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Enchanting Rebecca

By: Rainbow Skin



At my niece's birthday party there was a clown, and when I mentioned this to my friend Rebecca she was delighted, and offered to accompany her own nephew in place of his mother. Rebecca wanted to see the clown, and I wanted to see Rebecca. She was the most beautiful woman I knew personally, and also the nicest: statuesque with long dark hair, a soft voice and a placid temperament. I was much older than her, too old to be smitten with such a young woman, but her beauty tempted me sorely; I was consoled by the pleasure of conversation with her, and just looking.

After the clown finished his act with the children he retired to the bathroom to take off his make-up, and after we'd pointed it out to him Rebecca and I continued our talk in the kitchen undisturbed by small people. We offered him a drink when he returned looking more normal. It turned out he was a hypnotist too, but that is not something you practise on little children. Talk inevitably came round to offering to hypnotize one of us, but we both kept refusing, I because I didn't want to be made to look silly, and she because (she laughingly said) she didn't trust herself under the 'fluence to the hands of two men. From the appreciative looks the clown and I exchanged when she bent down to get another bottle of tonic water from the fridge, she was entirely right not to. She was quite happy to make a fool of herself, she said: she often did that.

Her younger sister Emily turned up early: they were going to a concert later and Emily was going to collect her. She had decided to try to catch the clown act, as Rebecca had been so keen on it, and was disappointed to have missed it. So she joined us in a gin and tonic or two and we continued talking about hypnotism.

"Do it to Emily," I offered.

"No way!"

I wheedled with her that the eminently trustworthy Rebecca would be present, but even this consideration would not do to persuade her. She was implacable. Then the clown had the idea that perhaps now Rebecca would agree, if her sister was there all the time to guard her from us.

This she did, so she was put under, and did a variety of amusing things like clucking like a chicken, trying to do a handstand, and poking herself in the eye (with a surprised yelp of pain). We both clamoured suggestions too, Emily and I, but she didn't act on those: the clown explained we could only control her if he authorized it. To me he gave the codeword 'apple' and to Emily 'banana'. Our instructions only worked if we prefixed the sentence with these words: it was a ludicrous variation on Simon Says, and we tried to get her to do conflicting things at the same time.

But Emily vetoed anything that might be at all risky or risqué, even my simple and harmless suggestion of undoing her top button.

The clown confirmed that no-one could make her do things she would not be prepared to do in a waking state. He demonstrated by first telling her that if Emily ever contradicted him, she must obey Emily, not him. Then he ordered her to take all her clothes off. She laughed nervously, fingered her sleeve, and refused. He amended this to taking off only her blouse, and assuring her that she was back in her own room with only Emily watching. She wavered at this and clearly didn't want to; Emily was about to call out her veto, when the clown said "Never mind. You see? She didn't do even that. She has to want to do it, or at least not mind too much."

I made a disappointed face at him, at an angle only he could see, and he winked back when it was safe to. 

"Now I'm going to count to ten and wake you up, and when you wake up you won't remember obeying any of these commands, and my voice won't have any more power over you, and Emily won't have any power over you by saying 'banana', and Max won't have any power over you by saying 'apple'. Oh shit, hey sorry," he said as he accidentally knocked the remnant of a drink onto Emily. She leapt up and went to get a paper towel from the bench, and he said in a clear, low voice that only Rebecca and I could barely hear, "His word will be 'apricot' from now on. That'll put you back in a trance. And now," he said more loudly, "I'm going to take you out of the trance. Are you ready? One, two..."

The last couple of seconds I had sat stunned, not quite able to believe what I had heard, or whether he could be serious. But after Rebecca was wide awake and puzzled by what we told her and had been reassured by Emily that nothing naughty had happened, the clown took his leave. In passing me he murmured, "Happy birthday, Max."

There was no time to ask him what he had meant, nor was there time to test it for myself, because the women were now ready to go out, Emily's gin stain not having proved serious. I dared not risk anything in front of her, because of my earlier faux pas, but I did briefly manage to come close enough to Rebecca's ear alone to mutter, "Apricot touch your nose", which she did, but she might have done it anyway, the action was so fluid and natural. But she showed no other sign of having heard me: she didn't look at me, or ask me what I had said. A strange knot was born in my stomach.

They went to the car. Emily said goodbye to me and got in. They were both sort of friends of mine but not so close that we would ordinarily kiss: after a good chat in the pub, perhaps, a hug or a peck. So it was not surprising that Rebecca also just said bye and stooped to the car door. This however was a chance. I said "Apricot kiss me goodbye" and she opened the door, prepared to get in, turned round to face me, briefly embraced, and gave me a light peck on the cheek and said goodbye again. Then she got in and they drove away, all unwitting, I hope.

That night I began to plan as if I had a genie in a bottle. Assuming the effect was real, how long would it last? How much persuasion was required to get her to cross a line into new behaviour? I had a nasty feeling that the magic might prove as ornery as any other wishes granted in story, but I determined not to ruin my chances by carelessness or haste.

I next met her in the corner shop, asked after her sister and herself, and wondered how to check whether my codeword still worked. Staring around the shop, I said "apricot" by itself, as if a reminder to myself, and she looked somewhat expectant at it, not exactly trancelike. Then I said "stay here" as I went to look for a packet of dried apricots. She did too, even though people had to push awkwardly past her. When I got back and we bought our things and set off, I opened the packet and said "apricot?". She responded with a negative so I added "take one" and she did.

I played with a few anodyne commands and discovered that indeed she had no conscious awareness of hearing the command, and always rationalized her action as something she spontaneously wanted to do. As from that moment on the word 'apricot' got rather overworked, let me abbreviate it in writing with an at-sign. So I said, "@You like being with me", then said "I mustn't detain you, you don't want to spend your time with me."

And she said, "Oh don't be silly, of course I do. I like your company." And inwardly I grinned. The other problem I had now was that I could not afford to do anything to her that would require explanation to other people or alert them to anything odd. One of those was her boyfriend Gary, an uninteresting burly chap with no right to this delicious creature, but not a good person to wrong visibly.

The power over her to make her do silly things lost interest almost immediately: the only things I wanted were for her to show me love and friendship and carnal desire and her (presumably) magnificent body, usually cloaked up in jumpers and long dresses. She would certainly refuse direct requests, so I confined myself to planting the odd suggestion when talk strayed into suitable areas, and getting close to her and staying there somewhat more often than before. Once in a pub, for example, when she was having a good laugh with the unlovely Gary, I nodded to her but no more; when he was away from the table I happened to be passing it and stayed a few moments to talk, saying "@You feel he's a bit crude for you, I suppose", then "You're still getting on okay with Gary, I see", which she could respond to. Oddly, she was a bit lukewarm in her praise of her boyfriend. That old inner grin widened. I said "@I think maybe you prefer older men" and "@kiss me goodbye when you leave", which she did, seeking me out at the far end of the bar, a nice spontaneous gesture.

So over the next week or two I implanted "@give me a big kiss and hug when you see me unless you're with Gary", the result of which was so pleasant that it overcame my scruples and made me determine to keep going. I told her @she enjoyed my conversation and @she had a trustworthy friend if she ever needed to confide in anyone (choking a bit on that 'trustworthy', but she had her hand on my arm and was looking in my eyes so sweetly I would do anything to attract her more), and @there's nothing wrong with friends kissing on the lips sometimes and @e-mail me at work if you're ever bored.

In this way a more intimate friendship developed, very enjoyable for me, and she seemed to be genuinely liking it. As much as possible I spoke to her, and tasted the fruits of my work, without using the codeword, hoping that her changing feelings were truly hers inside her. We had always got on quite well, after all, and apart from the age difference I could see no real reason why she shouldn't fancy me as much as that lump.

I had not had an opportunity to be really alone with her, until one day I met her as we were both coming back from work at the same time, and she was exhausted and (by her amiable standards) grumpy. I invited her in for a drink, as my flat was closer, and she said no. I said just a very quick one, @oh come on, and she rather thought she might have a very quick one, as it had been so tiring. But she said she really just wanted to flop on her bed. Mmm, I agreed. @That's always nice, whoever you're with.

I poured her a glass of shiraz, which was too heavy for her palate but a brief mention of its apricot bouquet helped sway her: which was the general idea. As we sat and drank and talked of nothing much, of her work, of how @Gary wasn't very sympathetic when she was tired like this, I switched on my computer to check for e-mail. She shrieked in embarrassment when she saw that the wallpaper, a medley of beautiful women, included one of her: a small one, not particularly flattering, but I reminded her of how some of these photos were floating round and she remembered the occasion it was taken. They were all clothed, of course, on this public part of my machine, and I scolded her for behaving as if they were nudes.

Naturally, I added, I have got a few nudes on here. Well, I say a few. More a sort of large number actually. But they wouldn't interest you, they're all female. No, she agreed, she didn't much like looking at dirty pictures. I wished I did have something that might interest her. @She might like to see my taste in women, perhaps? And I think maybe I had a couple of videoclips @she might be interested in? With a second glass of wine (as @the first one had done her a world of good) rapidly softening her defences, she conceded it might be amusing to see what sort of perverted things I like to look at.

Yes, I thought so too. Anyway, I was also starting to worry that this was all too easy; and indeed she didn't respond as hotly as I might have hoped. She was merely embarrassed by the female nudes, saying of one or two that they looked nice. I chose only the nicest to show her. When I moved to a couple of mild lesbian pictures she reacted with a distaste that wasn't mollified by apricot commands, and even with apricot suggestions that she really wanted to stay, it looked as if she was about to gather up her handbag and leave; so I closed down the picture viewer and commiserated how pitiful it was that we poor sad males got off on these cheap images. She laughed nervously and said that she didn't see how you could get interested in anyone without talking to them.

As we were talking then, looking at each other, me paying as much attention to her face framed in its flowing black hair as to her words, I decided to agree it was so much better talking with her live, even though we were only friends, not lovers. She smiled winningly and at that moment I wondered how I could dare wish for anything more delightful than that. Then I remembered: I was a poor sad male. A small male bit of me down below was still clamouring for action and babes, and my brain was trying to be Mr Subtle. So I said @everything was better done live, and she laughed at the double entendre.

I had early on worked out that when I was speaking a hypnotic suggestion she listened to it and reacted to it as she would to any other words, so I had to be polite and subtle; it was only when she acted on it that it faded from consciousness, and the next command would put her back in the hypnotic state in which she could remember the previous (except the silly trigger word itself). So one mistake could vitiate an entire session. My plan was therefore always to move the banter to the overt level, with only reinforcements from the sleepy back rooms of the brain. I didn't want to risk having my face slapped if I forgot to say 'apricot'.

So then I said she was far more beautiful than anyone in any of my pictures, and she modestly and wholly sincerely protested at that. She did not appreciate herself. @Her boyfriend didn't seem to, not properly, as he was so casual with her, not that it was my business. @I would appreciate her if I was her boyfriend. I kissed her lightly on the cheek and suggested walking her home now, unless @she preferred one more drink. To tell the truth I was tempted to leave it at this anyway, to make the rise in her affections gentler and more natural when I tried to turn it up another notch in a few days.

But she stayed for one more glass, we sat on the sofa together listening to music, my arm around her after a while and her head on my shoulder, just friends, enjoying the evening as it began to get dark, and eventually I nuzzled her cheek and kissed her on it a few times, an intimacy she accepted. No small yellow fruit were involved in this part. Nor when she turned her mouth to me and enclosed me, joined in unfolding experiment, warm, and velvety, and wet from deep within, and wine-flavoured; lingering as she sucked in the delight that could even have approached mine, going by her expression, until she parted and looked ashamed and confused.

"Too much wine for both of us," I whispered, and disentangled from her. I stood and picked up her jacket and bag and said, "Come on, let's get you safely home."

She was upset, perhaps almost on the verge of crying, and my heart felt for her. Then she said a rather surprising thing. "Oh god, I do that too much."

"Too much?"

"Gary would kill me, but I can't help it."

"It was just the wine. I'm sorry I went too far."

She was not quite so upset, merely tired of a painful memory, as she took her things from me and stood by the door. We were both slightly reluctant to leave. I took her hands, squeezed them comfortingly, took her in a goodbye hug, and whispered "@tell me", without addition. As we moved away from the long embrace she looked quizzically at me as if expecting me to say something. Utterly beautiful. I had to have her, however it was done. "Have you ever slept with anyone he doesn't know about?"

"Oh!" she laughed. "Have I! Three, would you believe it? I bet you thought we were so happy."

"Well, I wasn't sure..." I stammered.

"Never, ever say anything about this. ('Of course not!') But I know I can trust you. ('Oh yes!') You won't take advantage of me, but I really shouldn't drink so much in anyone's bedroom."

My eyes started to bug out ever so slightly as I contemplated the possibility that I could have had her without any magic beyond the demon drink -- and had missed the opportunity! No. No. Be realistic, her other lovers would be young men of her own age, not decrepit fantasists like me. Was it too late to turn the evening around and put it in the plus column? But she would be missed at home if she stayed any longer, so I walked her half way home, kissed her with a very little press of the tongue inside her, which she hardly seemed to notice, and that was that for almost a week.

It was apparent that tactics could be taken as read: I would gradually overcome her scruples. Now strategy had to be tackled. I could not abide the thought of being seen as Gary's rival, especially by him! Broken bones, the sympathy factor? No thanks. So I devised the idea of putting off becoming her lover for as long as possible, becoming only a confidant in her times of trouble. Which I was now planning to cause. She had to be parted from the slob forthwith. And dissuaded from falling into anyone else's arms. And to see me as the one closest to her in every way. And that without falling into my arms. Until I could safely command her there. Yes, good, that all sounds quite easy. All it required was an unlimited supply of magic wishes, and I think I had that sorted.

I was very discreet about it. So discreet that it hurt. So bloody discreet that I had to whack off with her imaginary face on my gentleman every night and every morning and occasionally in the toilets at work too. And I didn't see her for a week. I hadn't worked out a way of getting her to ring me and meet up.

But when I did see her in a pub with Gary, they weren't best mates, they were arguing, and I liked to see that. She passed me once and stopped to talk. I stroked her arm and she whined and confided in me and shot looks of poison at him. I jokingly said "@Admit it, it's me you're gagging for really" and she considered this, shrugged, laughed, kissed me on the cheek, and went back to him. She looked back at me once. It looked as if she was making a difficult decision. I thought it best to leave then and pat her shoulder in passing, nothing more. To my pleasure and surprise she followed me out and said she wanted to talk to me. Now? No: sometime soon? Tomorrow? Meet her at say seven? Okay. I kissed her and we exhanged tongues properly for a minute or two and she went back inside.

"I don't know who I can talk to," she said the next day as I shut my door behind her and she hung her coat up. "Emily thinks I'm behaving strangely. Am I? I don't like being with Gary any more, he just bores me. Emily asks what happened and I say nothing's happened, I've just changed. So she goes what's changed you, and I go nothing. And she looks at me funny. Does that make any sense to you?"

"Hard to say. I don't really know Gary that well, so I've only seen what you had before from the outside. Changed? Again... for some reason, I suppose because of this business, because you want to talk to me, you and I have become closer recently, so I'm seeing you differently. But it's hard to tell if you've changed. Oh sorry, I'm being rude, do you want a drink?"

"Yeah, why not. Actually can I use your loo?"

I awaited her return by checking my e-mail, and you know what that means, dear reader, by pretending to check it but really just opening up the possibility of naughty pictures. Actually there was a long message from someone I wanted to talk to, which at that moment was a nuisance. I pondered whether to began answering, and was saved by her quick return, so I closed it down leaving only the wallpaper, which I ignored; in fact I went to switch the machine off, pausing only to glance at her picture, then at the real thing, and said "Do you mind if I have your picture there? I'll take it off if you want."

"Oh no, why should I mind?" she said with half a blush.

"Oh I'm so glad. I do like looking at you. Am I allowed to say that?"


Enchanting Rebecca



"Course," she answered quietly. There was silence for a moment, she looking down in awkwardness, but pleased, while I wondered how far I could go without mentioning fruit. I took both her hands in mine and brought her forward to kiss her very gently on the cheek. We lingered like that.

"I'm glad you don't mind my doing that," I murmured at last. Then I offered her her wine and a seat some distance from me, as I sat by the computer with my back to it, having neglected to turn it off. "Tell me about things. What do you need to talk about?"

She described her newly arisen troubles and regrets and I offered a bit of understanding, guessing that @she found sex with him quite unpleasant, and @he just made her feel bad and insignificant. She nodded at my sage guesses. @But you still need comfort from someone? @And you've got so few people to turn to? Heavens, why she should lack confidants when she was so beautiful and open and warm was a mystery, but I told her I was honoured she had chosen me. She smiled oddly.

"Actually it's a bit difficult saying some of this to you," she went on. I looked grave and invited her to continue, topping up her glass and mine. "Because you're not really... uninvolved. Oh god!"

"What is it??"

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that!"

"But how am I involved?"

"Don't you... can't you tell how I...? Oh I feel so silly..." she declared and was very close to tears. After a decent moment's hesitation I moved across, knelt down, and hugged her; now she did begin crying, and I wiped her tears back, drew away the long dark hair that fell about her, held her closer, pressed my mouth against her wet cheek, and finally on her mouth itself. Only with this did she look into my eyes, as if scared of what she might find there. Actually I had no idea what was going on in her head, and was worried it was all about to blow up on me. She whispered, "Doesn't it... don't you... feel anything when we kiss like this?"

"Of course. I love it. You're a dear, sweet friend!"

"Friend!" she cried bitterly. "That's all. I am such a fool."

"No you're not, you're very sensible and intelligent, and that's a big part of why I like you so much. If I was younger I'd really be in trouble, if you were closer to my age," I laughed. And at this the tears began in earnest, and it was a while before she could speak. The thought I was beginning to have was too hopeful to be allowed to see the light. But she said it eventually.

"Couldn't you ever... forget our age difference?"

For answer I took her fingers and held their tips in my mouth. I was in an awkward position to hold her, but I kissed her once more on the lips, pressing her hand between us, then drew it away and advanced into her mouth, and she responded to my tongue with more passion than I had ever felt from her. In the midst of all this my weary bones were beginning to crack and I had to stand up: I shakily offered to pull her up, but she was miserable and stayed sitting. Then suddenly Rebecca laughed out loud, a sad laugh, and I saw she was noticing a bulge in my trousers.

"Sorry, I can't help that! Not with you!"

"Does that mean there's hope for me yet?" she said, distractedly. She gulped down half her glass of wine before I had a chance to speak and pushed the rest away as if she was about to go.

"Stay! You don't have to leave yet?"

"Yes I do. I'll just get involved if I stay."

"Involved, how?" I asked (starting to get annoyed by how I kept repeating the question).

"You know. Sex. And then you'd just hate me."

"Oh Rebecca darling, please don't be silly. I adore you, how could sex make that worse?"

"Because you'd just think you were using me, and I couldn't control what I was doing," she said perceptively, but gesturing to the wine glass. I swallowed a large mouthful of mine for courage as I considered that what she had said did have just the faintest grain of truth in it.

"I do want to sleep with you, you know," I said. "It's not just your imagination."

"Thanks," she sighed with a wan smile. "I appreciate that. And I want to too. But you know we'd both regret it. And anyway, Gary would kill me."

"And me," I added. She agreed casually, which chilled me. It looked like I was going to miss out again, and didn't know whether this conversation had advanced or damaged my cause. I walked her to the door, made as if to open it, and stopped to give her more French kissing. We spent ten minutes like this, arms locked around each other, ranging over backs and hair and buttocks, but Rebecca showed no sign of wanting to do more, only of loving this. My bed was just by the door, and eventually I manoeuvred her towards it and pushed her towards it, but she denied me.

"@Sleep with me," I commanded, but she refused me. "@Let me kiss your breasts," I demanded, and she said she would love to, but couldn't. I felt the thinness of the hypnotist's gift as never before. "@Let me just see them, just one," I insisted, and she shook her head sadly. She clung on to me without doing anything and I took in her infinitely lovely perfume. It took me a minute to realize she had her hand between my legs, just resting, and with the realization I grew larger there: she cupped me and rubbed. I took her face in one hand as I rubbed her bottom more strongly. She gazed very seriously into me.

"Can't," she whispered. Then, "If I took any clothes off I wouldn't know where to stop." With that she began tongue-kissing me again, and as this went on in my paradisiac delirium I felt both hands at my trousers, unzipping me, fumbling in my underpants, and freeing my penis. She dipped down onto her knees and began sucking me, a volcanic rush of tingling velvet. I came in ten seconds, a few short spurts, that was all, and wished she would stay there forever, or at least until I could manage it again, whichever was sooner. But she did me up and stood and looked ravishingly beautiful and desperately sad. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, oh fuck I'm sorry," she cried.

With a final impulsive kiss on my lips she threw open the door and fled. She whispered something as she did, I don't know what -- but I think I caught the word 'love'.

Well what a prize fucking stinker you are, I told myself, as I lay on that empty bed with trousers at half mast for the rest of the evening and tried to jerk savagely into her absent mouth. The imagery, coupled with the real tastes of her I had had so much of just now, and the little miracle of trust she had given me, strengthened my callous resolve. It did seem, after all, that she was genuinely falling in love with me: prompted by my own deceit, admittedly, but who knows what occult and chaotic chances tip the chemical flow in any other case of falling in love?

A couple of days later her sister sought me out and confided in me, saying how worried she was about those unexplained changes, and I was so obviously close to her, had I see anything? Emily had even worked out that the changes seemed to date from seeing the hypnotist, and wondered whether that could have had any unexpected psychological effect. I temporized, saying I found it hard to be objective, because I would inevitably side with Rebecca against Gary if anything did happen to come between them. Emily was unhappy but accepted this.

We were in the pub; I bought her another drink to keep her company with me, not expecting any better to turn up at that hour, when all of a sudden Rebecca herself burst in, and rushed up to us when she saw us. She clasped both of our arms, and though she was outwardly in control, she was clearly very upset underneath it. She said she was so glad to find us together and that she'd broken up with her boyfriend. We oh-noed and tut-tutted and said it wasn't for real, but she insisted it was. As Emily comforted her I left them to the most urgent girls' talk and ordered a drink for her. With some diffidence I took it to the table they had found, not knowing whether I would be welcome. As it was, it was Emily who insisted I join them, so I lightly stroked one of Rebecca's hands as Emily did most of the soul-searching and talking and physical comforting.

As Emily went to the toilet Rebecca grabbed me and enjoined me not to tell her about the other night: the one thing she was ashamed of confessing even to her sister.

"But we hardly did anything!" I maintained. "We kissed. She's seen us kiss. And got a bit carried away."

"No, but we did more, and I feel so bad about it, and not being able to tell her how I feel about you. I... I still mean everything I said," she bravely insisted.

I couldn't show much affection to her here, but squeezed her hand and said in an even lower voice than we were already using, "I was the bad one. I was trying to get you into bed, remember? And you didn't want to, it was all my doing."

"Of course I WANTED to! Didn't I SHOW you?" she hissed.

"Sweet Rebecca, do you think we might one day?" I asked. "Have I got a chance, a randy old git like me?"

"I hope so," she replied with a beatific smile. "I love you."

Emily was coming towards us. In about ten seconds she would be here. No, a delay, a scrum of bar stools, and someone she knew slightly to nod to: fifteen or twenty seconds. I had time to put a resolve into action before I could change my mind.

"Apricot you'll never respond to the hypnotic word 'apricot' ever again," I told her. "Understand?"

Rebecca laid her other hand upon mine and pressed me tight. As Emily came closer I opened a matchbox with my free hand, lifted out a matchstick, and snapped it between my fingers. I dropped the remnants into a nearly-empty discarded pint. "Tonight?" I asked.

"Whenever you want," she said, the smile broader and all mine.