Dr. Valentine, a Specialist in Love

This is a Valentine's Day contest story. Please vote.

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A man with a unique talent and a romantic ability, hypnotizes people for love.

He wasn't always called Dr. Valentine. His real name was Stephen Miller. He wasn't even a medical doctor nor did he have doctor of philosophy initials in some discipline after his name. He was just a regular guy, a successful salesman by trade, that is, until he retired from that for this new gig of delivering love to couples by hypnosis. Eventually, once he identified being a hypnotist as a career path, he registered, was certified, and took the proper training to get his license.

More than just an advertising and marketing ploy to ply his craft, a way for his customers to know what he was about, what he did, and what he could do for them, the name on his shingle and on his office door read, Dr. Valentine, doctor of romance and love. He would have chosen the name Dr. Cupid, but that name sounded too contrived, whereas Dr. Valentine could have been his real name, a name that coincidentally coincided with his hypnotic love craft. For sure, in the way that he found love, he fit the bill. A very romantic man, who saw life through rose colored glasses, if he was anything, he was all about romance and love.

He even had business cards made with little hearts and roses. Painted in red and white with red, plush carpeting, his office was decorated with items that made his clients feel love. The music that played in the background were all love songs, such as, I'm in the mood for love, Love Me Tender, When I Fall In Love, At Last, The Way You Look Tonight, Crying, Only You, When A Man Loves A Woman, et al. From white sofas and chairs, to flowers and hearts, to pictures of weddings, anniversaries, babies, kittens, and puppies, his waiting room put people in the mood for romance and love. From the very young to the very old, faces were his big thing, and he had a gallery of the happy faces of his clients on every wall space.

His life's journey started when he discovered that he had a unique ability to hypnotize people. Never having had a course in hypnotism, possessing a soothing voice and a calming manner, he just had a naturally relaxing way about him that put people at ease and put those, who were susceptible to hypnotic suggestion, under a trance like state of deep relaxation. His first victim was a woman that he was head over heels in love with, but who wasn't remotely interested in him. Eventually the woman became his wife but, without him realizing that was what he was doing, it all started with him putting her in a trance and, as a lark, giving her a hypnotic suggestion.

He'll never forget it. It happened so long ago, quite by accident and on Valentine's Day, of all days. It was his senior year at the university and, by surreptitious happenstance, he found himself alone with Priscilla, the girl of his dreams, after everyone sitting at their table in the school cafeteria finished eating and left. Priscilla was tall, blonde, and beautiful, where Stephen was short, average looking, and pudgy. The two of them together looked as much a contradiction as Christie Brinkley looked with Billy Joel. Much like putting a 4-cylinder engine in a Chevrolet Corvette, the two didn't go together.

Fortunately for Stephen, Priscilla was a slow eater or none of this would have happened and his life may have taken a different course, at the very least, with a different woman. A girl who thought she was fat, which, of course, she wasn't; she was just shallow. The head cheerleader for the school football team, she was just the opposite. She was quite shapely and in the way how Christie Brinkley felt about herself, the only one she loved was herself. She believed that the slower she ate, the fuller she'd be, and the less she'd be hungry for food in the course of the day. She was correct, to a point, and he supposed there was some logic to that, that is, if it took her much of the day just to eat breakfast.

Priscilla was one of those woman that other women hated. Except for other cheerleaders and other women who were equally as beautiful as she was, nearly all of her friends were men. Because of her high metabolism, she could eat anything and never gain a pound. Moreover, there could be a hurricane outside and she'd never have a hair out of place. She could be in a crowded supermarket ready to checkout, after buying her food, and the register in front of her, just as she passed by, magically opened. As if she was already a super model, a diva, and/or a princess, which was her dream to be all of those types of women, living a charmed life, luck was on her side.

One who always wanted the spotlight of attention shining upon her, she was so naturally beautiful that she could be doing anything, even eating, and men would stare, which is why she sat off in the far corner of the school cafeteria. She tired of being the center of attention, especially when she was doing ordinary things, such as eating. The only time she was secretive and uncomfortably shy was when she was eating. She confessed to her friends that she didn't like to eat in public. Women who looked as good as she did, always had some kind of eating disorder and she was no different.

An uncommon beauty, every man on campus wanted her and whenever she was in attendance, as she was in the cafeteria, men had a habit of making fools of themselves in their feeble attempts to make her to take notice of them. So there they were, Stephen and Priscilla, sitting together with the light from the window above raining down rainbows of sunshine upon her blonde head that gave her the appearance of wearing a halo. As if she was an Angel that basked in the glow of Heaven, indeed, she was a Heavenly vision to behold. Hard to ignore, even when she hid herself away, while eating, every man and even some women stared over at her. Yet, there she was, if even for a few more moments, sitting there with average Stephen, albeit at opposite ends of the long table.

Without exchanging any polite conversation, looking down, looking off in the distance, and/or looking through Stephen, she acted as if he wasn't even there. Mindlessly, she chewed her food, that is, until Stephen reached over and removed the decorative daisy from the small vase in the middle of the table. A way for him to hopefully entertain her, engage her, and make her laugh, perhaps, he didn't know what fate had in store for them, by this one silly, simple thing that he was about to do but, as it turns out, fate had a hand in bringing them together. Even though some would think that he tricked her and deceived her to fall in love with him, in reality, their connection was fated to happen.

"She loves me. She loves me not," he said, as slowly pulling off petals one at a time, as she ate her food, one slow chew at a time.

Hoping for lightning to strike and that she'd be so flattered that she'd be suddenly sexually aroused, she wasn't, of course. At first, Priscilla was amused with Stephen's sudden show and the little smile she flashed him gave him hope for a date with her. Yet, then, as if he had summoned up a thundercloud that darkened the sunshine that rained down upon her head, instead of her being his cosmic shooting star, she became annoyed.

Expecting rain instead of sunshine with her sudden cloudy day, expecting to be sitting in a small puddle, after she threw her glass of water in his face, it was a good sign that she didn't. The look on her face changed from annoyed to disinterest, another positive, he thought. Hoping for her clouds to disperse and to give her a sunny day, she was still overcast with gloom and troubled by his bothersome presence and with his dissection of the daisy. Instead of being entertained in watching Stephen's antics, she started chewing her food faster, going from a cow chewing it's cud to a dog eating it's meal. Trapped there alone with him and his crazy antics of hopeful love, it was obvious that she wanted to just eat and run.

"Ever so hopeful," she said, finally slowing down her shoveling of food in her mouth to speak. "I don't love you, Stephen," she said with a sour face but one without emotion.

Duh, no kidding, he thought. Yet, encouraged that he received a response from her at all, undaunted by her negative reply, he continued.

"She loves me. She loves me not," he said undiscouraged by her words.

"I will never fall in love with someone like you, Stephen. Look at you and look at me," she said sitting up taller, while waving her hand down, as if she was a model displaying a showcase on the Price Is Right.

"She loves me. She loves me not," he said with steadfast perseverance.

"Being that today is Valentine's Day, you'd have to be Cupid and shoot me in the ass with an arrow for me to have any interest in you at all," she said with a mean spirited laugh, while tossing her long, blonde hair.

For sure, he'd love to shoot her in the ass with his love arrow. When she laughed like that, as if a horse whinnying, and tossed her hair like that, as if a horse tossing it's mane, he couldn't help but think of her as if she was a thoroughbred horse and he was a jockey trying to mount her which, of course, he'd love to mount her.

"Cupid, that's funny," he said not allowing his chance of continuing a dialogue with her to get by him.

"I prefer the more athletic type of man," she said smiling up at a couple of football players, who walked by the table on the way out the door for class.

Another man would have been discouraged. Another man would have left the table. Another man would have been hurt by her words and by the obvious attention she paid the football players and the slight she gave him. Only, Stephen, the salesman that he was destined to be, didn't take no for an answer. He was willing to take the abuse because, he assured himself, the prize at the end was worth the effort.

"She loves me. She loves me not," he said undeterred by her lack of interest in him.

"I don't even like you," she said making a face at him, as if they were preteens in junior high, instead of adults in their last year of college.

"She loves me. She loves me not," he said in a soft but controlled voice, as if he was Barry White reading her a love poem or Johnny Mathis singing her a love song.

Yet, getting down to the end of the petals of his daisy, fearing she'd get up and leave laughing at him any second, when he looked up at her, she had stopped eating. She was just sitting there staring at the nearly bare daisy. As if she was a lit candle melting, he saw her weaken and her defenses soften. Her sharp blue eyes changed from that of a mean woman to a cute puppy. She was actually looking at him.

Still expecting her to leave, she stayed. She watched him slowly remove the last of each petal of the daisy, staring as each petal fell from his fingertips to the table. The focus she had on the daisy and in the way that he was saying the words was putting her in a trance.

He watched her become mesmerized by his actions and by his voice. Before this bit of serendipity, at a loss how to win her heart, he thought about slipping her Rohypnol, a Roofie, in her drink, just to experience her sexually for that one time. Even though in his worst lovesick moment, he had thought about drugging her with a Roofie, he could never do that. Yet, here she was sitting here in a trancelike state staring at him, in the way he's stared at her for the past 3 years. He'd never think about hypnotizing her, not in a million years. He didn't even know how, yet, he was and he did.

When she looked at him like that, he took the next bold step. A comedic moment that he thought would snap her out of her trancelike state with a bit of laughter, he thought he was just being funny. He had no idea the effect he had over her. How could he? He had never hypnotized anyone before.

"You are getting sleepy. You are very tired. You can barely keep your head up and your eyes open," he said wanting to laugh. Only, he couldn't believe when she was, indeed, appearing sleepy. "Close your eyes. Close your eyes. You are in a deep sleep, a very deep sleep."

Now what? Appearing, as if she was sleeping, with her sitting there with her eyes closed and her head down, what does he do now? What does he say? When he said the words he had chosen, he truly expected her to douse him with her cup of water, after slapping across the face.

"When I say, I love you, Priscilla, you will madly fall in love with me. You can't keep your hands and your lips off me. You will ask me to your room, where we will make wild, passionate love." Figuring she was just going along with him, expecting her to slap his face, but hoping to make her laugh, he continued. "At the count of three, you will awaken the happiest you've ever been, so very happy because it is Valentine's Day, because you're in love, and you're sitting with the love of your life, me, Stephen Miller. One, you are refreshed. Two, you are happy. Three, you are in love with me."

It was all so ridiculous and he didn't think for a moment that he had hypnotized her, especially when she opened her eyes and she gave him the same disinterested look that she had given him before. It didn't work and, finished eating, she was getting up to leave. It was now or never. If nothing else, at least, he'd get how he felt about her off his chest and hoping to forget about her, be able to sleep at night. Taking a sip of her water, before going for the big prize, he said the words.

"I love you, Priscilla."

As soon as he uttered the words, she gave him the same look she gives Chad, the hot, handsome quarterback of the football team, when she's sitting next to him in his Corvette convertible. In was intoxicatingly magical the way she was looking at him. Never has she ever looked at him in this way before. She nearly leapt over the table at him.

"I love you, too, Stephen." She said while holding him and hugging him. She was kissing him and she was touching him in a place that every man in that cafeteria would love for her to touch him. "Let's go back to my place, Stephen," she said with such enthusiasm, as if they were having a big sale on shoes Suddenly, the big man on campus, all eyes were on them, when they left the cafeteria.

As soon as she closed the door of her small apartment, she was kissing him, French kissing him in the way that he had dreamt she'd kiss him so many times. Then, when she reached her hand down to feel his cock through his pants was when he knew this wasn't a dream and that he'd be getting lucky. Reinforcing his power of suggestion, he said the words again.

"I love you, Priscilla."

Walking on uncharted ground, he didn't know if there was an expiration time to his hypnotic suggestion. Figuring he'd take no chances, better to reinforce the hypnotic suggestion, with another I love you, Priscilla, which was easy for him to say, since he did love her. He's always loved her from the first moment he saw her in his freshman year.

As soon as he said those four words, her kissing became more intense, until she did something that he had only fantasized about her doing, when he was masturbating. She fell to her knees in front of him, while touching, feeling, and fondling the big bulge in his pants.

"What's this, Stephen," she said looking up at him. "Is someone excited," she said with a sexy laugh. "Did I do this?"

"Are you kidding me? What man wouldn't be excited with you kneeling before him?"

She unbuckled and unbuttoned his pants, before pulling down his zipper and pulling his jeans down to his ankles. Then, she felt his cock through my briefs.

"Do you like it when I feel you through your underwear?"

"Yes," he said never removing his eyes from her and from her hand.

"You're so big and hard, Stephen."

"You make me hard, Priscilla. I love you, Priscilla," he said, just in case his hypnotic suggestion was wearing thin. He didn't want her to suddenly emerge from her trance now, especially not now.

"Would you like me to take your cock in my hand?"

"Oh, God, yes," he said, while watching her pull down his briefs to expose his stiff prick.

"You have a beautiful penis, Stephen. May I feel it?"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course you may feel my cock Priscilla. Please do."

She took his cock in her hand, while stroking him. He couldn't believe the woman of his dreams was on her knees stroking him.

"Would you like me to take your big cock in my mouth? Would you like it, if I sucked you, while cupping your balls? Would you like for me to blow you, Stephen? Do you want to cum in my mouth, Stephen, while watching me swallow you?"

More than a dream woman before, the fact that she loved talking dirty was an added bonus.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

He couldn't believe it, when she took him in her mouth and started sucking on him, licking him, and blowing him, while cupping his balls.

"And," she said removing his cock from her mouth to speak. "What are you going to do for me?"

She didn't have to ask him twice. With his cock sticking straight out and his pants still down around his ankles, he lifted her up and carried her to the bed. Quickly, he stripped himself naked, before slowing his actions to take his time with her. He wanted to remember every detail of this, just in case this was his one and only time with her.

Button by button, zipper by zipper, and hook by hook, with kissing her in between, he stripped his beloved Priscilla naked. They spent the next two hours making love, fucking, and sucking.

"You are an amazing lover," she said with every hair on her head out of place, as if she had been riding in a convertible going 100 miles per hour. "You are the first man to give me an orgasm during intercourse."

Never had he experienced sex in this way. It was glorious. It was magical. It was everlasting, especially when they were married within the year. To be honest, he didn't know or care if it was the hypnotic suggestion he gave her or in the way that love is spell like anyway, if she truly did fall in love with him. No matter, they've been together ever since and have three children all looking like her, blonde and pretty, thank God.

Even after their first sexual experience, he never considered removing the petals from that daisy more than a coincidence, that is, until he started using that tactic in his line of work, as a salesman, first as a joke. Whenever a customer said no, he was somehow able to get them to say yes, just by talking to them, in the way that he talked to Priscilla that first time.

"Let's play a game," he'd say, after the customer was refusing to buy what he was selling. He carried a collection of daisies in his jacket pocket and he'd pull one out during his sales presentation. For some inexplicable reason, it always worked better when he was trying to sell a woman than a man. "She'll buy. She won't buy. She'll buy. She won't buy."

Even after having proved the power of suggestion, it never occurred to him to start a hypnotism business and go by the name of Dr. Valentine, until the day that he was laid off from his job, as a salesman. Desperate for money after his unemployment ran out, he recalled his first meeting with Priscilla. Maybe, with so many people joining dating sites and looking for love, he wondered if, with a bit of hypnosis, he could rekindle what people already had but lost.

He wasn't trying to connect people who didn't already have a connection and he told people that upfront. He was more hoping to reconnect people who had fallen out of love, especially those with children and other financial obligations that were desperate to give their relationships one last try. If someone who was single and hoping to connect with another in the way that he luckily connected with Priscilla, he didn't do that. To him, that was still a fluke or was it?