For weeks May hinted, shyly, that she might like to be hypnotized. They ghosted around the trailer park together, holding hands in the warm evenings, seeking shade in the hot afternoons—often settling down beneath the unfinished freeway to look out over the hot valley, the trailers, the traffic. And one day, recently, they had kissed—tentative, gentle kisses that made Derek feel as if his insides were melting and his skin were tingling all over and he just wanted to somehow pull May inside him or climb into her skin with her, to be closer than their bodies allowed. And that was when, looking at him through slit lids, May had whispered for the first time, “I want you to hypnotize me….”
“I do want it,” she said now. “I’m ready.”
He took her by the hand and brought her over to the towel he’d spread out. She sat with her back to the cool cement of the pylon, and he sat down facing her. They were completely alone on the hillside that seemed to blur up into the empty beige sky, the trailer park and the highway all hidden from view. The immense gray bulk of the freeway seemed to float weightless overhead. He could hear bees and the wind rustling scrub and the distant hum of traffic, but all that would help May go under.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
She gave him a smile and a sly look, then did as he said. When he began speaking, telling her to relax, the smile continued to flicker about her lips. Then there came a moment when he saw her let go, and the nervous smile washed away, and she took a deep, sighing breath and seemed to sag a little. May was in a trance.
Next he told her that her right arm was growing lighter than air, floating up like a helium balloon. May’s rose from her lap, drifting up until it was level with her face. When he told her the arm had turned to lead, it fell as abruptly as a metal weight, crashing down on her legs. Now the arm was completely numb, lacking all sensation. He scooted next to her and pinched the back of her hand so hard it left nailmarks in the skin. She didn’t flinch.
Derek didn’t know quite where to go from here. He crouched next to her, listening to the throbbing of insects in the heat, the warm murmur of the wind, feeling suddenly alone and afraid—as if May were no longer here. Waiting for inspiration, he took her hand and stroked it softly, smoothing away the white crescents left by his nails.
“May,” he whispered, “can you hear me?”
She nodded very slowly.
He leaned close to her ear, as if to whisper a secret that even she shouldn’t hear. And indeed it was a secret, something he had never dared tell her:
“I love you,” he said.
She showed no reaction, no more than when he had pinched her.
“I love you, May,” he said again, and this time he thought he saw her smile returning, but from very far away.
He took a deep breath before continuing. “Do… do you love me?” And waited in suspense for her reply. When she made no sound, no move, he quickly added, “You don’t have to answer unless you want to.”
She nodded, but he wasn’t sure what it meant. That she loved him, or that she understood she didn’t have to answer?
“I was afraid to tell you,” he said. “I thought if I told you now, and it made you mad or upset, I could tell you to forget it when you woke up. But you aren’t mad, are you? May?”
She shook her head. He began to sweat with relief; it was like a fever breaking.
He still had hold of her hand. Now he put it to his mouth and kissed her fingers, her wrist, her forearm, the inside of her elbow. Every kiss felt electric; if felt as if she were the one kissing him. She loved him!
“May, I want—I want you to hold me,” he said. Her arms went out. He sank down clumsily beside her. She shifted around with her eyes still closed until she had both arms around him. They lay down together on the towel. He had worked quite awhile to clear the ground of pebbles and stickers, but he could still feel rocks poking through the cloth, digging into his flesh. Considerately, he suggested to May that she not feel these things. “We’re lying on a cloud,” he said. “Can you feel it, soft and fluffy underneath us? Isn’t it wonderful?”
She nodded, giggling. “Like cotton candy,” she volunteered, more herself now.
“Yeah…”
He held very still for a long time, wishing the rocky ground felt like cotton candy to him as well; but there was no one to soften things for Derek. He tried to cushion her weight, pulling May against him; then he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids; he nuzzled her ears through the fall of soft black hair. He kissed her neck and the hollow place in her throat.
It was all wonderful, but it wasn’t enough.
He propped himself on an elbow, gazing down on her, watching her sleep. “May,” he said, “please… will you kiss me? Touch me?”
Instantly she pulled him to her and began to kiss him—not timidly, as he had done, but voraciously, opening her mouth, drawing in his tongue, slithering her own between his lips as if drinking him in. Even as he tasted her sweetness, something in him drew back in fear; what if this wasn’t all May’s doing? What if she was doing this only because she was hypnotized? What if, despite what all the books said, Mary Baker Eddy was right and she was somehow enslaved to him? Then these kisses were not born of her own free will. She might not really love him at all, but he wouldn’t know until she came out of her trance and they talked about everything. Suddenly he hated himself for his ploy, his weakness, his lack of courage. But May was kissing him, and things were rushing along with a life of their own, as if he’d become caught in her trance and his own will was itself compromised. He held her face in his fingers; but as she continued to kiss him, his hands moved down her body. May responded by clutching him fiercely, drawing him to her. She was moaning, and the sound made him moan, half in dread, because he knew he should stop but he couldn’t.
“I love you,” he said again, and she said nothing. He was afraid to tell her to speak because it would mean less if it came at his prompting. He was desperate for confirmation, but he had already taken things past the point where he could be certain of anything. Meanwhile, he knew May must be able to feel his erection unless she was numb to everything. And to be sure that she felt him, feeling as if he must share this with her honestly, he guided her hand to the place and said, “May, I love you so much!”
She grabbed his penis through his pants, and he pushed against her hand, his own fingers now brushing at the fabric of her dress, trying to feel her nipples through the cloth. Her flesh was very soft and spongy, and he was afraid to squeeze or try working his fingers under the fabric, afraid to unbutton her or do anything she might not have wanted him doing if she weren’t hypnotized. He mustn’t touch her, mustn’t do anything to her, not that he could have gotten her pregnant or anything like that. He knew from books what was supposed to happen, but he wasn’t old enough yet. He had never ejaculated.
But as always with May, his thoughts ran on one track, his body on another. “Yes,” he was saying, “oh, May, yes. There.” He unzipped himself for her, so her hands could get through to him. The sensation he felt when she touched his flesh was almost unbearable. Heat and cold ran through him. He lay back on the towel, afraid to touch her now, afraid of what he might do to her. He saw her slit eyes above him, her face so serious and distant, hair mussed and mouth wet. He looked down at himself and saw her hand still holding him. It was like looking at something happening to someone else. And he sounded like someone else when he said, “Kiss me there, May. Please… put your mouth on me.”