6.10.06
ST: LN 08 Stress Relief
The first thing I want you to realise is that I am ethical, and normally I wouldn't do anything to endanger my future profession as a Psychologist, or in any way tamper with the mind of an unwilling client. However, after saying that, I must confess that there was this one time when my desires got the better of me, and I did surrender to the darker and more sexually deviant side of my nature. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, there was an occasion when I used my powers of clinical hypnosis for the purpose of my own fetish gratification, and I wish to confess it here, so you, my dear readers, will not be led into the same foul trap.
It started one night, as I was halfway through my evening at the Barber Shop. Things were relatively slow (I never do a roaring business) and I was reading my seventh book on hypnosis and thinking about the demonstrations I had been witnessing over the past few days. We all had to study it as part of the course, and I was amazed how well some students responded to suggestions, while others resisted the whole way. I was neither a good subject nor a bad one, and quite enjoyed the feeling of relaxation it produced.
Anyway, as I'm sitting there reading, one of the hotel residents came over to the shop. He was in his mid thirties, and dressed in a middle of the range business suit. He had obviously had a hard day around some conference table or such, and his body language screamed stress and exhaustion. The worst part was his hair - over-moussed and dry, shaggy around the ends - all the things a professional barber and hair fetishist abhors.
"Could you fit me in for a trim?" he says, even though the shop was empty. This guy was obviously in a stressed out world of his own. I took his jacket and placed it on the rack, then suggested he might want a shampoo before I cut it. I think he was too spaced out to care, and I led him to the small basin and chair in the corner.
As he leaned back, he loosened his tie and I wrapped a towel around his neck. Then I started the warm water running, and gently ran it through his hair. I could see him visibly start to relax, and I automatically began to make soothing small talk, almost like a parent does to a sick child. Pretty soon he was very relaxed and almost asleep - and that's when it happened.
At first it was just a few suggestions about relaxing, feeling calm and safe, and then as I became absorbed in applying the shampoo, I found myself reciting the trusty hypnotic induction mantras. I wasn't doing it on purpose, and after I realised what I had done I should have stopped, but instead I watched him becoming more relaxed under my ministrations, so I continued. What an evil bastard I am.
By the time I was rinsing out his conditioner, he was deep in a hypnotic trance. He was responding to my voice, and when I lifted his hand in the air, it just stayed where I released it. It was a true text book experience, and I was thrilled by the feeling of power it gave me. I got him to stand up and walk to the chair, and it was almost like guiding a sleepwalker. I don't know whether he was just very susceptible, or whether the stress he'd been under had worn him down, but he was deeply 'under'. As I positioned the cape around his neck, and rubbed my fingers through his still wet hair, it occurred to me just what I had done, and what I had the potential to do.
Obviously this guy didn't spend a lot of time on hair care, which was a real shame, as he was quite good looking in a mid-thirtiesh over worked and uptight businessman sort of way. So as I ran the comb through across his head, I had him concentrate on the feeling of it, becoming more relaxed and serene the more I touched his hair. He started responding with a smile, so I kept up the suggestions as I smoothed it down and got out the scissors.
Then, as I trimmed and cut, I had him think of pleasant things and associate them with the haircut, giving him a sense of peace and relaxation every time he touched or combed his hair. Not only would this relieve his stress build up at work, but (and most importantly) it would be good for his hair. I tried to keep his cut short and manageable, so it should look good with a minimum of care, and I had him open his eyes to watch what I was doing. My monologue of relaxation was interspersed with hints about conditioners and style, and his sleepy eyes watched my every move with fascination.
Now, dear reader, you know that I have this thing about pomaded hair, and I am not one to take advantage of a helpless head of newly clipped locks (no matter what Joe says - and he can't prove it anyway) but I couldn't leave it at that. I have a tub of henna wax that we use in the shop for deep conditioning. You're supposed to leave it on for about an hour, but I find it can work quite well as a gel. It would not only give his hair the treatment it needed, but it would also provide me with a 'thank you' for fixing his potential hypertension.
I rubbed some of the soft waxy mixture through his hair, and massaged it through, again concentrating on messages of relaxation and well being. Then I gave him the crispest part that he had probably had in his life (in my humble opinion), and then proceeded to convince him that for tonight, this was the way he always wore his hair, gelled up and precise, and that after a good night's sleep, he would wake up and wash it out, and not only feel refreshed but see that he had had his best haircut ever. The next step was to bring him 'round and see if the suggestions held.
As I brought him back up to normal consciousness, his eyes began to focus more, and he even stretched and yawned, as if he'd been asleep. I removed the cape and he got up to look in the mirror with admiration. He slid his hands along the sides of his head to feel the slick smoothness, and turned to thank me. He looked like a different man - not just because of the cut and style - but because he looked refreshed, and not the defeated workaholic that first walked in.
I helped him on with the jacket, and he left the shop with a 'spring in his step', and walked over to the desk to pick up his key. That's when I realised that Joe had probably seen the whole thing, and there was a chance he would ask the guy about his new 'sleek' look, but he didn't. He just smiled and gave him the key. But he must have commented on the hair, because the guy smiled and once again ran his hand along the side of his head, feeling the sheen even if he couldn't see it.
Well, dear reader, you now know about my dreadful fall from grace (well, those bits fit for publishing), except that the next morning, as my first hypnotic subject checked out of the hotel, Joe managed to grab a shot of him with his Polaroid. It took a bit of convincing, but when he showed me, I felt my journey off the straight and narrow was not in vain. The guy looked at least five years younger, and although his hair was no longer slicked down, the shine it had spoke of a considerate owner and a good brushing. My work here was done.
(And if Joe ever tells you that anything else happened that night, as I've said before, you can't trust anyone with a smile like that and a cowlick you could use as a roller coaster.)
It started one night, as I was halfway through my evening at the Barber Shop. Things were relatively slow (I never do a roaring business) and I was reading my seventh book on hypnosis and thinking about the demonstrations I had been witnessing over the past few days. We all had to study it as part of the course, and I was amazed how well some students responded to suggestions, while others resisted the whole way. I was neither a good subject nor a bad one, and quite enjoyed the feeling of relaxation it produced.
Anyway, as I'm sitting there reading, one of the hotel residents came over to the shop. He was in his mid thirties, and dressed in a middle of the range business suit. He had obviously had a hard day around some conference table or such, and his body language screamed stress and exhaustion. The worst part was his hair - over-moussed and dry, shaggy around the ends - all the things a professional barber and hair fetishist abhors.
"Could you fit me in for a trim?" he says, even though the shop was empty. This guy was obviously in a stressed out world of his own. I took his jacket and placed it on the rack, then suggested he might want a shampoo before I cut it. I think he was too spaced out to care, and I led him to the small basin and chair in the corner.
As he leaned back, he loosened his tie and I wrapped a towel around his neck. Then I started the warm water running, and gently ran it through his hair. I could see him visibly start to relax, and I automatically began to make soothing small talk, almost like a parent does to a sick child. Pretty soon he was very relaxed and almost asleep - and that's when it happened.
At first it was just a few suggestions about relaxing, feeling calm and safe, and then as I became absorbed in applying the shampoo, I found myself reciting the trusty hypnotic induction mantras. I wasn't doing it on purpose, and after I realised what I had done I should have stopped, but instead I watched him becoming more relaxed under my ministrations, so I continued. What an evil bastard I am.
By the time I was rinsing out his conditioner, he was deep in a hypnotic trance. He was responding to my voice, and when I lifted his hand in the air, it just stayed where I released it. It was a true text book experience, and I was thrilled by the feeling of power it gave me. I got him to stand up and walk to the chair, and it was almost like guiding a sleepwalker. I don't know whether he was just very susceptible, or whether the stress he'd been under had worn him down, but he was deeply 'under'. As I positioned the cape around his neck, and rubbed my fingers through his still wet hair, it occurred to me just what I had done, and what I had the potential to do.
Obviously this guy didn't spend a lot of time on hair care, which was a real shame, as he was quite good looking in a mid-thirtiesh over worked and uptight businessman sort of way. So as I ran the comb through across his head, I had him concentrate on the feeling of it, becoming more relaxed and serene the more I touched his hair. He started responding with a smile, so I kept up the suggestions as I smoothed it down and got out the scissors.
Then, as I trimmed and cut, I had him think of pleasant things and associate them with the haircut, giving him a sense of peace and relaxation every time he touched or combed his hair. Not only would this relieve his stress build up at work, but (and most importantly) it would be good for his hair. I tried to keep his cut short and manageable, so it should look good with a minimum of care, and I had him open his eyes to watch what I was doing. My monologue of relaxation was interspersed with hints about conditioners and style, and his sleepy eyes watched my every move with fascination.
Now, dear reader, you know that I have this thing about pomaded hair, and I am not one to take advantage of a helpless head of newly clipped locks (no matter what Joe says - and he can't prove it anyway) but I couldn't leave it at that. I have a tub of henna wax that we use in the shop for deep conditioning. You're supposed to leave it on for about an hour, but I find it can work quite well as a gel. It would not only give his hair the treatment it needed, but it would also provide me with a 'thank you' for fixing his potential hypertension.
I rubbed some of the soft waxy mixture through his hair, and massaged it through, again concentrating on messages of relaxation and well being. Then I gave him the crispest part that he had probably had in his life (in my humble opinion), and then proceeded to convince him that for tonight, this was the way he always wore his hair, gelled up and precise, and that after a good night's sleep, he would wake up and wash it out, and not only feel refreshed but see that he had had his best haircut ever. The next step was to bring him 'round and see if the suggestions held.
As I brought him back up to normal consciousness, his eyes began to focus more, and he even stretched and yawned, as if he'd been asleep. I removed the cape and he got up to look in the mirror with admiration. He slid his hands along the sides of his head to feel the slick smoothness, and turned to thank me. He looked like a different man - not just because of the cut and style - but because he looked refreshed, and not the defeated workaholic that first walked in.
I helped him on with the jacket, and he left the shop with a 'spring in his step', and walked over to the desk to pick up his key. That's when I realised that Joe had probably seen the whole thing, and there was a chance he would ask the guy about his new 'sleek' look, but he didn't. He just smiled and gave him the key. But he must have commented on the hair, because the guy smiled and once again ran his hand along the side of his head, feeling the sheen even if he couldn't see it.
Well, dear reader, you now know about my dreadful fall from grace (well, those bits fit for publishing), except that the next morning, as my first hypnotic subject checked out of the hotel, Joe managed to grab a shot of him with his Polaroid. It took a bit of convincing, but when he showed me, I felt my journey off the straight and narrow was not in vain. The guy looked at least five years younger, and although his hair was no longer slicked down, the shine it had spoke of a considerate owner and a good brushing. My work here was done.
(And if Joe ever tells you that anything else happened that night, as I've said before, you can't trust anyone with a smile like that and a cowlick you could use as a roller coaster.)
Labels: LNHB
# posted @ 12:08 pm 
