The Amazing Randy Pumps the Brakes

This story is the latest of many tales here on Literotica which feature "The Amazing Randy," "The World's Greatest Stage Hypnotist." There's a dozen or so which cover the character from the day he recognized his ability until his movement into retirement. Each story just "pops in for a look" at one time or another over a period of thirty years of his career.

As always, I welcome your feedback. Please take a moment when you're done to make a short, written comment. Don't worry, I take criticism well. It makes me a better writer and often serves as a source of inspiration for future installments.

"The Amazing Randy Pumps the Brakes"

Randy Kicks Back

Randy Baumgardner had only been home for a week. His tour of the supper club circuit under the stage name "The Amazing Randy" was over for the year. Like every year, he had "packed them in" for months and months at small and medium venues from Portland, Maine to Portland, Oregon. His hypnotism act, which he had developed and polished for thirty years, was a proven winner. Club owners scrambled to have Randy commit for a weekend or even a single night as he arranged his itinerary for the next year's tour. Precious few clubs on the tour were able to schedule his performances for an entire week or even longer, but these clubs were special. They were the ones who had originally hired a twenty-year-old and had given him a chance to move from the muddy bustle of carnivals into a more lucrative level of the business.

These places, and especially the people who ran them, some second or even third generation family business owners, were islands of calm in a sea of performance filled with show after show after show. Now that his aunt and parents had passed away, places like "Harry's" in Portland or "The Joker's Retreat" in Pittsburgh, or "The Busted Mike" in Indianapolis took on a new importance, like homes away from home. As long as he worked in "the biz," he would play these venues.

The stage hypnotist settled back into his rocking chair as he sat on his back porch reading the North Country Advocate, the town's weekly newspaper. He sipped his morning coffee, which had gone tepid while he absorbed the local news. The town garden club, of which he was a long-time member in good standing, would be having its annual plant sale in ten days. Randy made a mental note to divide some of his perennials and re-pot them so he could contribute to the sale.

Randy Baumgardner loved irises and his contributions to the sale always disappeared quickly, and at top dollar. Because Randy was away for such long periods of time, irises were perfect for his gardens. They required almost no care; their blooms were spectacular; and the entire iris garden flowered at more or less the same time. For years, Randy had always arranged to be home to see his irises bloom. This year was no different. In a week or two, his garden would be awash in vibrant color.

Randy, who had spent almost ten months on the road almost every single year since he had started his career as a stage hypnotist, focused on the sounds of early morning. He could hear the soft lapping of the water against the lake shore. The blue jays were squawking up a storm, just like they did every morning. The old chair creaked as it slowly rocked back and forth on the broad pine boards beneath. His was a good life.

Soul Tired

All of these sounds were familiar to the forty-eight-year-old performer, who had owned the lakefront retreat on Michigan's upper peninsula for almost twenty years. He enjoyed nature for many reasons, but lately it was the contrast between the quiet peace of his home in the north woods and the hectic performance schedule he followed the rest of the year that he appreciated the most. As he took another swig of his now-cold drink, Randy ruminated. All those years, all those miles on the road, so many of which involved rental cars and long drives had left their mark on him. He was tired. He was always tired at the end of his cross-country tour, but this year it felt different; he was bone tired, soul tired.

When he had decided to follow in his late parents' footsteps by fabricating his own mentalist/hypnotism act, they had warned him that life on the road would take its toll. That was thirty years ago. Now, the question at hand was, "What should he do about it?"

Performance was in his blood. The notion that he would just retire and leave the stage and the friendships he had cultivated for his entire professional life was ruled-out immediately. He would continue to perform. Perhaps he could cut back on the size of the tour, do fewer dates, and insert periodic breaks in his otherwise crowded schedule.

He didn't really need the money. Once he'd started working the county and state fair circuit, Randy had never wanted for money, nor would he ever. Not only was Randy Baumgardner "The World's Greatest Stage Hypnotist," but he was the world's greatest hypnotist, period. It was not that he just had a talent for hypnotism; it was much more like a superpower. Since his senior year in high school, Randy had been able to probe the mind of anyone he encountered simply by making skin-to-skin contact. A handshake, a light touch on a bare shoulder, even a kiss was enough to enable Randy to search the subconscious of anyone he met. In thirty years, he had only encountered a single human whose mind he could not penetrate... and control. (The tale of this singular encounter is told in "The Amazing Randy Meets His Match," here on Literotica.)

Randy's influence was so strong, his control of his subjects so complete, that he could leave post-hypnotic commands which would be obeyed at any time he designated and last for as long as he wanted. He could easily be as rich as he wanted, and he was. Money was not the issue.

As odd as it was, the only mind and body his gift could not control was his own. He had to search his feelings and develop his beliefs just like everybody else. Tough problems gave The Amazing Randy the same trouble as they gave the next guy. There was no magic path to solution.

Randy was unmarried and had remained single for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that his power allowed him to enjoy an amazing sex life. He could have a one night stand any night, or any number of nights he wanted. He could have more than one woman at once and had, on dozens of occasions. Randy had complete control over his sex life both quantitatively and qualitatively.

The master hypnotist allowed himself a few minutes of reverie. His thoughts focused a bit as the faces of lovers he had bedded flew by. It took a while. At the end, only a few faces lingered, mostly women he saw as remarkable for a number of reasons, well-above the others on his long list of lovers.

Very early-on Randy had made a conscious decision not to impose on women who he could sense would not welcome his advances. He had never slept with a married woman or a woman who was unmarried, but in a serious, loving relationship with another man or woman. Not only was that the right thing to do morally, but it was prudent as well. Angry boyfriends and husbands could be deadly.

When he wanted sex, he had chosen his partners carefully and then used his influence only when they asked or wanted him to do so. The line between influence and compulsion was a fuzzy one and Randy knew it. He'd been dealing with the issue for his entire adult life.

For the "World's Greatest Stage Hypnotist," bachelorhood had allowed him to meet and fuck all sorts of women in all sorts of ways for three decades. Now that he was home, Randy's pool of potential partners was considerably smaller. The locals knew him; they knew what he did for a living. Some had even seen his stage act. The Amazing Randy was a local celebrity. Every so often he would do a trick or two in public, or at a backyard party.

He did a short set every year at the annual garden club meeting for which the members sold inexpensive tickets all to benefit the club. He had a lot of gardening jokes in his repertoire, and the ladies, and some men, of the garden club made perfect "contestants." Getting laughs from the locals didn't take much effort and these folks were his friends and neighbors. The show was strictly G-rated, but, depending on the crowd, he had been known to push it slightly into the PG range.

Everyone in town knew that he was unattached. Eligible women flirted with him all the time, and occasionally, strictly for his own amusement, he flirted back, but Randy kept them all at arm's length. Whenever he felt the urge, he simply drove to a neighboring town, at least thirty miles away, to look for sex partners.

Randy almost never went to the same bar twice, not because he was worried that a previous companion might remember him, but because other regulars at the watering hole might notice and remember him. Anonymity was his friend. Low profile was the way to go.

The day passed at about the right pace. While he was home, every day was a Saturday. He went to the garden and dug up a dozen irises which were ready for division and, after splitting the knobby rhizomes, he put the plants for donation into water to be re-potted later while he rearranged and re-planted the leftovers back into his garden. As the sun descended towards the horizon, Randy poured himself a healthy scotch and water and moved to an old iron bench at water's edge to think. He took a cold sip of his drink, carefully set it down in the sandy soil, crossed his legs, and looked out over the lake.

But, Can You Live with Them?

Randy understood people, and not just with his gift. He'd led a life filled with travel and encounter. He was an accomplished stage performer who made his bread-and-butter sizing people up and then getting them to reveal private thoughts in public. Randy could turn his hypnotic power on or off at will and frequently did just that. Once he had chosen an evening's companion, one free of psychological issues and willing to seduce or be seduced, Randy often turned off his mental probe and behavior controls and allowed his companions just to tell their stories, using his hypnotic power only to insist that they be truthful. Total control was not nearly as much fun as one might think. It was possible, even for The Amazing Randy, to have too much of a good thing. Men and women often covet what their neighbors have and Randy was no different. He craved uncertainty, or he thought so anyway.

Eventually, after several such introspective sessions by the lake, Randy came to believe that he had a grasp on the problem. Simply put, he was lonely. Also, he was growing, for lack of a better word, "bored" with his routine. Once he had realized that he wanted something more from women than just casual, albeit fantastic, sex, his pensive mood began to improve- a sure sign that he was on to something. Now he had identified the problem. Next, he needed to do something about it.

But, what to do? Clearly, the solution was to find a woman he wanted to be with more often, maybe to live with, or even settle down with. Randy loved children, but he was pushing fifty and the window for offspring was closing fast. He'd thought about having kids, but somehow the matter had been swept under. Now, it had re-surfaced. Randy did not worry about his ability to find a woman to bear his children. If he wanted, he could have the Lombardi trophy of trophy wives as young and as pretty as he wanted. He considered it for a couple minutes and then rejected the notion.

Randy's parents had been excellent mentors, both on professional matters and on interpersonal relations. He had seen his parents grow old together, in love to the very last. His father, never one to be without an appropriate aphorism, used to say "Randy, never forget this. It's only flesh. The real question is, 'Can you live with them?'"

In the course of the last thirty years Randy had met and bedded maybe half a dozen, ten at the most, women with whom he had made a solid connection without assistance from his hypnotic gift. He made a mental list of these women.

There was Cindy McCarthy, a practicing criminal psychologist from Massachusetts. She'd be somewhere in her early to mid-thirties, but currently she was in a committed lesbian relationship with a young woman named Suzanne, with whom they had both shared an evening of wild threesome sex. Then again, there was Michelle, his high school sweetheart. She was as old as he was and, although they remained in touch very occasionally, if the issue was establishing a family, he needed to find a younger compatible mate.

His mind turned to a young bartender named "Amy," now in her early thirties, who he had met travelling through Kidd Valley, Washington on his way to open his tour at Harry's, a club in Portland. He smiled as he recalled the night they had met. The pretty young bartender had approached him in the parking lot and given her number, hastily written on a cocktail napkin, to him. A week later, Randy returned to her bar, "The X-Cut," and the two shared a magical night together. When he'd left, he had promised to return, but somehow had not gotten around to delivering on his promise, which was unlike him. He hadn't seen her in a few years and had no idea of her marital status. In fact, before he had left the morning after their tryst, he had specifically commanded her to live her life, to be free to fall in love and commit to the right man. He wondered if the lucky "Mr. Right" had ever shown up to claim his prize. He didn't know, but he was determined to find out.

That night, Randy called the X-Cut and a man answered. Randy asked if Amy still tended bar at the lumberjack's watering hole. "I don't know that any of the bartenders or waitresses are named Amy," he said, "but the owner's name is Amy. I think that she used to tend bar before she bought the place. She's here tonight. Would you like to talk to her?"

"I'm sorry," said Randy, "did you say 'Amy'?" I'm looking for Jamie. Is there a Jamie working there?"

"Nope," said the voice, "we got an Amy, but we're fresh out of Jamies."

"Thanks," said Randy as he hung up the phone.

Once his commitment to the garden club had been fulfilled, Randy packed a small bag and made his way to the local airport in Sault Saint Marie. He was on his way to Kidd Valley.

Bad Billy's Bane

The rain fell steadily as Randy parked his car in the familiar parking lot of the "X-Cut." He sat for a few moments and recalled the night he had met Amy. The moment of truth had come. He took a deep breath, adjusted his raincoat, and made his way to the door. Stomping the rain off his shoes, "The World's Greatest Stage Hypnotist" opened the door and walked into the bar. He quietly walked up to the long oak bar and took a seat.

"What can I get you?" asked the young bartender.

"Scotch and water, make it Dewars, in a tall glass with lots of ice, please." The bartender poured his drink while Randy reached into his wallet and took out a twenty. What's your name, by the way?" asked Randy.

"Donnie," said the bartender as he wiped his hands on his bar towel.

"I know it's late, Donnie," said Randy, "but is the owner in by any chance?"

"You're in luck," said the barkeep, she's not usually in this late, but she showed-up about a half hour ago. She's probably doing paperwork up in her office or something. Like me to go get her?"

Randy revealed the twenty and moved to offer it to Donnie. When Donnie reached out to accept the hefty tip on a five-dollar drink, Randy gave it to him, but reached out and took Donnie's hand, as if to steady the funds transfer. Contact was made. Randy spoke softly as he held Donnie's hand.

"Donnie, when you go upstairs, you will tell Amy that a guy who calls himself 'Big Billy's Bane" would like a few words down at the bar. Describe me in general terms if she asks you about me. Tell her I gave you a twenty and promised you another if you could get her to come down for just a minute. That ought to do it. Do you understand?"

"Sure," said Donnie as he stuffed the bill into his apron pocket. "I'll do it right now."

Donnie knocked on the office door and opened it slightly.

"What's up Donnie?" asked the boss as she looked up from the stack of "accounts payable" invoices.

"Boss, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a guy down at the bar who would like a word with you. He calls himself 'Big Billy's Bane' and he offered me twenty bucks if I could get you to come down for just a minute. How about it, Boss? I could use the tip. It's been slow tonight with the rain and all."

"Big Billy's Bane, huh? What's he like, Donnie?" asked Amy"

Donnie paused for a moment and said, "I don't know. He's in his forties I'd say. Seems nice enough. Kinda quiet. Regular looks. I don't know, Boss. He's a guy. I really didn't concentrate on his looks. All I could see was the Jackson in his hand."

"OK, Donnie," laughed Amy, who knew exactly how Donnie felt. She'd tended bar at "The X-Cut" herself and big tips were, well, "rare" at a place like the quiet working man's bar. "you'll get that twenty. Tell him I have a few things to finish, but I'll be down shortly."

"You're the best, Boss," said Donnie as he closed the door and made his way down the steps back to his station behind the bar. Before he could deliver Amy's reply, the door to the upstairs office flew open with a 'bang' and Amy stepped to the rail. The half-dozen remaining patrons turned their heads and looked upwards for the source of the commotion, all except the quiet man at the bar, who raised his glass and sipped his drink.

"Randy, is that you?" she shouted down into the bar.

Slowly, the man turned and looked up. "One and the same, Amy."

Amy let out a screech of joy like she had just opened a Christmas present and recognized the number one item on her wish list for Santa. She came barreling down the stairs, making a bee-line for her old lover. Randy rose from his seat and extended his arms for a hug. It was a big one.

"Donnie, you have twenty minutes to re-stock the bar. There's another twenty in it for you if you finish in fifteen minutes," said Amy, beaming from ear-to-ear, eyes riveted on the man who was still holding and hugging her. Randy reached into his wallet and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, laying it quietly on the bar next to his drink.

"Donnie, you're in luck. I'm out of twenties. You're gonna have to take this fifty instead," smiled Randy.

"Amy turned to the half dozen or so "regulars" at their tables and announced, "You know how much I appreciate you guys coming out in this monsoon and how much I appreciate your business, but I'm afraid that the X-Cut will be closing early tonight. As you can see, an old friend has suddenly appeared and we have a lot to talk about. To help ease the disappointment, shots all around, on me. Donnie, you know what everybody's drinking. Your twenty minutes starts as soon as everybody has his drink. I'll have one as well. Randy?"

"No thanks, Amy, I'll make do with what I have, said Randy. Once the drinks were poured, Amy raised her jigger. "To paying customers... and surprises!" she toasted. Shot glasses tinkled as glasses were touched. Twenty minutes later, Donnie was eighty-five bucks richer as he said his goodbyes and Amy doused the exterior lights. The two of them were alone.

Amy slipped behind the bar and poured her guest another drink as well as one for herself. "Let's adjourn to our table. Do you remember which one it was, Randy? Randy rose and walked directly to the small, corner table he and Amy had occupied on his last visit, years ago. He sat down and looked up while Amy sat down opposite him, just as she'd done back then.

"Oh my God," where to start? How have you been, Randy?" she asked.