The Hypnotist’s Cure



I’m in my Psychology lecture at the University of Tasmania, in my final year. It’s not my major subject, but it’s an interesting elective. Today’s topic is hypnosis and its use in therapy.

Dr. Jones tells us that we should not believe the popular mythology about hypnosis. For example, it can never make a person do something that is against their nature. When it works, it can act to reduce a person’s resistance to change, thus improving the chance for a positive result in therapy.

After the lecture, I go up to Dr. Jones and ask him if hypnosis would be effective to help me quit smoking. I’m disgusted by my habit, but I’ve always failed when trying to quit.

“It may help, Pauline,” he replies, “if you are highly motivated and there are no factors which could undermine the effort, such as having a smoking partner who doesn’t want to quit.”

“I’m single and my roommate doesn’t smoke,” I say.

“Well, if you truly want to quit, it might help.”

“Can you do it for me?”

“Oh no, I’m not a practitioner, but I can refer you to someone that has a good reputation.”

“I’d appreciate that, thanks.”

I give him my email address, and he promises to send me the details of the hypnotist. I receive his email that evening, and I email Dr. Joyce, asking when I can see her. The next morning, I get a response from her asking me to call her.

“Good morning, Dr. Joyce here. How may I help you?”

“Oh, hi. My name is Pauline. I sent you an email last night about helping me quit smoking.”

“Yes, I remember. I’d like to ask you a few questions before scheduling a session.”


“How long have you been smoking, and how old were you when you started?”

“I started at fifteen, and I’m twenty-two now, so that’s seven years.”

“And how many do you smoke in a day?”

“Maybe five to ten if I’m not stressed, fifteen to twenty if I am.”

“Wow, that’s a lot, and it’s not cheap.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“How many times have you tried to quit, and how?”

“I’ve tried cold turkey two or three times, then the last time with pharmacy medication.”

“Any luck?”

“Each time, I did cut down a bit, but then I went right back.”

She pauses a moment. “How motivated do you consider yourself to quit?”

“Oh, very much. I’m disgusted by the habit, the smell, the expense. I hate it.”

“From what you say, there’s a chance I can help. There are no guarantees, though.”

“Please help me.”

“I will try. I have weekday afternoon sessions at 1:00 and 3:00 and two evenings available, Tuesdays and Thursdays, usually at 7:00. What works for you?”

“This Tuesday at 7:00?”

“Uh, sorry that’s booked. Thursday at 7:00 is free.”

“Okay, that’s good for me.”

“Now, the fee is $70 for a 50-minute session. Is that okay?”

“Yes, it will be worth it.”

“I can’t say how many sessions it will take. If you give me your card details, I’ll process the payments after each session.”

“That’s fine. I want to get started.”

“All right, do you have the address?”

“Yes, it’s near campus, so I can walk over.”

“Great, see you then.”



On Thursday evening I walk to Dr. Joyce’s address and ring the doorbell. She opens the door. “Pauline?”


“Dr. Joyce. Please come in.” She walks down the hallway as the door closes behind me. We enter her office, and she has me sit in a comfortable leather chair that faces a large TV screen, turned away from her desk. It’s showing what looks like a randomly varying pattern, with occasional flashes of colour.

She turns the room light down very low, so the TV is the only thing to look at. “Just look at the screen, relax and let your eyes get accustomed to the light level while I prepare the program.”

I settle into the chair and gaze at the TV. The pattern is soothing, calming me down. Soft sounds begin, something like gentle waves at the beach, but less distinct. Then a very soft tinkling of a piano plays. I’m getting quite relaxed.

The pattern slowly becomes less random, with vague grey spirals appearing near the centre then spinning off the edge. Her voice whispers very softly, “Just relax and enjoy the view. Let yourself sink into the chair.”

The spirals become clearer and stronger, lasting longer before spinning off. “Breathe slowly and deeply,” she whispers. “Sink down, immerse yourself in the pattern.”

My eyes are getting heavy, blinking. She whispers, “Keep looking, let your mind and your body become one with the pattern.” I gaze and feel myself being drawn into the pattern.

“I will count down from ten, and at zero you will be in a deep sleep, but you will continue to hear my voice.”

She counts slowly, “Ten…nine…eight…seven…six. Let go, trust in the pattern. Five…four…three…two. Almost there. One…zero. Fall in.”

My eyes close but I still hear the waves and the piano. “Good. Now visualise a kaçak iddaa cigarette. Take it out of the pack. Put it to your lips and anticipate the pleasure of that first puff. Light it, and breathe in deep.”

“The taste is repulsive. You choke and blow the smoke out of your lungs. Look at the cigarette. It looks no different, but it’s not the same. The smoke from the end wafts into your nostrils and burns them with an intense heat.”

I cough uncontrollably for a minute, then finally control it.

“You can’t help taking another puff. The taste is even worse than the first time, and the smoke sears your throat. You put out the cigarette in the ashtray and breathe in and out to clear your lungs.” I cough more.

“Relax now, sink back into the chair. Breathe slowly and deeply, letting your lungs clear. Let your body calm. I am taking away the cigarette. It won’t bother you again. That’s it. Relax, calm down.”

My body slowly settles after the horrible effects of the cigarette. She’s gone silent, and it feels like an hour before I hear her say, “Now I’m going to tell you two phrases. They will not take effect while telling you these, but only afterwards.”

“In the future, whenever I say ‘There’s no shame here,’ you will fall into the trance that you are in now. And when I say ‘Are you okay?’ you will wake up, relaxed and refreshed. This only works if I say these. If somebody else happens to say them, they will have no effect. Do you understand?”


“You will not remember that you have been in this trance, but you will feel the same effects of the cigarette if you smoke again.”

She is silent for a while, then says, “Are you okay, Pauline?” I open my eyes, seeing the faint random pattern on the screen and say, “Yes, I’m fine. Why?”

Dr. Joyce smiles at me, saying, “Your journey seemed to go well.”

“What journey? Was I under? I just got here, didn’t I?”

“You did well, and no, you’ve been here for a while. Let’s test the results.” I hear a soft whirring sound, and my chair turns to face her desk.

She opens her drawer and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. When she pulls one from the pack, I start to feel ill. When she puts it to her lips, flicks the lighter and brings the flame to the tip, I panic and shout, “No, don’t!”

She stops, closes the lighter and hands the cigarette and lighter to me, saying, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Here, you have it.”

I start sweating and feel horribly sick. I refuse it. She takes them away and puts them back into the drawer. “Bloody hell, what did you do to me?” I blurt.

“Only what you asked of me, Pauline. Smoking is now a fearful act for you, so hopefully, you can quit now.”

“Wow, I can’t believe how I felt just then. Will it always be that intense?” I ask.

“Generally the intensity fades, but if you are lucky, the negative feeling will persist and you will be cured. Of course, there are still the physical withdrawal effects, which can be reduced by nicotine patches or gum over the next few weeks.”

“We should have at least one more session to make sure that this has taken effect. I have one further test for you today, Pauline. There’s no shame here.” I melt into the chair and I fall back into the trance. “Can you hear me, Pauline?”

“Yes,” I reply from the fog of the trance.

“Good. Now for your next session, as well as assessing the smoking treatment, I want you to examine if there is anything else in your life that bothers you or that you want to explore with me. These sessions are completely confidential and this is a safe place for you to express yourself about anything at all. Will you do that?”


“Good. You have done very well, Pauline. You should be proud of yourself. Now you will not remember the words that I have said today, but you will comply with my instructions.”


“Are you okay, Pauline?”

I open my eyes and say, “Yes, I’m fine. Shall we continue?”

“We have finished for today, Pauline. Would next Tuesday at 7:00 be good for your next session?”

“Let me look,” I say, as I dig out my phone to look at my calendar app. “Yes, that’s fine.” Of course, I am puzzled, as I don’t remember doing anything tonight.

“Did you really hypnotise me, Dr. Joyce?”

“Yes, Pauline, and I believe it will work. We’ll check it out next time, along with anything else you want to explore.”

I am still in disbelief that we did anything, but my phone tells me that I’ve been here almost an hour.

I get up and walk out, saying, “Thanks, I guess, Dr. Joyce.”

“My pleasure, Pauline.”

I exit her office and out of habit, I dive into my handbag for a smoke. Pulling out the cigarette feels odd and slightly nauseating. When I bring the lighter to the end to light it, my body panics and refuses to allow me to light it. Wow, I guess she did do something!


Over the next several days, I self-analyse myself as I have never done before. I vaguely suspect that kaçak bahis it has been a suggestion from Dr. Joyce, but in any case, I find one thing that has been bothering me.

On Saturday night, Jim, my boyfriend, took me out for dinner and a movie, which was nice. He kissed me goodnight at the door to my unit and then reached up to touch my boob. I stiffened and pushed his hand away.

“Pauline, what’s wrong?” he complained. “We’ve been dating for a couple of months now, and we don’t seem to be going anywhere with it. I like you a lot and I care for you, and I want to make you feel good. Don’t you like me?”

“Oh, Jim, I do like you,” I replied.

“Then why can’t we go beyond kissing at the door? We’re adults now, right?”

I looked at him and said, “I’m sorry, Jim, I don’t know why I can’t.”

He pulled away and looked at me and said, “I’m sorry, too, Pauline. I don’t think I can keep seeing you this way if you can’t, you know.”

I started to cry and ran inside, flopping on my bed and sobbing. I tried to understand why I can’t have sex with Jim? I’m no prude – I’ve been masturbating for a long time and I like it.

I am pondering this episode as I walk into Dr. Joyce’s office Thursday evening.

“How’s the smoking going, Pauline?” she inquires.

“Fantastic, better than I could have imagined. I tried lighting a cigarette after our session, and I felt sick. I couldn’t bring myself to try another one.”

“That’s fantastic.” She turns my chair back to the screen, which is showing the spirals again. “I hope you have other things for me tonight. Look at the screen and relax.” I look, and I melt into the chair. “There’s no shame here,” she says, and I fall into a trance.

“Relax, Pauline. Keep your eyes open and watch the screen.” Out of the grey patterns, white rectangles appear and dance around.

They turn into cigarettes, and I whimper, “No, please!” They dance off the screen.

Dr. Joyce whispers, “You are afraid of cigarettes. I’m going to help you avoid them without the panic you feel now. Now listen to me.” She whispers on for several minutes. I calm down, and when the cigarettes reappear on screen, she asks, “How do you feel now?”

“I don’t like them, but I’m not freaking out like before.”

“Very good. This time, you will remember everything about this session. This will help you complete the process of quitting. Are you okay, Pauline?”

I wake up and say, “Wow, that helped a lot. I’ll remember the dancing ciggies now, and laugh.” She turns my chair to face her and she chuckles with me.

She makes several notes, then asks me, “Now what else can I help you with?”

“Um, well, I don’t know.”

“It’s all right, Pauline. There’s no shame here.” I drop back into the trance. “You are safe here, Pauline. You can discuss anything at all.”

I think for a moment, then tell her, “My boyfriend Jim has been pressing me to have sex. I like him a lot, but when we start kissing and he wants to fondle my body, I find myself tensing up. This weekend he broke up with me because I couldn’t do anything.”

“I see,” she says, pausing for thought. “Tell me, Pauline, have any men or boys in your past abused you, sexually or otherwise.”

“No, I’ve had a reasonable childhood, no dramas.”

“Hmm. Okay, did you date in high school?”

“A few dates, but most guys just wanted one thing, you know?”

“Yes, I understand. But is there any traumatic event in your past?”

“No, not really.”

“Okay.” She turns my chair back to the screen, saying, “Just relax for a minute while I find some materials.” I gaze at the dancing spirals and ease into the chair.

After some time, she says, “I’m going to show you a series of photos. I want you to tell me how they make you feel.”


A nice-looking young man appears on the screen. He can be any student at uni. “Well?” she asks.

“He looks friendly. I’m okay with him.”

A pretty young woman replaces the man. “And now?”

“She’s nice too. No particular feeling.”

Both photos appear now, side by side. “Without saying what you feel or why, Pauline, tell me which picture gives you a stronger feeling.”

“The woman.” The man disappears.

“Now can you tell me what she makes you feel?”

“I’m not sure, I just like the way she smiles. It’s like she’s looking at me.”

The man replaces the woman. A slide show follows, consisting of several photos of him progressively undressing. Finally, he’s nude, facing me. “And now?”


“There’s no shame here, Pauline. Tell me how you feel.”

“A little uncomfortable.” I see more slides of him, touching his penis and making it hard. Finally, he’s facing me, smiling, with the penis pointing right at me.”

“Ugggh, yuck. That’s disgusting.” The screen fades to the spirals for a minute.

The woman reappears. As with the man, there’s a slide show of her undressing. When she’s nude, I gaze at her. Her body is beautiful, having pert little boobs with large dark nipples. “And now?”

“She’s illegal bahis lovely.”

“And what do you feel?”

“A little excited.” More slides of her appear, with her caressing her boobs and cupping her mound. “And now?”

“Oh, more excited. Is this wrong?”

“Feelings are never wrong, Pauline. They come from you and they are always true.”

Another slide of her appears. She’s sitting in a chair with legs spread wide. She’s spreading her lips apart, letting me see into her bright pink pussy. She’s gazing at me and smiling. I gasp.

“Yes, Pauline?”

“Oh my, I’ve never seen anything like this. I’m so very excited.”

“Would you like to see a video of her?”

“Oh, yes, please,” I cry, surprised at my unbridled enthusiasm. The video starts. She is naked, on her bed, with her legs spread. My view is from her feet, so I have a close-up view. One hand is rubbing her pussy and with the other, she’s pulling her nipples. Her head is on a pillow and she’s looking down at herself.

“You may touch yourself if you want to. I don’t mind.”

One hand jumps to my boob and my other hand dives under my skirt, sliding up to my pussy, copying the scene on screen. Her finger slides into her wet pussy and she moans. The hand on my boob flies down and pulls my knickers aside so I can do the same. I moan with her.

She looks up, directly at me, as if she has heard me. Her gaze ignites my passion, and I start fucking my pussy furiously. She gasps, as if seeing me, and fucks herself madly.

We lather ourselves into a frenzy, and when she screams and gushes her juice over her fingers, I cum hard and scream. We thrash and shake together, then collapse. I notice a box of tissues on the arm of the chair; I take three, wipe my fingers off, blot my pussy and replace my knickers over my pussy.

I melt into the chair as I watch her lying back. Then she raises her head and blows me a kiss. I grin and blow one back before realising that she can’t see me. Her image fades to the patterns. I rest for a minute before noticing where I am – in Dr. Joyce’s office, not my place.

I close my legs. She turns me around. I say, “Oh my, you heard all of that.”

“Yes, Pauline, but remember, there’s no shame here.” She gives me a little smile, and I return it. “Take a moment to think about what just happened, and what it might reveal about you.”

I think for a minute but can’t come up with an answer.

She says, “Let’s review the slide shows. You were fine with the clothed man, and his nude picture only bothered you a little. But you found it disgusting when he became sexual.”

“Now with the woman, you liked her clothed and became a little excited to see her nude. But when she became sexual, you got so excited that you had to join her.” She pauses for a bit. “Does that tell you something about yourself?”

“Oh. Wow. Does that mean I’m a, um, lesbian?”

“I’m not usually huge on labels, Pauline, but in your case, I believe it may apply to you.”

“I’ve never considered that. Wow, I have a lot to think about.”

“Yes, you do. Just relax now. Close your eyes and let yourself sink into the chair.”

She was silent for a while. Then she whispers, “You will remember this session in detail, and think about it.”

“Are you okay, Pauline?”

I blink awake, and the memory of what I have just done floods back to me. “Uh, yeah, I’m okay, but wow, what I just learned.”

“I know, you weren’t expecting it and it’s a lot to take in. But it does seem to explain your reaction to your boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, I guess.”


“Maybe in a few days, when you have had time to adjust to your newly-found orientation, you can explain it to him. You said you liked him, so maybe you can still be friends.”

“I’d like that. I do like him, and maybe now as a friend only, we can get along better.”

“You are a very clever young woman, Pauline. I think you will be fine.”


I walk to my place in a bit of a daze, amazed at what Dr. Joyce has helped me learn about myself. I start wondering if I can tell anyone, or if I need to. Mum would freak out; she’s so straight I’m sure she’s never considered me being otherwise. Heck, neither did I until this evening.

On the way, I look at the female students in a new light. I’ve always appreciated the female form, but now I find myself imagining what their uncovered boobs look like. I have a few fantasies before I get to my room at the residential college.

Stepping in, I see my roommate Jasmine, lying curled up on the bed with her head turned away. I toss my handbag on my bed and say, “Hey, Jasmine, are you okay?”

She turns toward me and I can tell that she’s been crying. Her eyes are wet and bloodshot. I sit next to her and put my hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Jasmine?” I say softly.

She grabs a tissue and blows her nose. “Oh, Pauline, I’m so lonely. I don’t know why nobody likes me. I know I’m strange-looking and have tiny boobs and I’m too shy to meet anyone. And when I finally meet a guy and go on a sort-of date, he ghosts me.”

“Who was this?” I ask.

“George. I think you met him once at the cafeteria.”

“Oh yeah, he seems nice.”

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