifted his head and allowed my prick to enter deep in his mouth. I felt his throat muscles caressing my shaft. I was fast moving toward ejaculation as a pulsating buzzing filled my consciousness. Suddenly I stiffened and let out a howl of triumph as my cock stiffed further and began hiccupping sperm. Heavy blasts filled Andy's sucking mouth and he swallowed like a hungry baby.
When I could deliver no more, my cock became too sensitive to remain in his hot mouth. I withdrew. Poor baby's diaper was standing out stiff and he rubbed it like it was wounded. I leaned down and opened his diaper. His naked, hairless penis was standing stiff and pulsing. I had a beautiful shape, curving gently upwards, his sheath retracted like a theater curtain, exposing his pink head with his piss hole opening and closing. I leaned down and took his boy cock in my mouth and began masturbating him with my eager mouth. Andy cooed in pleasure, his slim hips lifting for more pleasure, finally his cooing became grunts-little piggy grunts-as he surrendered to his inevitable orgasm. Then it came. He lifted his hips high and gasped loudly as he spew sweet milk into my mouth.
When he finished, I told him to relax and sleep. The sigh that followed showed he slipped into a deep trance. I dressed and sat back in my chair. After awhile he began making sounds, almost like crying sounds. I came over to him, and touched his moist forehead. "What's wrong little boy?"
"I wet."
I felt his diaper. Yes it was soaked. "Don't worry, Daddy will take care of little boy." I removed the soaked diaper and flushed it down the toilet and came back with a fresh one, lotion and powder. I wiped the whole area so he wouldn't develop itchies, lotioned him sweet-smelling cream, rubbed it in. I powdered his pert ass cheeks and rubbed it in the crack. He liked that from the cooing he made.
Now it was time to get to the reason Andy was here-to stop smoking. I gave the suggestions and the trigger to help him stop. Then I told him: "Andy, I am going to wake you. When you are fully awake, you will feel very happy and glad that you decided to stop smoking." I began counting backwards and in a moment he opened his adult-looking eyes and sophisticated mouth pursed as he looked down at his shaved, smooth belly and lifted his arms to see no pit hair. He smiled broadly at me.
"I look terrific. Sean will be somewhat puzzled. I'll tell him that I sent to a upscale metro-sexual barber shop. But the problem is that he likes to be the passive one and always wants me to dominate. He'll have to learn differently. Of course..." He looked at me and smiled, "I can come to you for fun."
I asked him if he was aware of what was going on. He told me, "Yes, I went in and out of the trance and I enjoyed what you were doing. I always wanted to be babied."
He got dressed but left the diaper on. I don't know how he would explain that to his BF.
End
There is a little of surrendering to process of hypnotism and that surely facilitated the hypnotists success in this event. Of course, it was his ability to recognize a diaper boy when he saw one that counted.