tagMind ControlInterview



All names, and most of the detail in this story is fictitious. If I've accidentally used your name, my apologies.

"Ohmigod! I left the tape recorder running the whole time!" The formerly stylish Jillian Willson leapt from my desk, forgetting how wonderfully nude she was, and sprinted for the table across the room. I said "formerly stylish" because having shed her Voguish clothes, she was just a very charming and sexy woman, now glowing with the joy that I had just been privileged to unleash.

She laughed sheepishly as she clicked off the power.

"I'll have to be careful how I use this in my office. I think I'll just listen to it on headphones while I work on the article." I nodded agreement, while at the same time feeling compelled to let my eyes enjoy her 40ish curves. She ran the tape back and forth a bit. The subtle sounds of lovemaking were lost on this dictation-type machine: there was just a sound of rustling papers as she swept aside some of my reports in order to make room to perch on my desk. The moment when her fingers had ripped my zipper down its track was lost. But we did hear the tremulous, rising moan that had marked her second climax, the one with me in her. The little one that came first, as I fingered her to eagerness, was barely audible.

"I can hardly believe this, but I want to get on your lap and just snuggle with you for a while!" She pranced childishly back to hop onto the swivel chair with me. It felt like the right thing to do... we enjoyed cuddling and caressing each other. As our lovemaking coasted along, I thought about her words, that she could "hardly believe this." In a few moments, I could tell, I would not be able to collect my thoughts-- I'd be too busy sating the journalist's unleashed libido.

Right now, though, I was thinking back to the way that this had begun. Before I even had heard from Jillian, I received a message about her from my former colleague at the University of _______________, Professor Johnson. He had gone on to another school, but we had sometimes met at conferences and swapped stories.

Johnson was a bit disturbing to me, but we were able to talk with each other. As an assistant professor, I had watched this young instructor working hard to take advantage of his abilities with hypnosis. If he had worked as hard on his research, he would have been at the top of his field. Instead, he did receive high marks on his classroom instruction, but those grades were skewed by the intense devotion of the most attractive women in his courses.

I used to try to get him to relax a bit, be more selective, and get to know the women instead of just using them. He, in turn, thought I was a foolish older romantic, enjoying long conversations with the women who connected with me through our thoughts, words, and only after that, sometimes by sharing our physical pleasures.

"Johnson," I muttered, "when I go into a woman, it's because she wants me, and she wants to express her own femininity. It's 1996, damn it! If she wants it, she should have it, but she also wants it to be worth remembering. She wants to know that I'm going to remember her for the rest of her life and mine, and she's going to remember me, too. When she's an old woman, it's going to warm her heart when she sees something that reminds her of me, or when she remembers the little gift she gave me to put on my office wall-- and she's going to remember suddenly realizing where all those other knick-knacks in my office came from-- but she's going to be proud of herself for that, sure that she's the one whose image will stick with me."

Johnson had listened to my romantic spiel with one eyebrow raised.

"With the time you spend preparing one co-ed or colleague for a dreamy trip to bed with you or for a ride in your leather swivel chair, I can have one fucking me, another making dinner for us, and a third shining my shoes!" Johnson had then sighed and looked at me like I was hopeless.

On one occasion that I remember vividly, one of his conquests turned up in my office and lifted her bulky-knit sweater to show me a message written in lipstick on her perky breasts. It was an invitation to join her, in more ways than one, at a party at Johnson's place. I said "no, thank you..." but she never registered a conscious reaction to me one way or another. For a minute, as she stood in an accepting pose before me, her body signalled her intense readiness for sex. Then she simply pulled her sweater back down over her swollen breasts, carefully stretching it over her erect and sensitive nipples, straightened it up, and walked away as if nothing had happened. It was fortunate that I had been visited by one of my intimate colleagues earlier in the day for a wonderful cup of coffee and lovemaking, so it was not as hard to do the right thing as one might believe.

When I had returned his recent call, I realized that nothing had changed with him. He still felt compelled to show off. A 19-year old named Tara came on the line, so to speak, at Johnson's direction. He asked her to tell me what she had been doing, and in a sweet voice, she explained how good his cock had tasted in her mouth. She excused herself, because she really wanted to get back to tonguing his shaft.

My recollection was interrupted by the realization that Jillian's motor was no longer idling. I could feel the energy building in her loins, tensing, flexing, and then she was on top of me, taking me firmly by the hand and guiding me into her wetness. We came in a mad whirl, and then both of us collapsed in the chair, spent.

When I awoke, some hour later, Jillian had gone down the hall to freshen up. I lay there enjoying this moment, and resumed reviewing the moments that had led to this sweetness.

In that recent phone conversation, after he had brusquely ordered the hungry Tara to hold her horses and let him alone while he talked with me, Johnson had warned me that Jillian Wilson was headed my way. He was steering her to me, because HE did not want anything to do with her.

"She's trouble. She wants to write an expose' about professors who abuse their power over students-- sexual favors and that sort of thing. Can you imagine someone doing that?" Johnson sounded genuinely worked up about it. Or perhaps his anxiety was coming from Tara's hungry desire for him.

"Can I imagine a professor abusing his-- or her-- power?" I innocently inquired.

"Damn you!" Johnson burst out. "You know what I meant. Can you imagine someone spending time on such a worthless topic. I mean, she's got an editor, doesn't she? Is her editor passing up the chance to make it with every hungry graphic artist or free lance writer?"

"I don't know."

"You know what I mean. You're just lucky that I still feel kind of bad about the way you were run out of the university. So I'm tipping you off that she's coming your way."

I had not known that Professor Johnson HAD a soft spot, but I thanked him for the tip. It came just in time, as later that day, she had called to make an appointment.

Her request was candid enough to meet journalistic canons of honesty, but not as explicit as Johnson's message had indicated. I wondered whether he had hypnotized her to get deeper into what her motives were. That would not be surprising, nor difficult for him, I thought.

It was a pleasure to have an office in which to receive her. Thanks to Sophia's foundation in aid of my research, I now had a modest room under the eaves of the Denver Union Station. There were many small firms represented in adjacent cubby holes there, and no one took special note of my comings and goings or of my visitors. In researching psychic phenomenon, there are some contacts who do not wish to be noticed-- and, believe me, there are some with whom one's landlord in a less public meeting might have issues.

From the comfortable chair facing me, Jillian's eyes swept alertly around the mish-mash of papers, cassette tapes, sticky notes and remembrances. Yes, now that I had walls of my own again, I had unpacked some of the souvenirs given me by former students and intimate colleagues.

None of the knick-knacks were sensational in themselves. I had left the carved African phallus in its box, for example. It was fun to remember how it had doubled as a dildo for its donor, but now that I was headed in new directions I did not want that distraction visible.

When Jillian had the tape recorder rolling, there was not much politesse in the way she started out. There were few questions before the fastball.

"I already know why you left your university position. And I've learned that you had more than your share of sexual contacts with the female student bodies. Yes, and I know about some of the guys who you tutored, too. So I'm not even going to ask you about that. What really intrigues me is why I can't turn up one of your students who is angry about it, or even wants to say anything negative. What's the deal?"

Apparently, I had already piqued her interest, without even having met her. I looked at her for a long time, and knowing that every word was being recorded, lowered my voice an octave or so and began reciting a script from memory.

"Well, did you ever instantly know you were going to like and trust someone for a long, long time? Maybe you only knew them for a short while but it seemed that you had known them your whole life, as if there were a timeless connection between you."

"Uh, yeah, but I don't see the connection here."

"You should be satisfied with my answer as you think carefully about these words and remember those amazing feelings... I'm not going to ask you to tell me what they are... you're interviewing me, not the other way around... but it's good to know that sometimes life has a way of making us remember those things, right prior to discovering that we can experience those feelings again..."

A tiny smile cracked the corner of her professionally cynical pursed lips. She was remembering one of those wonderful times that she habitually suppressed. I was sure that this intelligent woman had once enjoyed something in life!

"Go on," she quietly encouraged. "You have me... interested."

"With me... in my experience, it's the kind of thing that can't be forced and no essay or words can create it. Of course, as you must have learned, my work is with the mind in all its more hidden modes. Words and appearances are only expressions, vehicles that contain the essence that moves us. It can only happen naturally as the expression of an energy between two people -- can you imagine the feeling of discovery that my students had with me as they came to understanding -- when it does happen... it's just like that feeling of incredible bonding, when all the barriers melt and drop away, and two people come together, fused into one spiritual essence."

"It's hard for a journalist to get this sappy, but I suppose that the mingling of energies feeding one to the other, building and increasing and intensifying, mingling into an expression of aliveness that words can initiate but never capture fully, begins to refocus one's thoughts. But that's heresy to journalists. If words can't express how we feel, all that's left are physical actions and we've got to set our work aside." Jillian was mulling this stream of flowing thoughts as she rummaged through her memories.

"Yes, I agree with you. It has instead to be indulged inside your own imagination... dwelled on, contemplated, experienced, deep, deep inside you. All of a sudden, instead of another piece of homework or lab experience it's a challenge to your ways of thinking that you will want to think about, process, before you take a new direction." It was a pleasure to watch her trying to see where I was going with this.

"I do not know if you are the kind of person," I challenged her, "that can imagine enjoying that... that kind of connection, with someone wonderful who deeply moves you." I paused as I saw her wondering who that might be, perhaps remembering some affair past.

"But if you could envision the possibility and feel it opening now before you, drawing you irresistibly forward, how powerfully could YOU feel that urge to stay on and in my office and learn more?" She nodded her head in understanding, and set her notebook down on the edge of my desk.

"If these words have moved you... and that is a key to the answers that you need in this time... then perhaps you are the special,imaginative, fun-loving woman for me and perhaps we are already on the way to being able to feel a special connection; a connection based not just on getting what you want, but moving beyond what you want into what could deeply fulfill you. You want some answers right now, just like my students, but is that all you need?

"Me... I am open to that special, adventurous, in-shape woman who can show me she has a sense of purpose to her life and a sense of humor and play to her soul."

"Your students were 19, 20, 22, and so forth." Jillian looked at her notes. "These girls were just finding out about life."

"They were women, not girls, they were thinking on their own. Just picture yourself at that age, open to new learning, indeed even thirsting for it, but also with your own mind at work. A woman who longs to share with someone special; someone who will be your friend and lover, partner and adventurer, who will make each day together seem like the first and each moment together filled with that sense of a timeless and indescribable connection. Do You Remember feeling that way?? Were the guys in your class able to offer that?" I underlined the last question.

"Let me put it to you in a different way. Do you remember when you were a little child and you went to bed expecting tomorrow to be a rainy, stormy day?

"But you woke up the next morning and to your delight and surprise, you looked out to see a brightly shining sun, and not a cloud in the sky? And you realized, "Hey... this day is MINE to make happen?"

She leaned forward and touched my knee for a brief moment as her thoughts filled with recollections of herself at a less cynical age, feeling the need to be linked with me. Then she remembered her place and leaned back in the chair, pushing that thought to the back of her mind. With a dreamy look, she recounted her experience on a day just like I had described. The *possibilities* that had opened to her had led her to her career.

"So, imagine sharing those feelings every day as we work together with someone who truly understands, along with the passions only adults can create and share." She nodded understanding.

"I see!" She took up her notebook and jotted some thoughts. I waited while she crossed out a line and then slowly wrote a new entry. "So," she continued, "a lot of things were combined together in their experiences with you, right?"

"Well, yes. You want you to tell more about me...?" I queried.

"I think that would help me.... my interview, I mean." She nodded.

"I am very pre-occupied with stimulating and intelligent conversation. As you must have noticed, I know that you could find no real bimbos on that list."

"There's a Cindy ______ on my list who I thought could be a bimbo... I thought you might have just been taking advantage for grades. She was a cheerleader when you "knew" her, and I have to admit that my journalist warning light lit up when I learned that. And she is still good-looking, as you might think.... but what a disappointment, because she's also quite bright in her own way." Jillian paused, flipped through some names in her notebook. "Yeah, damn it, you're right. Anyway, go ahead."

"While I love travel-- I believe the greatest adventure is to explore one's passions. The inward journey is a part of our whole being. I define true passion as not just lust in the moment [we probably both are thinking of Professor Johnson at that point] ...it's not even when you are touched so deeply that you find you give all that you have.

"It's when you are touched so deeply you find things coming forth from you that you never even knew or imagined could be there. Can you feel that..... would be an amazing thing to experience with someone?

"I'm working on some of the most interesting parts of human thought, subjects that have huge potential for our understanding, and sometimes I'm working on projects that will lift some weight of superstition or misled beliefs from some community, so you'll learn lots from me about spirit and mind as well as body! My students would come to feel that I must be with someone adventurous who LOVES to learn new things and is longing for an amazing new direction in their lives as well.

"Someone who can decide on her own what SHE uniquely finds desirable, magnetizing and attractive based on her own deep feelings and needs. In other words, only the women who were capable of those feelings and needs were even interested in going further with me. I had routine meetings with other students who are not on your list... including girls who never sensed more than an academic interest on my part.

"A woman chooses to involve herself with me not because society would approve. Not because her friends would validate it. Not even because it is what she is used to or expecting or based on seeing her "type" or what is "typical", because maybe what is typical hasn't really made you very happy in the past.

"But because she is ready... truly ready... for something beyond what she really even thought could be possible. Because maybe feeling that amazing opening is the link between the girl inside the woman, and the woman inside the girl."

"What do YOU like? You keep talking about women." Jillian smiled, and with a wink, placed her hand on mine.

"What I like...? I'm strongly into touching, and intense kissing (electricity)... that first, soft brush of the lips so soft you're not even sure you're kissing yet, and it's as if all the passion... all the fire that will be experienced in the relationship is enfolded in that one, first, soft, special kiss, just waiting to be explored and made real. I wish that you could picture those beautiful moments in my office.

"It's that moment where time stands still and yet in that one moment, there is an eternity of experience to be explored. It makes your knees weak and your heart soar and every part of you comes... alive... awakened... ready for whatever will come next.

"I am willing and able to learn from someone like them, someone like you, just as I am willing and able to teach you many new things. Moving forward together in life, longing for this amazing new direction. Feeling totally excited with permission to not only be who you are, but to totally explore and accept the person who is even NOW emerging." I enjoyed watching Jillian uncross her legs and move a bit to try and make herself more comfortable.

Jillian's expressions now moved with mine, as our empathy for each other grew. I tested a flick of my tongue over my lips, and noted her doing the same. The new Jillian that I wanted to see was emerging just fine, beginning to see me as being within her bounds of what is attractive, acceptable, desirable... and tasty. She lowered her head slightly, keeping her eyes on me. Perhaps she was coming to the realization that as we chatted, her body was preparing for sex.

"So if perhaps you are this woman," I continued, "with a touch of poetry in your soul (and a bit of a naughty mind), then maybe you can feel surprised at how much you'd like to stay here a bit longer and learn more.

"Please understand that looks are not enough; I truly sought a person with a good, strong philosophy of life, high-self esteem, a sense of fun and adventure, a love of life and learning and a great imagination (so very important!), just like you. They also must have a good sense of humor and play, and a love of all things sensual (and the way that your tongue just played over your lip, you must be that)." She was automatically mirroring my well-timed lip licking, so naturally I noted her response.

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