The Hypnotherapist Trilogy Ch. 01

Alexis had come to me sometime in mid-October. The generally feeling was this wasn't a serious case, that was why she was seeing me after all, but her grades had fallen seriously over the past year and her RA suspected depression. At the time I'd thumbed through her file. Age 20, sophomore. Originally from Seattle, came to Boulder on a full ride academic scholarship. Played one year of tennis for CU. Nothing unusual in her medical history.

The only thing that caught my eye as being out of the normal was a hand-written scrawl at the bottom of the page: "4/14 – Requested prescription for Claritin and was informed that Doctor Aldridge would see her. She was unaware that filling a new prescription required a check up. Informed her that it was the Student Medical Center's policy to require a checkup on file before any issuance of prescriptions. Patient nodded and sat back down. I was distracted by a phone call but later when I looked up, I saw she had left."

Shy around doctors, I noted in my pad; very understandable and it would help dictate how I would handle our session. The general idea is to be as welcoming and as non-judgmental as possible, but with certain clients it was best to work the session more as an amiable conversation between equals rather than the classic psychologist-patient relationship. Y'know, the old cliche with the wizened old Freudian psychoanalyst sitting rigid and cross-legged in his stiff-backed chair while the patient expounds on his ills; well, I didn't run my practice that way. I didn't even like the word patient; to me they're clients, and they're not "sick" as the term patient implies, just individuals needing someone to talk to, and if all went well, by the end they were just friends, not even clients anymore.

True, I was only a grad student, 32 years old, sadly still renting and paying my student loans. I had to run my practice out of the office/living room in my apartment. Nevertheless I only saw these as advantages to really establishing strong bonds with my clients. I wasn't so far removed from college myself. I could understand what my clients were going through, the anxiety of classes and the pressures of deciding which first step to take in their respective paths through life. Any period of transition by its very nature is stressful and really can you think of any more crucial transition than from student to citizen in the real world? I can't. Further my apartment was small and homey and less sterile than a clinical office, it helped my clients to feel comfortable and to open up more easily. I had only recently started seeing clients, and being so young the school would only pass along to me those students suffering seemingly mild symptoms: simple anxiety, borderline depression, relationship advice, that kind of thing. Anyone showing the signs of schizophrenia, bipolar, OCD would be referred on to more "accomplished" professionals. That first session, I still remember like it was yesterday.

There was a knock on my door.

I opened it and smiled warmly extending my hand "Alexis, welcome. I'm Sam Madison, come in." She smiled a little hesitantly, taking my offered hand but remained outside my door, peering at the apartment behind me.

She was very pretty, very fair-skinned her seemingly delicate features only marred by a smattering of faint freckles across her nose, a cute imperfection, long chestnut-brown hair pulled back and upswept in a double braid, revealing a slender white neck accentuating by a tight black interwoven necklace. But it was her eyes, that you couldn't help but notice: radiant, expressive pools of blue highlighted by the mascara and black eye liner she wore, perhaps to bring out her eyes, perhaps just to make her look older, and yet at that moment in those eyes all I saw was the flicker of uncertainty. Even in that first meeting I could see the girl she was, and the woman she was to become fighting for control.

"That's a pretty necklace," I said gently, reaching out to finger it lightly "was it a gift?"

"I got it on a trip to Peru," she said softly her eyes downcast. I realized I'd made her self conscious.

"It's lovely," I said, motioning to the apartment, stepping back from the doorway to appear less imposing. "C'mon in, Alexis. Can I make you some tea? Coffee perhaps?"

"No...thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. But she stepped in and quickly sat down on the black leather couch, smoothing out the front of her jeans primly.

I sat back down in the accompanying chair and smiled reassuringly "Did you find your way here ok? I know when I say it's on Adams, I should really just say it's on Baseline because that's easier to find." Clients often relaxed when I'd chitter away inanely. She nodded. "But at least you had decent weather on the way over. Mid 70s in October, makes it hard to believe it's going to snow by this weekend, only in Colorado, I guess. Drives me almost..."

"I'm not crazy y'know." She interrupted softly, eyes intent on her hands as she fidgeted.

"I know you're not crazy, Alexis." I said as gently as possible before resting my intertwined fingers against my lips and pausing for effect. "I also know you're very smart. I saw you have a full ride here."

"I just lost my focus for a little while," she said with a slight shake of her head. "Next semester will be different."

"Anything on your mind, Alexis?" And her eyes rose to mine for the first time, and she just looked at me for awhile and I right back at her. She pressed her lips tight as if debating saying something. "I'm not here to judge, Alexis. By all means if something is troubling you, it might help to get it off your chest."

"I.........can't," she whispered her blue eyes glimmering. There was so much just beneath the surface she couldn't say and it was eating her up inside. "I can't" she whispered again.

"I understand," I continued earnestly as she turned her near tearful gaze to the window and the sunlight filtering through the canopy of oaks outside my apartment bay window. "You can say as much or as little as you want around me. I know you don't want to be here, Alexis. The terms of the scholarship require that because your grades slipped under a 3.0 that you spend an hour every week just talking with me." Her eyes flickered and she nodded. "But they don't require what we talk about," I was smiling warmly now. "What would you like to talk about Alexis? What indeed? Would you like to hear about my little girl Tammy? She just turned 5 last week and in kindergarten she's now learning how to write her name. That's her right there. She's with her mommy right now but I get to visit with her every weekend. It seems like she grows a foot every time I see her," I said handing her a small 5 by 7 frame of a little redheaded girl in pigtails I had on the table next to the couch.

As she held the frame I could see her expression soften and she looked back to me and nodded then, wiping her eyes and I even caught the faintest touch of a smile at her lips. The rest of that session, I just spent talking, telling her about Tammy and how everyday she looks more like her mother, but how she'll always have her daddy's Irish red hair. I talked about myself, my experience at CU and why I came to Colorado from DC and why I wanted to be a psychologist. I just chattered from one subject to the next, and she said very little, but she listened earnestly and I could see her relax a little more as the session went on. By the time the session ended and she left, I felt like the roots of trust had been sown and that at least she liked me if not the forced sessions.

And I was right. In each of the next few sessions she opened up a little more, feeling more and more comfortable with opening up and revealing her self to me. Her whole face lit up when she talked about home. She told me about how her mom was a reverend and her dad was a schoolteacher and how she missed how green it was in Seattle.

She even told me of a boy she fell in love with named Colin and how he'd been so nervous the first time they kissed that when he leaned over he missed her lips entirely because his eyes were closed and he ended up sucking her nose, and she laughed then, a musical, girlish laugh that surprised me as she seemed an entirely different, more radiant person when she laughed. I smiled and asked if they were still together but she got real quiet then and changed the subject. I made note of this but didn't press any further.

By a month in, I think she really viewed me as more of a friend than a therapist and the ease with which she'd talk about her days, or this class, or that boy she liked showed ever more so that she could trust me. To me that was just wonderful; I could see how guarded she had been dealing with me, and how each session she'd blossom a little more. I could see this whole new radiant girl emerging from the layers of wariness and cool distance she'd adorned herself in as some kind of protection.

But what I could never reach, what I could never understand for the life of me was the reason for why this intelligent, pretty, witty girl would erect those layers in the first place. Whenever I'd broach the subject of what happened that caused her to begin struggling in school, all the light in her eyes would go out and she'd get really quiet again just murmuring softly: "I want to tell you, Sam. I do....but, I just can't. It's not a question of whether I trust you or not, I do, I do trust you," and her cheeks would flush a little bit "but....I just can't." The girl was a mystery and it was just driving me crazy. I knew there was something beneath the surface that if I could just discover, just bring to light, I could banish this darkness within her. I could bring out this inner light. I could save her. I spent all my waking hours puzzling through how to unravel this mystery. When I was playing with little Tammy, or drinking with friends, or working on my dissertation I was silently working through possible ways to get Alexis to open up. It became an obsession for me. Even when I was meeting with other clients, I admit my mind was on Alexis' issues. I knew that a good therapist shouldn't do things like this, that every client was just as valuable as the next and that when I'm with one, my attention should be undivided and focused on that individual. But, I'll tell you now, not all clients are created equal. Most of the rest I'd get had issues no more unusual than "My schedule is too busy! How do I balance it all?" or "How can I be confident enough to get this girl to notice me?" but with Alexis it was different. This was my chance to do some good in the world. This was why I chose psychology, and I knew I was good enough to solve through this.

Then one morning I woke up and just like that I knew.

The method would not have been endorsed by CU or any of the professors I'd had the privilege of working with, but I knew it would work. I knew to my soul it would work. I knew her subconscious would tell the secrets that her eyes hinted at but could never quite reach her lips. The answer was right there in front of me and I hadn't even bothered to acknowledge: hypo-therapy. Until now that is.

I raised the subject to her at our next session, and I remember how her blue eyes captured mine so intensely, and I would've given away all the tea in China to know what she was thinking then. She pursed her lips, working through what I suggested. I had reassured her I knew what I was doing and that it could really help her. "In the hypnotic state you are experiencing without questioning. You lose your critical judgment, you lose that 100 pound weight you carry around with you," I'd said, pausing for effect. "Let me lighten the load. You don't have to bear the burden all yourself and this way, sharing will be completely painless." To be honest, I wasn't sure of that last part but it wouldn't do to look any less than completely 100% confident at that moment. And then a breakthrough: she nodded then almost imperceptibly and took a deep breath and closed her eyes. For some reason I'd been holding my breath which I was finally able to let out. I leaned forward then and set to work: "Now relax every muscle in your body and focus on my voice and only my voice..."

***

Even I couldn't believe how thoroughly and the hypnotic suggestion I provided sunk in. In a ten minute span I'd reinforced the same message over and over again. That it was ok for her to release her inner demons. That she need not be embarrassed or humiliated by what followed, that she was now existing in a world without judgment, where the only thing that matters is what was, not what I think about it, not what she thinks about it. She followed my instructions to the letter and she remained sitting casually in the same position on the leather couch but her eyes were shut and her breathing was steady. By anyone's judgment she would appear asleep. But I knew she wasn't.

"Alexis, I know something is troubling you. Something is on your mind. I know you think about it every moment when you're awake and that you dream about it when you're asleep. What happened?"

And then just like that she started talking, but it wasn't her voice, not really. She was describing what happened to her in this clinical monotone as if in this moment she was removed from herself as if she were merely telling me about this other girl named Alexis. The story she told was this:

***

Alexis had had a physical appointment with a Dr. Portman. This was a little after her 18th birthday and she just wanted to be sure everything was ok before she went off to college. He wasn't the normal family doctor, but Dr. Calloway was on vacation in Maui, and she figured there was no real difference. And there wasn't for most of the appointment. Everything went just the way any other physical she'd had until the end of the appointment when he asked: "Have you been sexually active, Alexis?" She could feel his eyes on her at that moment, and noted it, because during the entire checkup, he hadn't lifted his eyes once from his charts. Until now.

"Yes, but only in the past couple months," Her relationship with Colin had begun to get physical. They'd only slept together twice, and it was so awkward that she wasn't even sure if he ejaculated within her as he was wearing a condom after all. She told Dr. Portman this and he nodded, seemingly understanding too.

"Well, better have a look-see just to be safe. Could you drop your jeans please," he said casually, slipping on a pair of hygienic gloves and closing the door behind him. She had her own gynecologist by this point so it seemed odd he'd make this request, but he made it seem so run of the mill she didn't really question it. She stepped out of her sandals, and unbuttoned her jeans pulling them down her legs to pool at the floor. She sat back up on edge of the clinical bench feeling more than a little self-conscious in only her panties and tank top before this 50, no, probably 60 year old balding doctor. There was an awkward moment where he didn't move at all; she shifted uncomfortably as it seemed like his gaze was transfixed to her bare legs, but she wasn't sure because she couldn't actually see his eyes behind the reflection of his glasses. Then he gave her knee a gentle squeeze and his voice was soft yet somehow thicker as he said: "Lie down, dear. This will just take a moment."

With seeming extreme care he gently lifted the hem of her tank top baring her flat stomach and began pressing and kneading the muscles beneath her abdomen. He was almost insistent in the way his fingers pressed into her and at first she just felt kinda strange and warm, but he kept at it. It wasn't long before it became uncomfortable and it made her feel like she had to pee. She squirmed a little, more nervous than anything that she wouldn't be able to prevent that warm release that his incessant fingers were causing, and that she would just die if she peed all over this doctor. But just when she didn't think she'd be able to hold it any longer his fingers lifted off.

"Good, good, everything looks normal there" he'd mumbled and she'd realized she'd been holding her breath and finally felt like she could let it out...until his fingertips intertwined with the hem of her panties. He lowered them to mid thigh, exposing her pussy lips to him and the patch of her bush and she could feel herself begin to blush all over, which she was sure he must be noticing, which in turn only made her blush more. He gave her upper thigh a little squeeze which he meant to be reassuring: "Just relax, dear. Relax," but she couldn't help feeling like he shouldn't be touching her there. It only got worse.

She then felt the faint, but increasingly insistent touch of his gloved fingers around her labia and when they'd brush her clit she'd feel a wave of pleasure go through her, and unbidden she could feel herself beginning to get wet down there, which was even more embarrassing. She tried to squirm away then, but with his free hand he'd pressed down on her shoulder, while the fingertips of his other hand continued their humiliating dance. She thought it couldn't get any worse until he shoved a pair of fingers up into her slit, causing her almost to jump if he hadn't steadied her with his other hand. He was leaned over her by this point and she could even smell his cologne as he violated her. Old Spice. Her boyfriend wore Old Spice she thought inanely. Her breathing was becoming more labored, and it was getting harder and harder for her to think rationally, unable to comprehend what was happening. Was he checking her pulse? He could feel his free hand pressed against the side of her neck. He grunted something, which she couldn't understand at the time, but she put it together afterwards. He'd said "Just checking your sexual response dear, breathe easy."

In and out, his fingertips continued their torturous circuit, grazing her clit on the way out and then back in, pressing, manipulating. Increasingly fervent his fingers, which were gentle at first, now stabbed into her. And before she realized it he was practically on top of her, and those fingers at her neck weren't checking her pulse, he was caressing her in slow strokes which to her greater humiliation was actually turning her on more; every motion of his hands was sending waves of sweet pleasure coursing through her, but each time they would recede against that sick feeling that she was being molested by a man old enough to be her father.

She could feel his warm breath against her cheek, he was breathing hard too apparently, and she turned her face away feeling sick. But she couldn't turn away from his insistent fingers in her slit; each entry and re-entry would cause her to whimper a little and she could feel her juices now flowing easy, trailing sticky lines down her inner thighs. She couldn't believe this, ugly, balding man, this doctor was able to do this to her. She could feel her hips begin to ride up into him, and the buttons of his collared shirt uncomfortably strafing against her exposed stomach, and then his other hand was back on her shoulder and his fingers were digging so painfully into the soft flesh there that she cried out. She wondered why he was hurting her too, when she realized he was grabbing her for greater leverage, to allow better access for his invading fingers down below. Her hips were bucking by this point, and she didn't want to, she didn't want to, she didn't want to, but she couldn't stop it from happening.

She orgasmed then crying out loudly as she couldn't prevent the release of a torrent of her juices, leaving her with a wave after wave of shivers coursing through her body as her vision went all to white, and yet still his hand on her shoulder pressed her tight and he was so close at this point she could feel the stubble of his cheek against her own and see the folds and wrinkles of his neck. His clinical, revolting, molester neck. When the waves of pleasure subsided, she was left nauseous and the sick feeling of violation with no pleasure to cover it up, only shame. As the clarity to her vision returned, she saw he'd lifted off of her and was re tucking his shirt in. She came to realize that it wasn't just a blur, she saw a wet spot at the groin of his khakis, and was embarrassed that it was her juices that caused it, before realizing that it was his cum from the inside of his pants showing through and that made her feel even more revolted. He had gotten off on what he did to her.