“Intention,” she said suddenly with whispered intensity.
I felt the hair on my arms stand on end, and little tingles go down the back of my spine. That always seemed to happen when she spoke like that: with that tone of voice. We were lying down next to each other on the mezzanine floor, looking up at the painted ceiling of our college recital hall. It was a normal Friday afternoon, and we were killing time before our next period. I turned over on my side to look at her.
“What do you mean?” I asked coyly.
She positioned herself to face me. I could feel her warmth, just inches from me. She smiled and looked into my eyes with mischievous intensity. I had seen that look many times before. It started over a bottle of gin one night in her dorm room after her roommate had passed out on the floor. She had used that look and that voice as she told me that she fantasized endlessly about control, and that she was honing her skill as a hypnotist. I had volunteered to help her practice without a second thought. She was my friend, after all. I wanted to help her, and my curiosity was piqued.
“You’re so well trained. Even now. Even if you don’t realize it consciously, your whole body is tuned into me, reading my intention. You’re so wonderfully suggestible to me.”
There was that word again. Spoken like taffy: soporific, and sweet. I felt the corners of my vision soften, and her voice stick to the recesses of my mind. I wanted to resist. I wanted to tell her that I hadn’t been trained, and that I wasn’t suggestible, but the words couldn’t move past my lips. She was too compelling, and my body ached to let her words become my truth.
“Your truth is my intention,” she purred.
“My truth is your intention,” I answered in reflexive monotone.
“Such a good toy. Be my mirror.”
Without breaking eye contact, she lifted her hand. As she did so, I felt my hand lifting as though completely out of my control. As she lifted it higher, mine rose higher in tandem. Higher and higher until we respectively reached our own faces. I watched her caress her cheek seductively, and was helpless to stop my hand from doing the same. She brought her fingers back and forth over her lips and I felt my fingers mimic that motion. She walked her fingers around to the back of her head and grabbed a handful of hair before gently pulling. My eyes flickered as I did the same, but I maintained her gaze; her dutiful toy. She brought her hand back around, in a gentle sweeping motion and I followed. Up and up our faces simultaneously till I felt my fingers touch my forehead, right between my eyes. She blinked at me, her eyes growing heavier. I felt my eyes grow heavy too. She let her face relax, and I felt my jaw go slack. She slowly dragged her fingers down the bridge of her nose, and my fingers followed, taking my eyelids with them, and descending into a hypnotic trance.
“That’s my good toy,” she whispered, and took me gently into her arms.
