"Hello, sorry to disturb you," she began. "My name is Miranda. I'm one of the performers tonight and I need a few volunteers. I do a hypnosis act and I'd like to ask if I can quickly put you under and see if you're suited to being on stage."
Clark looked into her ink-black eyes and nodded. It seemed to him as if her calm, contralto voice had already half-entranced him. Indeed, only a moment later, apparently, he awoke to a snap of her fingers. She smiled again. "I've given you a post-hypnotic trigger, different from any of the ones I've given to the other volunteers. You don't remember it now, or what I've told you to do when you hear it--but don't worry, you'll recall it when it's time."
Miranda hurried backstage and Clark settled in to his dinner, enjoying the big band music from the house orchestra.
Once most of the diners were done, the orchestra sounded a fanfare and a hidden announcer presented, "Miranda, Mistress of the Mind!"
Miranda strode confidently on stage. She'd been attractive when circulating in the audience before the show, she was glorious now. She wore a sexy version of a man's formal tuxedo, the cutaway coat revealing an open white shirt, the pants transformed into a leotard and fishnet stockings atop five-inch black patent heels. It seemed to Clark she had half the audience--the male half--mesmerized already.
Miranda began a brief patter of explanation and then, clearly and pointedly, said, "Barnyard." Three of the diners--two female and one male--arose from their seats and joined her on stage. She smiled as she positioned them and then said, "Sunrise."
Instantly, the man perched himself on a chair, flapped his arms like wings and let out a resounding crow. The women began to cackle and peck at the ground, and the audience, including Clark, chuckled in response. When the scene had run its course, Miranda brought the erstwhile chickens out of their trances, carefully removed the trigger words, and sent them back to their seats.
The show went on that way for about half-an-hour, with one man reduced to a boy playing baseball, convinced he had broken a neighbor's window; a woman became a little girl playing hopscotch; and so on.
When the last participant finished, there was a drum roll and a spotlight fell upon Miranda again on the darkened stage. "Now the climax of our show." She looked out into the audience, caught Clark's eye and said, "Beauty."
He rose silently from his seat and went to the stage. "I have found that, in the right person, hypnosis is so powerful a force as to allow the creation of an entirely new identity, when guided properly," Miranda explained to the audience. "What better way to demonstrate the strength of this ability than to transform this young man into a sexy young woman." The crowd gasped and chuckled.
In the darkness behind Miranda and Clark, stagehands had brought in a variety of props and clothing, and a number of female assistants had joined them as well. "Let the magic begin!" Miranda declared and the lights went back up.
She guided Clark to the comfortable chair and helped him strip to the waist. Now the assistants, all trained beauticians, began their work. "Feel the cosmetics enhance your face, dear," Miranda said to Clark. "Feel them sculpt your masculine features to a feminine look." As one of the assistants painted his lips a brilliant red, she added, "Feel the scarlet of your lips affect your voice, making it breathy and feminine and sexy.
"You want to be feminine and sexy, don't you?" she asked.
Yes," Clark answered, in the voice Miranda had described, "I want to be feminine and sexy."
Next, the assistants helped the beautified Clark out of the chair, and one of them placed a well-padded, lacy black bra around his chest, carefully fitting it to him. "Feel the bra caress your tits," Miranda continued, "feel them grow to fill the cups and make you proud.
"You're proud of your big, lovely tits, aren't you?"
"I'm proud of my tits," he responded, cupping his hands beneath the ersatz globes.
Now Miranda led the entranced Clark behind a translucent screen and her assistants helped him out of his pants, shorts and shoes. Miranda handed them panties and a garter belt that matched the bra, as well as sheer black stockings and a pair of black patent-leather pumps with four-inch heels. As the assistants helped Clark into them, Miranda continued her suggestions: "The panties hug your luscious ass, making your hips grow wider and womanly; the garter belt shrinks your waist, giving you an hourglass figure; the stockings sleek your legs, the shoes make your walk sexy and feminine, your hips swinging, your feet mincing."
Clark emerged from behind the screen, completely dressed in the lingerie, his walk the essence of femininity.
"You like the way your hips sway, the way your heels make your legs an object of attention, don't you?" Miranda asked.
"Yes, I love to be feminine and attractive," Clark answered in his new, breathy whisper.
The final touch was a black cocktail dress, with a hem a daring six-inches above Clark's nyloned knees. "Feel the skirt float over your thighs," Miranda said. "Feel it as it flirts and teases with hints of your feminine secrets."You like flirting, don't you?"
"I love to flirt," Clark replied.
Miranda stepped closer to her now completely transformed subject. "In a moment, I will pass my hand before your face. When I do, you will awake from your trance, but you will remain in your feminized state. You will no longer be Clark, you will be Clare."
"I will be Clare," he murmured.
"You will continue to look and speak and behave as a beautiful, flirtatious woman until I cancel my suggestions to you. You will return to your table and enjoy the rest of the evening as Clare.
"When the show is over, you will return to my dressing room where I will remove my spell."
She placed her hand just below his chin and moved it slowly across his face. As it passed his eyes, she saw the light of consciousness return to them.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a big round of applause for Clare!" Miranda announced. The audience exploded into a cacophony of clapping, wolf whistles and laughter, a sound that only intensified when "Clare" curtsied in acknowledgment. She minced to her table and settled in, ordering a Pink Lady, as Miranda closed out her performance.
Miranda's performance was followed by a singer and then a few more songs from the band. Clare sat and enjoyed the show, as well as the stares from her fellow diners. In the back of her mind, she knew something was not quite right, but she pushed it aside and continued watching the show.
Finally, about midnight, the announcer concluded the proceedings. Clare rose, inquired the whereabouts of Miranda's dressing room and went there. A few moments later, Clark departed. He was completely aware of the experience he'd had and chuckled to himself at how ridiculous he must have looked. He hadn't noticed one thing very important, however--Miranda never removed his knowledge of her trigger words.
The next morning, a Saturday, Clark was awakened by the phone beside his bed. He picked it up and said, sleepily, "Hello?"
"Beauty," came the voice from the other end.
More to come
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