White Noise

White Noise, Part 2

z119z

© by the author 2015

I welcome comments. Please send them to z119z2000@yahoo.com. Thanks.

Chapter 3

"I've got the background check you requested on Mark Simmons." Michael Sorenson, who kept the books for Sandman Enterprises and its related companies, pulled a manila folder from his briefcase. He had to stand up to hand it to Kenneth Foster across his desk. As always he favored his left side, keeping as much weight as possible off his right leg. Sitting down took even more effort than standing up. Unlike the stools he used at home, which were high enough that he could perch on them, the chairs in Foster's office were at the standard height. He had to twist his body to the left and grasp the left arm of the chair tightly to support his body so that he could control his descent and prevent himself from flopping back into the chair. He hated how undignified that looked. He invariably ended up in some ungainly position and then had to struggle to right himself. If Jeff had been there, he would have guided his body into the chair, as he did when Michael had to get into a car or sit in a restaurant. The cabbie had been so unhelpful today. He had enjoyed watching Michael thrash about getting in and out of the cab. And he still had to take a taxi back to their apartment. If he had had a choice in the matter, he wouldn't have traveled to Foster's office, but Foster was so insistent on secrecy. He wouldn't let Michael fax the reports or send them by email or messenger them over. He insisted that Michael type up on the report on a word processor that wasn't connected to the Internet. He wanted only one hard copy to exist. After Michael printed the report out, he was under orders to delete the file from the computer and run the file through the shredding program. Then he had to hand-deliver the report in person.

Foster opened the folder and began reading. Michael waited patiently. He was used to waiting patiently. If necessary, he would wait all day. If Foster's reactions to past reports were any guide, Michael suspected that he would like what he found in the report on Simmons. As the person responsible for credit checks at Sandman Enterprises, it was easy for Michael to get financial and employment information on business firms, customers, and individuals that Foster took an interest in. Credit card companies and banks were so ready to supply information. Personnel departments had only to hear the phrase "loan application," and they disgorged employment and salary histories. Intimate personal facts used to be hard to obtain, but no longer. Young people especially posted such data on their Twitter and Facebook pages. Google searches led to all sorts of links.

Mark had been no different. It had taken Michael a few minutes to request the financial and employment records. A half-hour of browsing revealed all they needed to know about Mark's personal life. Even Mark's college records were available at a nominal price. He had ordered them from a service Sandman subscribed to. Michael suspected the data they supplied had been hacked from the college's servers. It didn't do to inquire too closely. The information in the folder Foster was reading had taken him less than two hours to compile. It had taken him almost as long to type it up and print it out. The process was so much easier and cheaper than hiring a private detective, and the inquiry would arouse no suspicions unless someone looked closely enough at his on-line activities to notice the focus on Simmons. But no one would do that. It was all routine. No one would know what he done except himself and Foster.

Mark's story was so ordinary. He was 25, and, as he had revealed while purchasing the white noise machine, he lived alone. He had majored in accounting at one of the small colleges upstate and gotten excellent grades. He was a mid-level employee at a large investment banker. He had begun as a trainee and steadily received what appeared to be minor promotions. He had no debts and lived modestly, well within his means. His parents were divorced. His father lived in California and was in contact only sporadically. His mother had remarried and moved to Atlanta. He was an only child, and to all appearances, he was dutiful rather than friendly toward either of his parents. Mark had some friends, but no one who seemed particularly close. He was gay but not active—most of his sexual activities were centered around browsing Internet dating and chat sites. In the report that Foster was now reading, Michael had characterized Mark's dating habits as "sporadic, cautious, and exploratory." Like many young people who came to the city, he seemed to be reveling in the freedom of being without relationships and demands on his emotions and time.

"Good work," said Kenneth Foster.

Michael glowed at the praise. He felt intense physical pleasure. Praise from Foster always made him feel good. It was just the way it was. Knowing that he had pleased Foster suddenly made the hassle of the trip over and back worthwhile.

"Mark is ideal for our purposes," Foster continued. "If we decide to make him into a unit, he won't be missed. I'd be surprised if anyone even realizes that he's gone missing. As long as he gives proper notice, the real estate firm that owns his apartment will consider him just another tenant that is moving elsewhere. The bank's rated him a good employee, but it won't think twice if he resigns because he's gotten a better job elsewhere. It'll be easy to replace him. His friends seem more acquaintances than intimates. If he proves suitable and we remove him to the training center for conditioning, they might wonder about him for a week or so but they'll soon forget him. His parents would, of course, be alarmed if he disappeared completely, but a few texts each month will allay any concerns they might have. Mark will simply tell them he has a new job and has moved."

Michael nodded his head in agreement. Foster wasn't really talking to him. He was one of those people who liked to think out loud. Evidently Foster found that things took on a greater reality when he spoke about them. And he knew that he could be absolutely certain of Michael's discretion. Michael wouldn't even discuss what he had said with Jeff. If it became necessary, Foster would discuss Mark with Jeff and tell him what to do. The only discussions he would have with Jeff on the subject of Mark Simmons would be those necessary to complete Mark's conversion. They never gossiped about their work for Foster. At most, they might ask "How was your day?" and answer "Busy" or "Good. I got a lot done."

Mr. Foster steepled his hands and leaned back in his chair. "This is promising, very promising. Now we just have to see how malleable the young man is."

"It won't hurt, will it, Doctor?"

"No, just a little prick. You won't feel a thing." Ever again, he added to himself. They always called him doctor. It was the white coat and the stethoscope around his neck. The stethoscope had been his idea. Some members of the first few groups had been hesitant to trust him when they saw that he was going to give them a shot. Once he had added the stethoscope, everyone accepted him as a doctor. It was quite funny. He didn't even really know how to use it. Sometimes just to amuse himself, he would press the round thingy against the testee's chest and pretend to listen. But he never put the earpieces in, and no one ever pointed that out. He was a doctor. They assumed that he knew what he was doing.

He couldn't understand why they asked if the needle would hurt. Most of these guys had stuck so many needles in their arms, one more shouldn't matter. But they worried about it. The free clinic seemed to attract nothing but drug users. At least that was all they ever sent in to see him. Maybe there were doctors, real doctors, elsewhere in the building who were treating real patients. He didn't know. He entered by the back door and left by it. No one except the testees ever saw him.

The testees were told that they were participating in an experiment. The twenty dollars they were promised was sufficient to ensure a steady supply of applicants. Others did the initial screening and sent those who qualified to see him. They were told to take a shower and then given a clean set of new clothes and shoes to wear. Their old clothes were put in a bag, and they were told they could change back into them after the examination was over if they wanted. New clothes could be pawned or traded. They were valuable. The guys probably thought they were doubly lucky. Twenty dollars and new clothes that were as good as money. The waiting room they were stashed in until he could see them had a big color TV and trays of sandwiches and cookies. When they shuffled into the waiting room, all of them clutched the bag that held their old clothes as if it were filled with precious things and their pockets were stuffed with food for later. He had gotten used to it. He assumed that after he had finished with them, the people who removed the testees burned the old clothes. He didn't know what happened to the food. The testees still had to eat. Maybe their minders told them to eat it. Waste not, want not. They were certainly cheap enough in his experience. They wouldn't let the food go to waste.

"It's just a vitamin shot, a Vitamin-B shot," he told them. "To build up your immunity and keep you from getting sick." Well, diseases they had, in plenty. He always wore two pairs of gloves and a mask across his face. Even then, he touched them as little as possible. He swabbed alcohol across the man's arm, and then jabbed the needle in. The man winced. He didn't care. A few seconds from now, the man wouldn't care.

He liked to watch. He counted off the seconds in his mind. Sometimes the testee would gibber on. He never paid any attention. He attached no meaning to their last words. Their last free words, that is. Once the drug took over, they would speak only to answer questions or to acknowledge an order. He liked it much better that way. They were so boring. Before the shot, some of them tried to interest him in their pathetic lives. He hated it when he had to pretend to be interested. But it was important not to alarm them. "Keep them calm," they had told him. "We don't want anyone deciding something strange is going on. Just let them think they're getting a vitamin shot." But, really, sometimes he had to force himself to deal with them. Most of them were so dirty, and they stank. Despite the shower and the new clothes, he was willing to bet that none of them really scrubbed himself clean. Who knew what diseases they had? Not to mention fleas and lice. He was glad that once he gave them the shot, he could step away from them.

There now. Only twelve seconds this time. The lights were dimming. The guy was going blank. All his facial muscles relaxed. Not that that improved his looks. This one was a horror. The skin on his face looked like it had been burnt. All red and furrowed with thick scars.

The instructions that came with the latest version of the drug said to wait a full minute before beginning the test protocols. The first injection held only a small amount of the drug this time, less than one mg mixed in ten cc of distilled water, he had been told. He knew that they had been playing with quantities and the mix of chemicals that went into the drug. All the previous versions had made the testees compliant and incapable of independent action. It wasn't the result they wanted. They wanted people who were happy to obey orders and not cause problems, but they didn't want total zombies who forgot to eat if they weren't told to do so.

He was never quite sure why they had him asked this set of questions. Not that it mattered to him. Twenty questions. He checked to make sure the camera was on and recording.

"What is your name?"

"Joe Williams."

He checked the response against the record on his computer. It matched. "That is no longer your name. Your new name is B2-170a. What is your name?"

"B2 dash 170a."

He asked the rest of the questions on the list and corrected B2-170a's responses. When he finished asking the set of questions, he asked them again. B2-170a responded exactly as he had been instructed. So far, so good.

"And, finally, I want to know if it is raining outside. You want to answer my question. What do you do?"

"I would walk to the window in the main lobby and check to see whether it was raining or not and then come back and tell you."

He gaped in surprise. The man was the first testee who had answered the question. Usually they sat unmoving, staring blankly ahead. Totally clueless. As long as you told them what to do, they were fine. Ask them to make a decision for themselves and they were helpless. If he had told one of them to walk to the reception area, check to see if it was raining, and then come back and report to him, the man would have done it. But ask them to come up with a means of answering the question on their own initiative, and they would be lost. Free will erased.

He was excited. Finally some progress. They would be so pleased. He typed the man's response into the space provided on the questionnaire. Of course, they would see it when they reviewed the tapes. "Good. Very good." He was so grateful to the man that he felt obliged to say something encouraging to him. This meant he could move forward with his own plans. Move beyond the manimals.

He was through with this testee. He opened the back door to the examination room and motioned to the guard. He wasn't sure, but he thought the guard was one of those he had injected in one of the early groups. He had the drugged lifeless look of one of the early testees. He had been programmed to do the simple task of escorting those who had received the drug and been tested to the van that waited to transport them to the next stage of their life. He waited until the two men had left and then opened the door to the waiting room. He looked down at the screen and called out the name of the next testee. For the first time in weeks, he was quite looking forward to processing the rest of the batch.

"He's ready, don't you think?" Jeff Ange pointed at the computer record of Mark's use of the machine. "It's been two weeks. Look. He set the machine at the highest level the third night, and he's used the machine at the top setting every night since. He's hooked."

Kenneth Foster examined the log of Mark's use of the Sandman 2100. A chip in the machine tracked when it was turned on and off and sent the data to Foster's office. "I think you're right. If he's not prepped now, he never will be." Foster turned to his computer and typed in a command. "Schedule a contact for a month from now. Put it on your calendar. We'll see if Mark's ready then for the next steps."

Three miles away, the programming chip in Mark's Sandman 2100 received a command. That night a half-hour after Mark turned it on, it began broadcasting subliminal messages. Nothing elaborate at first, just suggestions that Mark found the unit very effective, that he was sleeping deeply, that he woke up feeling great, and that he enjoyed using the machine. Several hundred times a night, he heard the message, "You enjoy using the Sandman 2100. It makes you feel so very good. You feel so relaxed. You are so deeply asleep. Just listen to the waves of sound and relax. It feels so good just to relax and sleep. Just listen and relax." Over and over the message played into his room. A low binaural beat beneath the basic sound of the Sandman unit and the message taught Mark to associate this basic sound with relaxation. After a week or so, Mark's breathing slowed to the pace of the binaural wave. Within another week, his heartbeat and even his brain waves came to match the rhythm.

The email arrived a month after the subliminal messages began. When Mark saw that the message originated from Foster's Sandman Shop, a feeling of elation swept through him. He didn't stop to wonder at the joy and happiness surging into his mind. Anything associated with the Sandman 2100 made him happy. It was just how things were. It just felt natural to enjoy receiving a message from the Sandman Shop. He was so grateful to the machine for making him feel so good. He was doubly glad to find that Jeff, the clerk at the store, had sent the message. He hadn't forgotten Jeff and his easy, confident masculinity. A picture of Jeff popped into his mind, and Mark devoted a few moments to imagining what he would like Jeff to do to him. His version of Jeff was so strong, so demanding, yet he was tender too. Mark was certain of that. He closed his eyes, and focused on the most arousing of the images. His fingers sought out his nipples, and he gave himself over to the pleasures of stroking them while thinking of Jeff. Jeff would have beautiful pecs crowned by luscious suckable nipples. They would feel so hard between his lips. Jeff would guide his lips to lick and suck first one nipple and then the other. Jeff's moans would fill his ears as Jeff's hard pecs . . .

Mark took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Later, he would think of this later. It was too bad he didn't have a picture of Jeff. He had checked the website of Foster's Sandman shop for one, but had no luck. The only pictures were of items for sale online. Maybe he should visit the store again. He could use his phone to take a picture. But that might be too obvious. Jeff might not like it. Or he could wait outside for the store to close and then take a picture from across the street. Of course, it wouldn't be a close-up, but anything was better than nothing. Could he ask Jeff for a date? Well, maybe not a date. He didn't know if Jeff was gay. That might just be wishful thinking. Coffee was always good. It didn't have to mean anything more than a friendly gesture. Ask Jeff to meet over coffee to discuss something, something harmless sounding. Then he could ask careful questions to determine if Jeff might be interested in a date.

Attached to the email was a customer satisfaction survey. Jeff asked Mark to take a few minutes to fill it out. Mark was only too glad to help. He reported that he was highly satisfied with the Sandman 2100, and his comments were a glowing testament to its effectiveness. He had "never had a better night's sleep"; he "felt wonderful in the morning." A few hours later, Jeff sent a text thanking Mark for his reply, said that he was glad he found the white noise machine so useful, and then, casually, as if it were an afterthought, asked whether Mark was using the blue crystal.

That night a new passage in the machine's subliminal message added the thought that Mark should being using the crystal. It would help him relax. As he watched the crystal, he would feel so tired, and his body would feel so heavy. He would feel so warm and so comfortable and so safe, so clear, so empty, so relaxed. so wonderful.

Three nights later, as Mark was preparing for bed, he saw the crystal lying on his nightstand. He picked it up by the chain and swung it in front of his face. Strange how it caught the light. As he stared at it, the crystal grew larger and larger until it filled his vision. He knew that it wasn't really that large. For a moment he feared that something had gone wrong with his vision, but the spike of alarm disappeared instantly as a wave of soothing acceptance flowed through his body and mind.

Nothing to worry about. Feeling so good. So calm. So peaceful. At ease with yourself and the world.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Mark hung the crystal from a bracket holding the shelf above his bed and adjusted it so that it swung just above his eyes when he lay down. He remembered Mr. Foster saying that the crystal worked best when used with the machine, and so he turned the Sandman 2100 on. What he had come to think of as the comforting rush of sound from the Sandman 2100 filled the room and blanketed all other noise. It really was so easy to listen to the machine. There was a slight pulsing sound to the white noise. Occasionally it was almost as if there were words being spoken. At the beginning Mark had wondered if his mind was trying to transform the noise into meaningful sounds. Perhaps the machine used human voices as part of the background noise. That would make sense, to use voices to mask other voices. He no longer thought about the machine and the sound it produced, however. It had become a necessary part of his life, but he wasn't aware of that either.

Pleasure. Listening to the sound brings you pleasure. The sound makes you feel so good, so relaxed, so wonderful. Nothing has ever made you feel this good. Nothing else can make you feel so good, so relaxed, so wonderful. So satisfied.

The crystal swung slowly over his face. Without thinking about it, Mark's eyes tracked as it revolved and swayed back and forth.

Relax and just watch the crystal.

As soon as the voice inside his head spoke, his body relaxed. He was so tired, his body felt so heavy. He was so warm and comfortable. The voice in the crystal, Jeff's voice, filled his mind. His will drained away. He was as clear and empty as the crystal, receptive to the voice programming his mind with new thoughts.

Deep, deep sleep. You will wake up tomorrow morning, feeling alert and refreshed, better than you have ever felt before. Deep, deep sleep. Your unconscious mind listens to my voice. Sleep now and dream.

When Mark awoke the next morning, he saw the crystal above his head. He decided that he would use it again. He would use it every night. It felt so good and so right to use the blue crystal and to stare into its depths and let his mind empty and become quiet, so good, so right, so accepting, so obedient, so anxious to please the voice, so hungry to obey the voice.

Mark couldn't wait to tell his new friend and confidant Jeff that he had begun using the blue crystal. The two young men began exchanging daily texts about Mark's progress with the crystal. On his mid-morning coffee break one day, Mark received the message "Sent email w link to nu program we r testing. Pls try it when u get home. Let me no what u think. U will enjoy it." Mark could barely focus on his work the rest of the day. He left at 5:00 and rushed back to apartment and switched on his laptop as soon as he was in the door. He waited impatiently for the programs to load and then logged on to his email account. He found the message from Jeff and clicked on the link.

A message appeared on the screen thanking him for helping beta-test a new Foster Enterprises product, a concentration program designed to improve performance both professionally and personally. After a half-minute, a video presentation began. To Mark's delight, Jeff appeared on the screen. It was the first time Mark had seen Jeff since the day in the shop. The image excited him. Jeff was even sexier than he remembered. He sat on a high stool before a dark grey backdrop, with his right foot on a rung of the stool and the tip of his left foot on the floor. His hands rested casually on his thighs. He looked so relaxed and confident and yet so open too. Jeff invited him to sit back, relax, and watch the screen for a few minutes. When Jeff instructed him to turn off the lights in the room and then make himself comfortable, he lunged for the light switch and then hurriedly sat down before his laptop again.

It felt so good to sit before the screen and help Jeff with his new project. The intensity of the colors on the screen began to pulse. The images slowly blurred and then gradually resharpened. Mark unconsciously leaned forward toward the screen and focused on the succession of pictures. In the soft, pleasant voice Mark remembered, Jeff suggested that he concentrate on the middle of the screen. Images floated across the screen, barely discernable against the background. The colors faded to be replaced by an eddying swirl of soft blue, much like the color of the sky on a summer's day. The voice suggested that he imagine himself lying on a beach. The sand was so warm beneath his body. It was firm yet yielding and cradled his body as it sank halfway into the warm sand. The sun shone softly on his body, warming it and relaxing it. A soft breeze played across his body, stirring the fine hairs on his forearms and legs. In the distance he heard the sound of the waves falling on the beach. Water surged up onto the sand, foaming and rushing up, hissing and bubbling as it crested and then receded. The sand was wet and then dried out as the water sank into it before the next wave came in. In the distance a bird called out. The sun penetrated his body, warming him down to the center of his bones. His body relaxed, his muscles melting in the sun, so comfortable, so warm, so relaxed, so tired.

Just listen to the waves and watch the bird gliding on the wind. Watch how the bird rises and falls on the wind, with barely a movement of its wings, tilting to the left and to the right to catch the currents of the wind. So free, so effortless, just borne by the wind, rising and falling on the wind. So warm so comfortable so relaxed so tired so free. So warm so comfortable so relaxed so tired so free so at peace. You feel so wonderful. Just watch the bird and let yourself float on the wind. So free so at peace so relaxed just borne up by the wind warm in the sun. Just listen to my voice and watch the blue crystal as it catches the light. So warm so comfortable so at peace so safe so tired so relaxed. Just listen to my voice and watch the blue crystal on the screen. Watch it revolve, watch it catch the light.

Mark sat in front of his computer for three hours that night, listening to the message over and over. At the end of that time, a signal sent from the computer in the main offices of Sandman Enterprises terminated the session. A message on the screen told Mark to go to bed.

Mark would watch the program nightly for the next several weeks. He became so devoted to watching it that Jeff had to instruct him to remember to eat dinner before sitting down in front of his computer and watching the series of training files.

Mr. Foster was more than satisfied with Mark's responses to the programming.

Chapter 4

"Cough."

Doctor Arkin pressed the stethoscope against Mark's back just below the left shoulder. "And again."

Mark had never had such a complete physical examination in his life. He had spent the previous two evenings sitting before his computer filling out an exhaustive questionnaire about his medical history. The appointment had started at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and he had been warned that it would take most of the day. He seemed to be the only patient in the office. He had already been there for over three hours, and so far a lab technician had drawn several vials of blood samples and gave him a cup to pee in. A male nurse had given him an EKG, both before and after he had ridden a stationary bicycle for fifteen minutes at top speed. He had run on a treadmill with a breathing apparatus covering his mouth and nose and electrodes attached to his body. He had been put through a series of basic body-weight exercises. He had bench-pressed 25 kilograms ten times and done bicep curls with 10-kilogram weights. He had pushed and pulled and squeezed various devices to test his physical strength, and he had been put through a series of what looked like yoga exercises to test his flexibility and balance. A dentist had checked his teeth. And now he was being poked and prodded by this Doctor Arkin, who was finally performing the tests Mark associated with the phrase "physical exam."

The man who had interviewed him had mentioned that the company provided full medical and dental care for its employees. At least he thought that's what the man had said. The details of the interview were hazy. In fact, now that he thought of it, he really didn't know too much about the new job. He was sure that he had been told about it, but his memory didn't seem to be functioning well this morning. He hadn't eaten since 6:00 p.m. the previous day. Maybe his blood sugar was low. Plus, all those exercises must have worn him out. He really hoped he got this job. Just thinking about it made him feel so good. He was really looking forward to working for—What was the name of the company? Jeez, his memory was so bad. He couldn't remember anything.

"Good. Now again."

Mark glanced at the doctor. He had almost forgotten about him and where he was. The doctor was wearing a blue crystal around his neck.

"Just relax, Mark. Cough for me. Nothing to worry about. You enjoy being here."

He did. He did enjoy being there. It felt so good to perform all these tests.

"Bend over. That's a good boy."

Yes, that felt so good. Mark closed his eyes and let the sensation of Doctor Arkin's probing finger fill him with happiness.

"Good boy. Now lie down on the examination table. Just relax. We have one final test to run, and then you can get cleaned up, and we'll take you home."

Mark lay down on the padded table. The paper covering wrinkled as he shifted about to find a comfortable position, and Doctor Arkin adjusted the top part so that Mark's head rested securely in the padded neck brace. A technician entered the room and fastened electrodes to Mark's body.

"Now, just relax. Try to stay soft and limp." Mark had to concentrate on staying soft and limp as the technician slathered gel on Mark's penis and then inserted it into a flexible rubber hose that fit closely over the penis. Mark noted with satisfaction that he was following the technician's instructions. A few weeks ago he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from becoming aroused if someone had manipulated his cock as the technician was doing. But the nightly sessions with Jeff's course on concentration had taught him to control his physical responses. He still had to concentrate hard to keep from being aroused—he hadn't as yet reached the point where he could do so effortlessly—but he was succeeding.

"Now, one more step and we'll be ready to start." The technician held a pair of virtual reality goggles in his hands. They looked like the ones in Foster's Sandman Shop. "If you would just lift your head a bit so that I can slip this strap behind your head. Good. That's perfect. Are the goggles and earphones comfortable?"

"Yes. They're fine." The padded surfaces felt cool and smooth against Mark's skin. His voice sounded odd to him, as if he had a bad cold and his ears were stuffed. The earphones cut off all sound from outside. A uniformly blue screen appeared before his eyes as the goggles activated. It was the same color blue as the crystal.

"Now you're going to see and hear a succession of visual and auditory stimuli. Just relax. Don't guide your responses to them. Just focus on what you're seeing and hearing. Don't think about anything else."

On the screens in the goggles, a wave gently foamed across an expanse of golden sand. As it receded, the color of the sand changed from dark brown back to tan as the water sank into it. Wave after wave lazily bubbled across the sand, smoothing it out. The sounds of the seashore filled Mark's ears. Mark breathed slowly in and out in time with the rhythm of the waves. The Sandman programming had brought him to the point that he didn't need to hear Jeff's voice telling him to relax beneath the warm sun, to let his body relax and melt. The breeze played across his tanned body, ruffling the fine hair on his forearms and calves. In the distance birds called. A gull drifted across the waves, rising and falling on the currents of air. Mark lay back on the sand and momentarily joined with the bird, floating above the waves. The air felt solid beneath his wings, supporting him and wafting him up and down. He relaxed. His mind emptied.

The man came from behind him and walked past him. He was finely muscled, dark haired, his skin golden in the sunlight. He wore boardies in a bright blue Hawaiian floral print. As he strode across the beach and dived into the water, the muscles rippled beneath his skin. He pulled his body through the waves with powerful strokes of his arms and kicks of his legs.

The man walked into Mark's field of vision from the left. He wore blue Speedos. The deep gulf between his buttocks was visible above the top of the swimsuit. His buttocks swelled and relaxed as he walked down to the waves. When he turned and walked back, Mark could see that the Speedos strained to contain the bulge of his cock and balls. He passed Mark closely enough that Mark could hear the sand crunching beneath his feet.

The man chased a volleyball that had escaped the confines of the game being played off to Mark's right. He wore a blue thong. The muscles in his thighs and buttocks stretched and contracted as he raced past. With an exultant cry, he scooped the ball up just before it entered the water and charged back toward his friends. The pouch of the thong jutted out before his groin, pulling the thong away from his body. A dark line of trimmed pubic hair was visible above the thong.

The man stood before Mark. He was naked. His hands caressed Mark's body as he knelt between Mark's legs. He bent forward. His tongue licked the inside of Mark's thighs. Slowly he moved upward, kissing and licking Mark. His fingers found Mark's nipples and began stroking them.

The other men knelt over Mark and began touching him, kissing him, sucking him. The individual sensations merged into an arc of pleasure, arousing him. Bliss overwhelmed his mind. He no longer thought. He was simply part of something that shimmered with pure pleasure.

"Can I get you something before we start? Another beer?"

"No, I'm fine for now. I've still got half a bottle. Maybe later."

"Popcorn?"

"Of course. What would movie night be without popcorn? Is there any of that kind with the cheese flavor left?"

"Let me check. Yes, there is. You're in luck." From the kitchen came the sound of the microwave door opening and closing and the beeps of Michael setting the time. "What's this movie about?"

"It's called Weekend. It's British, I think. It won all sorts of awards at gay film festivals. Can I help with anything?"

"No. I've got everything covered, Jeff." Michael appeared in the doorway to the kitchen holding two small bowls for the popcorn and a stack of paper napkins in his left hand. Using his cane, he hobbled over to the coffee table and set them down and then walked back into the kitchen.

I should know better than to ask by now, thought Jeff. Michael never admits that he needs help. He wants to be so independent. I wish he would let me help him. He's really leaning on his cane tonight. His leg must be bothering him.

"I hope it's got some content and it's not just the usual gay rom-com with pretty boys taking their shirts off at the slightest excuse." Michael came back into the living room with a bottle of beer for himself.

"Take a look at the lead actors."

Michael looked critically at the pictures of the actors on the screen.

"They're not exactly pretty, are they?" said Jeff.

"Good. There's room for only one pretty guy in this apartment."

"Who are you calling pretty? I'm a sexy, macho stud, not some pretty little twink."

"I was talking about myself." Michael set his beer on the side table at his end of the couch and maneuvered himself down. "There. I'm all set. Can you get the popcorn when it's ready? Oh, that guy's kinda sexy. Reminds me of you. What's his name?"

"I'm not going to tell you. You don't need to know his name. There's room for only one sexy guy in this apartment." Jeff punched Michael lightly on the arm.

"Me, you mean?"

"You just said you were the pretty guy. That makes me the sexy guy."

"You wish. I'm both pretty and sexy."

"Well, you're pretty sexy. There's the popcorn. Back in a sex. Sec. Back in a sec."

"Maybe we should watch this movie with you in the nude."

"What about you?"

"Well, I'm not the one who's going to be staining his underpants. You know what you're like when you get close to sexy guys like me."

Jeff set the popcorn down on the coffee table. He filled a bowl for Michael and handed it to him. He sat down beside Michael, leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and supported his face with his hands. He held that position for a few second and then without looking at Michael, he said, "Yeah, I do know what I'm like when I get close to you. Sometimes I get aroused and I stain my underpants. And sometimes I just turn to mush and I feel so good, like I'm the luckiest guy in the world, and it's like there's there would be this awful empty space inside me if you weren't around, and . . ."

Michael put his hand on Jeff's back and rubbed it. "I love you too."

"I know. And I love you." Jeff picked up the remote. "Do you still want to watch the movie? We can see it later. After."

"Or we could watch the movie now and do what you're thinking later. After. We made popcorn. I just opened a bottle of beer. We don't want them to go to waste. After can wait. There will always be an after. It won't spoil if we wait for it."

An hour and a half later, Jeff turned off the TV. Shortly after the movie began, his head had come to rest on Michael's shoulder and Michael's arm had insinuated itself across his back. Later, his head slid down Michael's chest until it was pillowed on Michael's left thigh, the good one. When the movie ended, his face was turned away from Michael. He quickly wiped away the tear that threatened to slide down his cheeks when he sat up. "That was sad, wasn't it?"

"But sad in a good way," said Michael. "The two of them aren't going to see each other ever again, but they aren't going to go back to being what they were before they met. Russell's not going to be satisfied now with casual sex. He's going to want someone like Glen."

"He's going to want what we have, you mean?"

"Yeah. He's going to want what we have, Jeff."

"Look at the read-outs. His third orgasm was even stronger than the first one." Kenneth Foster pointed at the electronic record of Mark's arousal. On the monitors, Mark writhed on the examination table, his cock rigid and hard within the rubber sheath.

"Not much cum, though."

"Not everyone can be like you, Jeff. We'll just have to accept that Mark's average in the ejaculate department. About what you'd expect the first time, less the second time, almost nothing the third time. Still, I don't think any client would complain."

"You're considering training him then?"

"Yes, if he passes the next test. I've gone as far as I can go with that special order I've been conditioning. I'm sending her back to the client. Remind me never to agree to do that again. If you see me weakening, you have my permission to shoot me. Anyway, I have the time to train another unit." Foster opened the doctor's report again. "According to Arkin, Mark's a healthy young male. No diseases or physical problems. Arkin thinks it won't take many visits to the gym to get his body into better shape. The basic structure is there. It just needs to be toned a bit. So if Mark passes the final test, we can start him with Joe and the others. Anything else we need to discuss today?"

Jeff handed him a list. "These are the visits with the clients and units I have scheduled for next week. I'm a bit worried about Mrs. Coughlin. Her unit has reported that she seems dissatisfied. I'll check, but we may need to bring her in for a refresher course."

Perhaps, Kenneth Foster told himself, he was being overly punctilious, perhaps it served only to salve his conscience, but he always invited an "applicant" to choose whether to proceed with the training. So far, none—he was pleased to observe—had declined the invitation to continue the transformation. Like all applicants who had passed the medical exam and were ready to take the next step, Mark received a formal invitation in the mail to join a special evening meeting at Foster's Sandman Shop. The invitation did not mention that if he accepted, he would be the only "guest" at the meeting. And accept he did, with alacrity.

Mark arrived on time. By a fortunate coincidence, it was a cold, rainy night. That made the interior of Foster's Sandman Shop seem even warmer and more inviting. If Mark was surprised to find himself the only person besides Kenneth Foster and Jeff present, he said nothing. His pleasure at seeing both of them again drove all other thoughts from his mind.

The back room was lit only by a dim lamp in a far corner. Once again, the round table in the middle of the room supported a large blue crystal positioned so that it caught the light and focused it. Jeff guided Mark to a chair facing the crystal, with the lamp off to the side. That way Mark saw only the crystal glowing with an inner light against a dark background. Foster turned on a Sandman 2100 unit. By now Mark strongly associated the machine with relaxation and sleep. It also covered up all street noises.

"Take a moment to make yourself comfortable, Mark. Just close your eyes for a few seconds and relax. You know how to relax. You have done this many times. Just imagine yourself at the beach, the sound of the waves in the background, the bird floating in the air against the blue sky. Open your mind, and let my words sink gently into it." Foster took Mark through the familiar sequence of imagining his body melting in the warm sun and then floating on the wind. His body relaxed quickly and soon he was deeply entranced.

"Now, Mark, in a minute I am going to count one, two, three.' When I reach the number three,' your eyelids will drift open. Let them gently open by themselves when I say `three.' But even though your eyes are open, your body will remain deeply relaxed. I will continue to speak. Just rest your focus on what I am saying and follow along. As I speak, you will feel very warm and comfortable, very relaxed. Just follow my words and let yourself do what I say. My voice makes you feel so relaxed and comfortable, so warm, so safe. Just follow along and let my voice guide you.

"Now I am going to count to three, and when I say `three,' your eyelids will open gently. One. Two. Three. Your eyelids drift open. You feel so relaxed and so comfortable. Rest your eyes on the crystal. That's all you have to do. Just look at the crystal. Focus on it. Relax and focus on it. It is so beautiful. It's so easy to look at it. Notice how it catches the light. It is so deep, so welcoming. Just relax and focus on it. Let yourself enter the crystal and become part of it. Empty, calm, serene. There is only the peace and warmth and comfort of the crystal filling your mind now. Nothing else. Listen to my voice and gaze deeply into the crystal. You have done very well so far, Mark, but now it is important that you do even better. The desire to become a servant of the crystal is so strong within you now, Mark, you want to merge with it and become part of it. Empty, calm, serene, wanting to please in all ways, Mark. Every time you look at a blue crystal, this feeling will return to you. It will be so important to you to please and obey the person holding the crystal. You will devote all your energies to pleasing and obeying that person, Mark. Your own mind, your own desires, cease to be important. They are obliterated now. Pleasing, obeying, satisfying the holder of the blue crystal, that is all you can think of. Those thoughts fill your mind now. Just pleasing, obeying, satisfying the person holding the blue crystal. . . ."

Foster continued in this vein for several minutes, reinforcing the link between the blue crystal and Mark's desire to please. The next part of the session was a test of control over both his body and his mind, as well as an important step in training him to associate obedience and submission with rewards. Sexual pleasure was one of the strongest physical and psychological forces. Mark's training had conditioned him to feel pleasure in compliance. The next step was to turn that pleasure into a tool of control.

"Mark, you will stand up. Jeff will help you undress. Just let Jeff undress you. You are so comfortable, so warm, so relaxed. Just listen to my words and follow along with me. Rest your eyes on the crystal and relax. So warm, so relaxed. Just follow along. Jeff has unlaced your shoes, raise your right foot and let him remove that shoe. Now your left foot. Good, Mark, So good. Just relax and listen to my voice." Other than moving his arms and legs briefly to allow his jeans and shirt to be removed, Mark remained still and quiet, his attention focused entirely on the crystal. When Jeff started to pull his T-shirt off, he raised his arms without hesitation. His briefs and socks followed.

"Now, Mark, I want you to look at the crystal. Your mind is as clear and empty as that crystal. My words fill your mind. They are the only thoughts in your mind now. And it feels so good to have my words fill your mind and body. Your body is so relaxed. It is relaxed in place. You don't want to move. You feel so good. It is so peaceful and warm and comfortable just to stand there, motionless. We are very pleased with you, Mark. Just continue to listen to my voice and follow along.

"Your nipples become more and more sensitive with every word I say. They become more and more sensitive as my words fill you. The more you empty your mind, the more sensitive your nipples become. The more you stand without moving, the more sensitive your nipples become. Even the motion of the air across your nipples makes you feel so good. So good, so empty, so relaxed, so good.

"Now, as Jeff strokes your nipples, a warm, pleasant, wonderful sensation fills your chest. It feels so good. Just relax and let the feeling spread throughout your entire body. It feels so good just to relax and let this feeling spread throughout your entire body. Your chest, your stomach, your arms, your legs, your entire body warm and comfortable. A wave of pleasure filling your entire body. And that pleasure gets stronger and stronger the more you relax, the more frozen your body becomes. We are very pleased with your obedience, Mark, and this is your reward. The more obedient you become, the more pleasures we will give you. The more obedient you become, the stronger the pleasures you will receive. It's so easy to be obedient and let the waves of pleasure fill you. So pleasant, so safe, so warm, so relaxed.

"Now I will show you the rewards of obedience and submission, Mark. As Jeff strokes your nipples, your groin grows hotter and hotter. Your entire body is frozen, your eyes glued to the crystal, but now your cock begins to grow harder and harder. The pleasure you feel as Jeff strokes your nipples is now concentrated in your cock. It becomes erect. It has never been so erect before. It is so hard. It feels so wonderful. You have never felt this good before. In a moment, I am going to count backwards from ten to one. When I reach one, you will have an orgasm, the best orgasm you have ever had in your life. But the only way that you can have this orgasm is to submit to me and obey me. Only through submission and obedience can you have an orgasm. You feel so good. The pressure is building inside your cock. You want to have an orgasm. And you will have an orgasm by submitting to me and obeying me.

"Ten. The pleasure is growing and growing as Jeff strokes your nipples. Your entire body is hard and rigid. You cannot move. Listen to my words as they guide you to the ultimate orgasm.

"Nine. You feel so good. Obedience and submission make you feel so good. Your entire body is filled with pleasure. Your cock is hard and rigid.

"Eight. The feelings grow more and more intense. Your body is rigid. You feel nothing but the force of the waves of pleasure that come from Jeff's fingers as they stroke your nipples. The pleasure flows to your cock and makes it harder and harder.

"Seven. You can feel the cum rising in your cock. It feels like you are about to explode in an orgasm. Your entire mind and body are focused on the feelings in your cock. The feelings grow stronger and stronger, and when I say the final number, your body will orgasm. Your entire body, Your entire mind. All of you will orgasm. The strongest orgasm in your life.

"Six. The feeling in your cock is so intense. You think only of the pleasures of submission and obedience. Only through obedience can you experience total orgasm. Only submission makes you feel this good. Only submission and obedience can make you experience orgasm now.

"Five. Submit and obey. Feel the orgasm building in your body as you submit and obey.

"Four. The feelings stronger and stronger. Your entire body is rigid. You cannot move. Focus on the feelings in your cock. You have never felt this good before. Only obedience and submission can make you feel this good.

"Three. You are getting closer and closer to orgasm. When you cum, you will immediately relax. Your body will collapse into a state of total obedience and submission. Jeff will support you. Jeff will hold you. Obedience and submission are your only thoughts now. You think only of obeying and submitting.

"Two. Almost there. Obedience. Submission. Orgasm. Feel the cum rising in your cock. It is at the tip of your penis. You will cum when I say the next number. Think only of obedience and submission and orgasm.

"One."

As commanded, Mark exploded in an orgasm. His body slumped into Jeff's arms as the cum spurted out of him. Foster waited until the final drops oozed out of Mark before continuing. "Relax and sleep, Mark. Jeff will guide your body back into the chair. You are so tired. Just sleep. We are very happy with you. You have pleased us very much. We will take you back to this place over and over again. Remember, obedience and submission make you feel so good. Only obedience and submission make you feel this good."

Most likely Mark did not realize that his arrival that evening at Foster's Sandman Shop was a landmark moment in his life. He had made his last independent decision.

Foster let Mark sleep for half an hour before taking him back into a trance. His full-time training had begun. When he was satisfied that Mark was primed to become a unit, he sent Mark home.

As Foster was preparing to leave, he said to Jeff, "Alert Joe that he's got a new client. Tell him that we want good definition and a bit more bulk, but not a muscleman. The All-American Boy look this time. As for young Mr. Simmons, I think it's time he quit his job and began working full-time for us. Get Michael to give him some accounting work to keep him busy. And we need to schedule sessions for training in grooming. Do you think it's too soon to bring in Jason?"

Jeff looked up from the notes he was entering on his tablet. "Perhaps after Joe's seen him and got him started. Maybe give Mark a couple of weeks to settle in before we have him meet with Jason. Mark's still got a few indoctrination sessions."

"OK. Good work tonight, Jeff. I'm very pleased with you. Reward yourself."

Jeff's mind filled with thoughts of Michael.