Dr. Vanessa Madsen finished drinking her third glass of red wine and let out an almost inaudible sigh. The woman sitting to her right at the reception, a mid-forties orange-haired, skinny abomination that had the audacity of thinking she looked good in a leopard print jumpsuit, had been yapping for the past twenty minutes, hardly stopping to catch a breath. Whenever the therapist thought she was finished with her ramblings, along came another, in a series of convoluted and mind-numbing arguments that could put almost anyone to sleep, and the worst part is that she expected her to say something in return.
“So, what do you make of this, Vanessa?” She asked, feeling entitled to call her by her first name despite only having met her that day.
“I think I’ve had too much to drink, and nature is calling right now,” the busty brunette replied as she slid away from the chair and the nagging company next to it. Eager for a moment of respite, she almost stumbled on her way out, but she quickly regained her composure and waltzed across the other tables as if nothing had happened. In the face of potential embarrassment, confidence was always key, and she had it in spades. The groom smiled at her with his glass held high and she reciprocated with a nod before heading to the bathroom.
Though she hated weddings and tried her best to avoid them, sometimes escaping wasn’t an option, so she put on her best fake smile, a sparkling dress with ample cleavage and black high-heeled shoes and endured the plethora of contradictory emotions the best way she could. More than the saccharine displays of affection that were often undeserved, what she loathed the most about such events were the leeches that inevitably circled her, people who, after finding out what she did for a living, felt the need to share their life’s woes to infinity in the hope of free therapy. Jumpsuit lady—she had already forgotten her name!—was one, and her inane, long-winded speeches about being afraid of flying and black people were still haunting her ears.
Vanessa finally left the hall of confusion behind her and navigated the five-star hotel’s corridors until she found what she was looking for. The inside of the ladies’ room was as lavishing as the rest of the building, a spectacle of marble and crystal that no living soul could ignore. The beautiful details in every corner were perhaps the only redeeming quality of that late Sunday afternoon, and so she took a moment to appreciate them. The quiet contemplation did wonders for her state of mind yet was quickly interrupted by a wail from the closest bathroom stall. It was louder than a banshee’s, and almost as terrifying.
“Are you okay in there?” Vanessa asked, out of morbid curiosity. A part of her expected her query to be ignored, so that she didn’t have to deal with any more unexpected complications, but it was too late for that. The wedding still had another story to tell, and she was already a part of it.
“Everything’s fine, thank you,” was the reply she got. The woman had a thick Southerner accent, and her throat was sore.
“Are you sure? All that I’m hearing suggests otherwise.”
“Thank you for the concern, but yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry about me,” the invisible woman buried her head between her shoulders and continued to cry. The sound was so intense it was as if she could drown in tears at any moment.
Vanessa ignored the blatant lie and pretended to leave the bathroom. After banging the door on the inside, she leaned against it and waited for the other woman to stick her head out like a curious pet. She was a chubby, petite redhead with a mid-size dress as vibrant as her hair and her make-up in shambles.
“You’re still there,” she said, immediately regretting opening the stall’s door.
“I guess I am.”
“I already said I’m okay. This is nothing. Do you mind leaving me alone?”
“I kind of do. I like it here. It’s so much better than being outside, surrounded by dumb people. Feel free to keep crying, okay?”
“I... I can’t do that now...”
“Knowing you’re listening is embarrassing...”
“I see. Better trade the tears for something livelier then. This is better, right?”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.”
“Understandable. I’ll just talk to myself then. Or maybe, I’ll sing something. Do you like opera? I’ve been told I have the voice of a diva when I put my heart into it. Perhaps you can be the judge of that.”
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t understand the question. What does it look like I’m doing?” Vanessa smiled as the other woman’s curiosity was piqued by her unorthodox dialog. She had now exited the confined space and stood halfway between a row of hand driers and perfumed paper towel dispensers.
“It seems like you’re trying to get me to talk about something even though I just said I don’t want to.”
“Oh... really? Must have rubbed off on me then as I spent the last hour or so avoiding the same problem. It sucks, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it certainly does. Please, don’t do that again.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal. Can I still break out into song or is that too much?”
“I hate opera so yeah... definitely too much.”
“Good to know.”
Vanessa committed to silence for a bit to better observe her new company. She looked about her age and was a relative of the bride, as evidenced by the crimson corsage on her right wrist. The sunken gaze told her she had been crying for about fifteen minutes before she came into the picture. That was simply too much for someone so young. With the ice now broken, she waited for her other mental barriers to slowly come undone.
“What do you think of men? They’re all jerks, right?”
“Not all but most, yes,” Vanessa replied. “I hope you’re not crying over one.”
For a good listener, that was more than enough to make her blood boil. A firm believer in Female Supremacy, Vanessa couldn’t stand the thought of an inferior creature causing such distress to a woman to the point of breaking her down like that. ‘Blasphemy’ was a proper word for it and now, more than never, her new companion had her attention.
“I know you don’t want to talk, but you can just vent. Having a man inside your head is unhealthy so let it all out if you wish. I won’t say a word unless you want me to.”
“You would do that for me even though we’re complete strangers?”
“I just offered so yes, but if you want to skip the ‘complete strangers’ part, hi, I’m Dr. Vanessa Madsen and dealing with horrible men is something I simply love doing.”
The other woman slowly raised her head like a wounded beast stuck in a trap and said:
“Hello. I’m Maggie, and it seems I only attract the worst kind out there,” she sighed. “My half a year boyfriend, Will, just told me he’s been fucking my Yoga instructor since we started dating, and broke up with me while we were waiting for the appetizers. I ran away from there as fast as possible because if I’d stayed, I would have been tempted to stab his balls with a fork and serve them on a silver platter. I’m trying to get that horrible image out of my head because I’m not really like that but he... He just makes me want to go absolutely ballistic, that stupid, conniving, lying son of a bitch who I regret ever letting fuck me in the ass in my parent’s house. God damn it, I want to hurt him! I want to hurt him and that vapid bimbo with perfect thighs so fucking much! Damn it!”
Vanessa remained motionless as the sudden downpour of unwanted emotions escalated to Storm of the Century proportions. The bathroom’s lights flickered momentarily, acknowledging Maggie’s perturbed state of mind, and then everything subsided as she bathed her hands in cold water and her own reflection chastised her for giving an undeserving creature so much power over her.
“That’s it... I guess. God, I must look absolutely ridiculous right now.”
“It’s okay, Maggie. Betrayal is a bitch and considering what you just said, I don’t blame you for thinking about revenge. What you need to ask yourself right now is if you’re just going to stick to thinking or you’re willing to go the extra mile.”
“You mean, actually use the fork? Yeah... no. I would never forgive myself if I did something like that and I don’t want to go to jail for assault and mutilation. I hate him more than anything, but he’s not worth it. He never was.”
“Agreed though he still deserves some retribution, and that’s kind of my specialty. Want to hear about it?”
“What are you a Dr. of, Vanessa?”
“The license says psychiatrist, but that’s just a title. I’m also a teacher, hypnotist, disciplinarian, male ego crusher, and so many other things that if I were to list them all, we would be here the rest of the day. If you’re worried about punishing him for what he did and then feeling bad about it, may I suggest you enlist my services to take care of things for you? I hate weddings and I could use a distraction until this is over... interested?”
“I don’t know. What would that entail?”
“To be honest, I haven’t thought that far yet, but it will be humiliating enough. You get to keep your consciousness clear because it wasn’t you that pulled the trigger, so to speak, and I get to have some fun in the meantime. I know it’s a strange deal, but it’s also a win-win situation so... when are we starting?”
* * *
William Robertson wasn’t always a no-good prick with questionable hygiene habits and a complete disregard for another person’s feelings. Until the age of ten, he was actually the most respectful boy in his group of older friends. Then, came the first porn magazine, the rude awakening of his nether brain, and all the nights of self-gratification that followed until he finished high school. By the time he was a college freshman, women had become nothing but colorful meat trophies or jerking fodder, and “fuck them and leave them” was now a motto worth living for.
With so many out there, committing to a single ‘partner’—even the word gave him chills!—was gene suicide and pleasure deserved all the chances it could get. Okay, so finally coming clean to Maggie on the day of her cousin’s wedding hadn’t been his greatest idea in the last decade but it was either that or risking see her get all emotional and believing for a moment they could be next on the aisle. Marriage wasn’t for him, and neither was being faithful. Getting rid of the Yoga instructor to pursue someone else was next on the agenda.
He was therefore visibly pleased when Vanessa appeared out of nowhere to claim the spot where Maggie had been sitting until then. Big boobs, smoldering eyes, tanned legs he would love to spread like butter... if the hotel still had vacancies, perhaps he could do that before the night was done.
“I think you got the wrong table, gorgeous, but I don’t care,” he said, the words dripping from his lips like sweet venom. Unlike other manly creatures she had dealt with recently, like the dumb, baseball-loving fan she had tricked into getting cravings for cock, William had a physical charm to him that, in Hollywood celebrities’ fashion, could be described as a mix of Chris Hemsworth and Chris Pine.
“No, I’m right where I need to be now...” Vanessa replied, leaning slightly forward so he could feast on her perfect breasts while she talked. While she didn’t feel quite the same if she wasn’t wearing a suit, the more feminine attire had its advantages. “You must be Will.”
“Guilty as charged, but now you have an advantage on me, Miss...”
“Madsen. Dr. Vanessa Madsen.”
“Enchanté,” he lowered his lips to her right hand to plant a kiss as egregious as his French accent. “Unless we’ve met before and I don’t remember though I doubt such a thing is even possible.
“A flatterer, I see.”
“If speaking the truth is flattery, then I’m a flatterer, indeed.”
“And here I thought that type of sweet talk was just a scheme to get inside my panties...” Vanessa smirked, pushing a plate filled with spiced rum-glazed shrimp to the side.
“Ouch! What have I done to deserve such cold treatment right off the bat?”
“To me, nothing. Maggie sends her regards though,” she grabbed a slice of garlic bread and chewed on it.
“Oh? Friend of hers? I thought I knew them all...”
“Not friends, for we just met today... more like temporary business partners. She told me what you pulled off today, Will, and that was certainly one of the most despicable things I’ve heard in a long time.”
“I guess you haven’t heard enough despicable things yet then,” he stopped paying attention to her to scour the room, looking for someone less confrontational and with a mouth big enough for his aching cock. “Maggie had her chance, and she blew it. Unless the two of you want to blow me off in the parking lot, I don’t think we have anything else to say to one another, Dr. Madsen.”
“Agreed for this is the part where I talk, and you listen.”
Although she had none of her favorite hypnotic gadgets in hand, Vanessa knew even the most stubborn of subjects was no match for a plunging neckline. She licked her right index finger and stuck it between her boobs, a wannabe cock pushing the boundaries of his perverted imagination. Listening to the subconscious commands of his true decision-making organ, Will’s gaze automatically followed the provocative gesture and nodded in approval.
“Now, do that again with the real thing,” he rubbed his engorged balls under the table.
“I have something better. Do you know what I think when the name Will comes to mind? Free will, the ability to choose your own destiny and, at every moment, differentiate good from evil and choose the right course of action. In its purest form, free will is a wonderful thing, though it can also be its opposite when used without consequence. I say it’s the greatest illusion produced by our normal society. Every single day, decisions we believe to be one hundred percent ours are dictated by external factors we either pretend aren’t there or simply try to forget. Publicity, TV shows, music, even the language we use is a means for daily brainwashing, the repetition of ideas and concepts so simple we adhere to them without thinking and get confused trying to explain or rationalize them. No one today remembers why it’s considered sexy for a woman to wear high heels for example, just like no one remembers why men are supposed to enjoy football and drink beer while they’re doing it. Patterns of behavior have been normalized and taken as facts that going against them fries the system, and the brain cannot function. Have you ever felt like that, so paralyzed on the inside that the doubt and uncertainty spreads to the rest of your body, forcing you to stop and reboot your world view?
“I bet not. You’re above that. You’re a Man with a capital M and not a bitch with a lowercase b. You never have moral quandaries, and your masculinity rises above everything else. You feel powerful doing to others what you would hate having done to you, saying that’s your free will in action, the ultimate expression of your soul. Poor Will, sitting on his chair, wanting absolutely nothing to do with what I’m saying and yet listening because I’m playing with my boobs and priming your neurons for the idea of sex. As long as your cock gets your fill, you’ll invariably accept whatever I say, especially if you’re unable to parse the entire flow of information. While your conscious self is only still focused on futile things like boobs, cleavage, and fucking a woman in the ass, the real you, the tiny man inside the tiny brain with a tiny cock, has already embraced confusion and the blissful mental fog it brings, sinking with them just as my finger goes down... down... further down still...
“And if you keep looking, you’ll notice that, as if by magic, it’s gone entirely from your mind’s eye now. You don’t quite grasp how that happened, how easily your perception you thought to be infallible simply stopped working but that’s okay. Things and thoughts vanish all the time, concepts break, and ideas follow but if one symbolizes another, do both fade away at the same time? The finger was like your cock, pushing and sliding, and dying to cum, and now it’s gone, like it never was, a miniature or a fantasy absorbed into nothingness. Perhaps the reason you no longer see it is because it was never there... it never existed. The finger isn’t real, and neither is your cock.... snap ... the finger isn’t real, and neither is your cock... snap... the finger isn’t real and neither is your cock... snap... there’s nothing between your legs you could use to satisfy yourself let alone please a woman... yet another figment of your imagination that went overboard just like believing you could do whatever you wanted and not suffer any repercussion. Gone. snap Gone forever. snap No cock. No thoughts. No will. snap Look down and see nothing but a blank space where nothing will ever thrive. snap Gone. snap Gone when you sleep and when you wake up... now.”
William’s eyes fluttered from the altered state of mind as he saw Maggie staring at him from the table to his right. The redhead woman had first laughed at the idea of using a simple hypnotic suggestion to get back at him but something about the way she had seen Vanessa play with words and emotions made her pussy wet.
“Were you always there?” he asked, befuddled.
“Yes. I guess you just couldn’t see me... You’re one hell of a son of a bitch, Will, but what I thought of doing to you is nothing compared to what you’ll be doing to yourself now that the trigger has been implanted. Thank you, Vanessa. This was fun to watch and well worth the price you asked.”
“You’re welcome,” the therapist got up from her seat and chuckled when her latest unwilling subject finally looked down and the only thing he saw was a boundless void. “Do you care to dance?”
“I’d love to, thank you.”
The two women headed to the center of the room, smiling as the self-absorbed asshole finally freaked out at his non-existent genitals. Vanessa Madsen hated weddings but, now and then, something happened that made them fun and worthwhile. With the promise of more suggestions about to ransack his mind, Will would see a lot more things disappear before the weekend was done.