I would like to claim it began in innocence, but I think I knew all along I was playing with fire.
I had learned the art of hypnosis from a colleague. Turns out, I was really good at it, and I didn’t charge a dime. Word-of-mouth supplied me with clients, and I kept getting better at the techniques of deeply relaxing people and opening their minds to receive my hypnotic suggestions.
A year into my new hobby, my sister, Carmen, a songwriter with an upcoming gig, asked if hypnosis could get rid of her stage fright. Freyda, her twin sister, said, “Exactly. Stage fright. Me too!”
Freyda was a music-video dancer, not a singer, but I wasn’t surprised that they both wanted the same thing. They are uncannily close – it’s spooky – even though they are fraternal, not identical, twins. In fact, people seem to have a hard time believing they are twins because Carmen is 4-foot-11, with black hair and dark chocolate eyes, resembling our Brazilian mom; while Freyda is 5-foot-9 — just an inch shorter than me — with blond hair and blue eyes, like our Danish dad. Just shows that fraternal twins share no more genes than siblings born apart.
Freyda was thirty-three and Carmen was three minutes her junior; I was thirty-one. Since they were completely comfortable in each other’s company and they both wanted the same treatment, I decided to put them both under at the same time.
I began in a soothing voice, “Counting down from ten to zero, you’re feeling more and more deeply relaxed.” I was amazed at how responsive they were; I didn’t need to go on to a second or third technique to settle them even deeper. When I got to “zero,” they were both visibly in trance, breathing slowly, facial muscles slack, with eyes lightly fluttering; relaxed hands dangling from the ends of the chair arms.
I suggested to them both that the nervous system arousal they were calling “stage fright” was actually a totally positive and pleasurable sensation – it was happy excitement.
“Your whole body eagerly accepts and does not try to resist the happy excitement that percolates through your nerves. Every time you find yourself on stage or at a video shoot, you’ll look forward to feeling the strong energy of happy excitement, which alerts you that you’re about to give your best performance.”
I’d done my job, and their subtle smiles told me they had accepted my suggestions.
Then I had the devilish thought to leave my sisters with a post-hypnotic suggestion. Just a little joke to play, to show off my skills. “In a moment, I’ll count up from zero to ten, and you’ll surface from the restful depth you’re now enjoying, feeling refreshed and at ease. You’ll go about your lives in every ordinary way, until you hear me – and no one else but me – say ‘Mr. McGoo.’ Then you’ll suddenly become terribly near-sighted, until I say, ‘Mr. McGoo’ a second time.”
My sisters and I hadn’t lived at home since our college days, but once a month we tried to make it to our parent’s apartment for a family dinner. Three weeks after the hypnosis session, sitting at the dining table, my sisters were gushing about how their stage fright had vanished. That’s when I said, “Mr. McGoo.”
Immediately Carmen blinked and said, “Hell, I forgot my eyeglasses.” Mom and Dad both said at the same time, “You’re wearing them!” Freyda said, “Everything just went blurry for me, too, and I’ve only had one beer.”
I said, “Mr. McGoo,” again, and they both recovered instantly. Everyone at the table shot me a look and Freyda said, “You fucker!” and punched my arm. Then she and her sister marveled at their susceptibility to the hypnotic suggestion I’d implanted weeks earlier.
I studied my beautiful sisters chatting away. Carmen is a petite little hourglass, voluptuous, with a perfect bubble ass. Freyda is elongated and sinewy, with a chiseled, androgynous face. They happen to incarnate the two female body types that attract me the most.
My sisters and I had attended the same state university and for a couple of years, we lived in the same big apartment. A dozen times during those college years, Carmen had sex with her boyfriend in the bedroom next to mine and I was forced to hear every detail: the squeaking bed springs, the moans and soft thuds, the cries of her orgasms. Another time I came home from soccer practice and walked in on Freyda making out on the living room sofa with her girlfriend-of-the-week; she never even acknowledged my existence but continued snogging right in front of me, her hand down the front of the girl’s jeans. I escaped to my room and, yep, Carmen was loudly banging her boyfriend in the next room.
I would jack off, imagining myself having sex with faceless girls whose bodies were curvy or muscular. But those vague images would soon resolve into lifelike pictures of my sisters. I tried hard to resist the incestuous visions. I even gave up wanking because I didn’t want to be hung up on my own sisters. My plan was to “fast” for six months – to reset my imagination – but after six weeks, I had a wet dream about Carmen, fell back asleep, and had a wet dream about Freyda. My jockey shorts were a gooey mess. I just gave up.
I thought I had gotten over that slow-burning desire from when I was nineteen and twenty, but sitting there at the family dinner table, I realized that I still felt the forbidden lust.
Suddenly I knew what I was going to do, and my cock stirred at the taboo thought. I quickly assured myself that I would only take it so far, and I believed my own lie.
That was a Saturday evening. I recommended a “booster shot” to keep them immune from stage fright, and they agreed to be hypnotized again. The next day they came to my place and I put them both under; within minutes they displayed the signs of being in a deeply receptive state.
My emotions warred in me as I gazed at them, side by side on my living room sofa, their pretty faces slack, eyes softly shut, arms limp. So vulnerable. I was about to cross an invisible line, a trip-wire. I hesitated, but my desire drove me past my inhibition.
I began, “Pretend that your sexual arousal is measurable on a scale from 1 to 10.” Their eyes stirred under their eyelids. “Now remember a time when you felt super turned-on, the most intensely lustful you’ve ever felt. Remember the bodily sensations – how your heart was thumping and you were panting, your nipples were hard, you could smell your dripping pussy.” They both shifted on the sofa. “Remember how you felt so good, you didn’t want the sex to ever end. Let your whole body recall those feelings, until the memory becomes as vivid as life.” Carmen put her hand to her heart and Freyda sighed. “That experience — the most sexually excited you’ve ever been — that was only an 8 on your arousal scale.”
They both gave a little gasp, and I paused to let that idea sink in. “Nod when your body and mind have calibrated the scale.” They both nodded. “In a moment, I’ll bring you back up from your state of deep relaxation. Then, after today’s session, when I — and no one else but I — say, ‘Off the chain,’ your sex drive will leap to a 10. You’ll remain awake and alert, yet in a perfect state of suggestibility. You will obey my commands as easily as if I were your own brain telling your arm to move. You’ll stay at that fever pitch of desire until I say, ‘Baseline.’”
Despite their outward look of deep relaxation, Freyda’s cheeks had flushed pink, and the crotch of Carmen’s white yoga pants now had a wet spot.
“When I return you to normal wakefulness today, you’ll simply recall that we reinforced your immunity to stage fright.” I guided them back up to baseline.
Freyda opened her blue eyes. “Thanks, bro.” Her voice came out husky, and she cleared her throat. “Same here, thanks,” Carmen said, then she glanced down at the crotch of her yoga pants and quickly crossed her legs.
I had planted the seed. “Let’s do one final session,” I said. “Next Sunday morning.”
They agreed. I ordered pizza delivery for lunch. We ate and then they left.
Alone in my apartment. Just me and my incestuous libido. I had violated a taboo, and some part of me felt shame. If I stopped now, I would still be mostly innocent.
Was I really going to pull the trigger on the post-hypnotic suggestion?
The week dragged on. I went to the magazine office each day, but I didn’t get much editing done. I couldn’t escape the crazy horniness that possessed me when I imagined my hot sisters at level 10, obedient to whatever I wanted. An image kept recurring like a song stuck in my head: Carmen’s thighs in white yoga tights with a wet spot at the crotch.
I tried auto-suggestion. “I’m relaxed, at ease. I feel content and satisfied.” But my balls were full of cum, and I wasn’t listening. Yet even wanking didn’t relieve my pent-up sexual tension. I was so fixated on my sisters that it felt as if they were controlling my own hands to deliver me to orgasm.
Saturday night, I couldn’t sleep. My guilt and my lust battled like the cliche of the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other.
Sunday morning, just minutes before Carmen and Freyda arrived at my apartment, I couldn’t calm my racing pulse. That’s when I accepted that my “choice” had already happened. The angel on my shoulder had a wet spot between her thighs.
Freyda arrived first, looking like sex on a stick, in black jeans and a black halter top that showed off her abs and the tasseled jewelry that dangled from her navel piercing. We hugged.
“Too much coffee?” she said. “Your hands are trembling.”
“I’m… no, I’m fine.”
We sat in the living room and Carmen arrived three minutes later – exactly as at their birth – looking adorable in a yellow sundress. “Another session with Svengali,” she said and joined her sister on the couch.
I didn’t wait another minute. I was sweating, and I needed to make my move before I chickened out or had a heart attack. I’m going to do it. I’m really going to do it.