The GQ Experience

"......Soforia has a soft, smooth, voice. Hers tends a little more toward the domme than hypno. Still, listening to it - listening to it for several hours-proves a surprisingly nice thing to do.

As ordered, I become very very relaxed. My breathing is regular. And, indeed, my eyelids become too heavy to keep open. I do what I am told.

.......She asks me whether I've ever given any thought to how lovely the flame of a candle can be. The candle on our table, for instance... Half an hour later, I'm back in my hotel room, stretched out on my bed. I may as well be tied up, since I am unable to move."

Hypno-enthusiasists have taken the Svengali-inspired netherworld of science fiction, horror films, comic books they encountered as kids and built a feticsh on the mysterious impact of that childhood experience. In *Martin Knight's case, the moment occurred one day in 1959, when he was in ihis parent's living room watching the Movie Missle to the Moon on television.
*His name has been changed for this article.*

When I arrive at a hotel in Orange County, California, for my interview with Soforia the Enchantress, a package is waiting for me at the front desk. It contains four of Soforia's CDs, as well as a handwritten note. The letter is not a greeting, but a page of instructions as to how I will spend my afternoon. CALL MY CELL PHONE AS SOON AS YOU CHECK IN. LEAVE YOUR ROOM NUMBER ON MY VOICE MAIL. I wonder if this is she routine for visitors who come great distances to be hypnotically bossed around.

Some men are so intrigued with the idea of being hypnotized into groveling submission that they will order Soforia the Enchantress's hypnotic CDs, "Blissful Obedience", "The Sound of My Voice", and "Snap to It!", and listen to them dozens of times, in part because Soforia tells them that is what they are going to do.

"I know you crave to be hypnotized by Me," She commands. And, in fairness to Soforia, She is telling Her to crave the sound of Her voice only partly because it improves business. The other element of this somewhat convoluted equation is that being ordered to crave Soforia's voice is exactly what Her submissive clients want to hear.

.........Soforia has a soft, smooth, voice. Hers tends a little more toward the domme than hypno. Still, listening to it - listening to it for several hours-proves a surprisingly nice thing to do. As ordered, I become very very relaxed. My breathing is regular. And, indeed, my eyelids become too heavy to keep open. I do what I am told.

When I meet Soforia in the lobby at six, it is, I have to say, a little weird. She's a solid, pleasant looking woman, neatly and conservatively dressed. She has something of the look, posture, and manner of a girls' basketball coach about her--a kink that would be a bit of a stretch for me. Probably , there is a good deal of interest in submitting to a woman who knows when to pass and when to shoot and when, precisely, to call a time-out. The only outward indication of her exotic vocation is the crystal pendant around her neck.

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..............She asks me whether I've ever given any thought to how lovely the flame of a candle can be. The candle on our table, for instance... Half an hour later, I'm back in my hotel room, stretched out on my bed. I may as well be tied up, since I am unable to move. On the hotel bed I realize I cannot lift even a finger from the bedspread. I may as well be gagged, since I cannot speak. I am in a trance again--If indeed I'd ever been out of trance since the afternoon when I listened to Soforia's custom CDs. The only difference this time is that the owner of the voice I've had ringing inside my head for hours, is actually sitting on the other bed in my hotel room, reading through my notebook.

She's what??? I think to myself. Until I realize that nobody can read my notebook! The handwriting is indecipherable. Apparently Soforia has arrived at the same conclusion. The next thing I know, I'm sitting up, reading my private notebook to Soforia.

I'm what??? I think to myself. Until I realize I haven't yet had a chance to go over my notes from my encounters in L.A. with Krystal Mesmer. This may be a good opportunity to review, I decide.

This is the classic rationale of the hypnotized subject [I'm not really hypnotized, but I may as well go along with what the hypnotist says"].

Soforia wants to know what happened next! I can't blame her. I am more than a little curious myself. But there is a problem; a frustrating gap in my notebook at this very juncture. My notes are full of frustrating gaps. It is their most consistent quality. But Soforia is not as familiar with my ineptitude as I am. She's not at all willing to let the discretion of a gap remain unexamined! She insists on knowing exactly what happened when Krystal hypnotized me and instructs me to recall the entire session in graphic detail!

Frankly, I think Soforia's curiosity trespasses on my hard boundaries. But what I decide to do, rather than simply refuse to obey Soforia, is to see if I can make things up while I am hypnotized. I'm curious to find out if this is possible.

It occurs to me, as I spin my story for Soforia--describing the candles, the scent of the perfume, the intensity of Krystal's hypnotic gaze, the seductive temptation of submission--that I should write it down someday. As hypnotic fantasies go, it has a certain flair. The details are certainly impressive.

It is only much later, long after Soforia has gone, when I wake up in a dark hotel room and listen to the distant drone of traffic on the California interstate, that I wonder if I am certain I made my story up...