Six Pills of Domination

The fact that I did not think about consequences is what allowed me to commit some heinous acts. Unfortunately, the lack of thought doomed me to not taking advantage of the full spectrum of possibilities that I had accidently created for myself. It seems easy to be philosophical about it now, but as a horny sixteen year old it was a bitter pill to swallow.

Prologue II: Biological and Chemical Accidents Sixteen and male is an awkward state, especially when you’re different from everyone else in high school. I was not a geek, a freak, a member of the D&D crowd, a metal head or a pot head. I was different. My parents were mostly responsible for that. I am, admittedly, a biological accident and they did not discover a parental bone between them while I was a child. They were not opposed to me but I had not been a part of their life plan. This left us in something of a quandary. Their solution was to treat me as an adult relation that would be living in their home for an extended period of time. I do not remember a time when my words were not taken seriously, judged as any adult’s might be, or a time when my questions were not answered with intelligent truthful bluntness. I had a child’s playthings but they were overlooked as any of a relative’s minor idiosyncrasies might be. While our relationship lacked warmth, I had a much better understanding of the world and more freedom than my peers. I was also different because I had thought about my life plan for years before I could make any significant movement through it. My father was a plastic surgeon; my mother, his personal nurse. Art can be found in many guises, and though the concept sounds strange even to me; my father had art in his soul. In my father’s profession, there are plastic surgeons who do face lifts, nose jobs, tummy tucks, etc. My father had an eye for what would make a woman believe she had left the operating table more beautiful then when the anesthesia had been applied. The first time I saw the before and after pictures he was filing, I knew I had the same eye. It gave us something to talk about. I think my father found being my mentor a much easier relationship than being my father. It also placed me in a difficult situation at school. I knew what I had to do to get where I wanted to be. Of course, purpose can lead to inattention and carelessness. That’s the beginning of my story. It was my junior year in high school. Lamentably, I was a sixteen year old virgin with no realistic possibilities for changing that. I had the normal high school pre-college curriculum which put me squarely in Chemistry lab once a week. Most kids would not have pulled what I did but my father’s money, my freedom, and my attitude about my own future made me as close to untouchable as you can get in a high school of 1500 students. The fact that I was in an experimental class that separated the most gifted students from the rest of the student body just added to the effect. The experiment that week was to make aspirin. A fairly innocuous experiment except that I really had not paid attention to the procedure. I had heard that aspirin was a good base point for a designer drug. A few molecules moved from here to there and you had a hallucinogen. I did not know if that was true, but it seemed interesting. I was not the type that took drugs but somehow there was a difference if I had made the stuff myself. I ended up watching my classmates and trying to follow in their steps but not caring too much if I flubbed the process. The teacher was watching me carefully, more than likely because I had a slight reputation when it came to certain things. The only thing he could really call me on was that I was making more aspirin than anyone else in the class but I ‘seemed’ to be doing everything right. Then again someone cannot watch 10 high school juniors and keep a careful eye on the dangerous one in the pack. The inevitable happened. I was given a window of opportunity to add my own touch to the experiment. The lab was the last class of the day, so everyone got to leave after they had succeeded in their experiment. The timing on my experiment seemed to be off by a significant amount. My classmates started leaving with snickers and knowing looks in my direction. Like I said, I had a certain reputation when it came to these type of things. The teacher was an old-school disciplinarian. It seemed to irk him that I had so much free reign. He sat by me giving me a lecture about the perils to which my lack of discipline would probably lead. I had to bite my lip several times to not tell him that I did not really see any purpose to high school except to get me into a college where my life could really start. Why should I bother paying all that much attention in a place that could barely handle the mediocre, never mind the gifted and we should not even talk about those the system had decided were lost years ago? A smile had begun to shadow my face as I thought about his reaction if I blasted him with that when the glass beaker on top of the burner exploded.

At the age of four, I tested a theory that my too bright young mind had conceived. My parents seemed to deal much better with things about me if I offered it to them as fait-accompli. An adult does not ask permission. He/she does things if they do not affect someone else, and sometimes even if they do. When I was four, I had discovered the Tae Kwon Do donjon in my town. I had my nanny sign me up for classes. The nanny was another working solution to the parts of me that my parents REALLY could not handle. My first nanny was a fifty year old woman with something like 20 grandchildren who did not really have the time to love and all that stuff me, but she tended not to interfere with me either. She was pretty much someone for me to come home to, and a ride around town. By the time that beaker exploded, I had taken 12 years of Tae Kwon Do and four years of Kenpo. By the time I consciously realized what was happening, my body had acted to remove itself from danger. My chemistry teacher was not as well trained. He caught a full blast of the contents of the beaker. I got off the floor expecting a loud harangue to start any second, but he seemed stunned. I counted lucky stars and turned the burner off. I started clearing the glass out of the way; a childish attempt to hide the evidence even when the adult has watched you commit the deed. I was done with the cleaning and studying the results, the supposed aspirin, when the silence struck me. I looked up at my teacher to see him staring off into the distance. “Mr. Paz?” He focused on me. Slightly. I moved from side to side in that joking “here I am” manner. Nothing. I was beginning to get nervous, Mr. Paz never let an opportunity to lecture me go by. I figured the only thing that could make him stay quiet was that he was formulating a whole new teacher-student torture for me. I noticed glass around him and rushed to get a broom. He wouldn’t move. “Hey, Mr. Paz could you move out of the way, I need to clean this stuff up.” Language is a curious thing. If he had taken that to mean what I meant it to be, it probably would not have gone anywhere. He would have gotten away from ALL the glass and I would have trooped innocently along figuring I had gotten away with the mother of all high school chemical blunders. He took it to mean get off the stuff you’re standing on. He moved about six inches, onto a bigger pile of glass and lab tabletop paraphernalia. I gave him an annoyed look. “This would be much easier if you stood by the separator.” I said sarcastically. I continued my attempts to clean up the floor barely noticing he had moved away. After I was done, I returned to studying my so called ‘aspirin’. I figured it definitely was not aspirin because it was a color that my classmates’ experiments had not been. I ran the little chemical test we had been given to verify our results. It definitely was not aspirin. I looked up to make sure Mr. Paz had not seen the test results. He was standing by the half-door that separated the classroom proper from the laboratory staring off into nothing. The first inkling that something more than ‘not aspirin’ had happened began to creep up my spine. “Mr. Paz, what are you doing just standing there.” “You told me to stand here, David.” was his monotone reply. I am honest with myself, my Tae Kwon Do instructors had taught me that. I am not a brilliant person, but I am smart and, more importantly, disciplined when my own interests are involved. It can be a more succesful combination than just brilliance. On the other hand, it means that I can get caught by surprise and freeze until I can think something through. I sat frozen trying to study the impact of his words. Five minutes later I came to the conclusion that I needed more data, something out of the ordinary was going on but I did not really have a handle on what the ‘out of’ part was. I devised a plan but it was fraught with risk. It would answer the most questions and I was already in major trouble so I really had nothing to lose. “Hey, Mr. Paz, show me everybody’s grades.” I said in a voice just short of joking. I watched, amazement zipping up and down my body and through my brain, as he walked to the his desk and pulled the black grade book out of his briefcase. He walked up to me sat the book down in front of me; it opened to the page of my classmates’ grades. I moved the pages back and forth between his schedule of classes that year and tried to absorb some of the possibilities. I was not really convinced. I figured while this was far gone, it could still be a part of a really elaborate teacher-student torture. Not likely with his open grade book in front of me, but a part of me was still expecting the hammer to fall. “Hey, Mr. Paz. It’s hot in here, why don’t you take your clothes off.” I figured that would seal the deal one way or the other. I was mildly surprised when he started to unbutton his shirt. Very surprised when his pants went down. Flabbergasted when the t-shirt came off. Floored when I was face to head with a flaccid penis. I could not see a teacher to student torture that could possibly involve THIS. It was the end of his career if it ever got out. I sat there staring at a naked old man for a few minutes before I made some critical decisions. “Put your clothes back on, Mr. Paz.” I watched as he put his clothes back on. “Go sit down at your desk, Mr. Paz. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” I started to separate the remains of my experiment. 15 minutes later I had what looked like 7 ugly colored, misshapen pills. I put them in a test tube, sealed it and walked up to Mr. Paz. I stood looking at him for a minute before I spoke again. “Mr. Paz.” He looked up at me. The only time he seemed to focus was when I was talking directly to him. “Go home, and go to sleep, Mr. Paz. All that happened was the normal David undisciplined science botch up. You reamed me out, I seemed to actually pay attention this time, so there’s no need to discuss any of this. Forget everything else that happened after everyone else left.” He nodded at me, got up, walked to the closet, pulled his jacket out, grabbed his briefcase and walked out of the classroom. It was a slow walk home. I could not plan anything with the pills without being sure they were safe. I made myself wait a week to see if Mr. Paz had bad side-effects or something. It was a tough week for my sparring partners, the pressure of waiting made me driven. Mr. Paz’s behavior did not change towards me in the least, as far as I could tell he did not remember anything other than what I had suggested. After that week, I figured the pills had to be pretty safe. I needed to experiment and figured sacrificing one pill to find the range of control it would give me over someone else was the only way to proceed. It took another week to set up. I had moved into the basement of our house a few years before my botched experiment. The basement had a full bath, a walled in space that I used as a bedroom, a good sized living space and an entrance through the garage. My moving in there had been another of my fait-accomplis to prevent my parents from getting involved. It solved some of our problems when the first nanny finally quit. At the time, I was 12 and my mother decided that I did not need a nanny anymore, so she hired a live-in maid who had extra duties as my caretaker-type person. My mother has an uncanny knack for knowing people and what motivates them. We had gone through a different maid every two years so far. My mom always picked out one of the upperclass students from the local college. It was a good deal for the student because they got free housing, food, and only had to clean a barely-lived in house, clean my living space every weekend, and drive me to my martial arts schools. My mother sealed the girl’s loyalty by offering to pay their college tuition on top the money paid for the maid services. My mother taught me to cut through the bullshit and that offering the right thing to the right people made your life much easier. The key to my experiment was a portion of time that Cheryl, our maid, would not be home. My parents were rarely home on weekends so they were not an issue. The only time other than her classtime was when Cheryl visited her parents on her weekend off. I would be done with my martial arts classes at noon, she would drive me home, and then go home for the rest of the weekend. I would have from Saturday noon to Monday morning alone. I gathered two video cameras, and some tapes. I made a very long video with some explicit and some flighty instructions on it for when the pill affected me. I made a six hour tape, not knowing exactly how long the thing would last, but left explicit instructions at the end of the tape to track time past the limit of the tape. I did not figure on much more than 12 hours since Mr. Paz had acted perfectly normal the next day. I cleared the living area in the basement and setup the cameras. I told Cheryl not to worry about cleanup because I would take care of it this time. I made sure she saw me carrying stuff out of the basement that gave the truth to my words. Saturday noon finally came, I waved Cheryl away as she drove out of our garage. I took a shower to clean the sweat of me and to give Cheryl time to return if she forgot something. Finally, I turned on the video cameras and set the VCR to play in 20 minutes, which was what I thought the average time for a pill to take effect was. I swallowed one of the seven pills. Nothing seemed to happen for a few minutes, I felt pretty normal. I was on the edge of thinking that the stuff probably had to be inhaled when I came to with the VCR playing and the cameras still recording. I stood up wearily. I turned the VCR and cameras off before I looked at the clock. The best I could estimate was that I had been out for five hours. I sat down heavily, and tried to remember. I had been very careful about testing how much I could make someone forget. I could remember most of the things but there were definite gaps, and there were places that I knew had gaps but I could not quite make them feel like gaps of memory. There were also places in my memory where something very improbable had been painted over what must have really happened. I went upstairsm, cleaned up in the bathroom, and had something to eat. I was not fully prepared to handle much of anything so I sat in front of the the large TV in the living room. It was dark out when I woke up. I still did not feel like watching any of the tapes but decided it was time. The pressure in my chest returned. I went downstairs and took out the notebook I had used to script the instructions tape. I popped one of recorded tapes into the VCR. It was eerie watching my recorded actions. I watched as my image’s anxiety started showing. I could have fast forwarded but I was in the grip of fascination. It was as if the pill was still acting to control me. It happened. On the tape, it looked as if every muscle in my body had been hit with a jolt of electricity; all in the same instant. I became painfully rigid, and then slowly as if the need to exhale so that I could inhale was the only reason to release, I relaxed. There was about a five minute wait. The VCR activated and the snow on the TV screen in the tape turned black, and finally a picture of myself showed. I heard the third image of myself try to gain my attention. The subject turned to the TV. I had made sure that the subject would not be facing the instructor. I heard the instructor begin to give instructions. The first set of instructions were innocuous. I had wanted the subject to be kept in a comfort zone of actions that had been performed for years in a relationship of master and student. I watched the subject begin the stretching exercises done at the beginning of every Tae Kwon Do class. I had wanted the subject to be in the comfort zone for only about twenty minutes so the class was structured like a lower belt test. The difference came when the subject was taken through the entire set of hyongs that he knew. I leaned into the tape. I watched as each hyong was performed as close to my idea of perfection as I had ever done. The subject was completely within soft focus. The subject was stopped in the middle of a hyong and instructed to remove all clothing. I watched as different things were asked of the subject. Questions were answered without hesitation and with complete honesty. I watched the subject masturbate. I watched as the subject was instructed to go upstairs and get an item from every room of the house. The further into the tape I got the more strange the instructions became the more the I should have fought against performing the actions. It did not seem to make a difference what was asked of the subject, the subject would proceed with the action if possible. Five hours later, I turned the VCR off. I sat on the floor watching the blank TV screen. I could not pin what I felt. A sick type of excitement?! Not sick as in emotional disease, but my stomach was rolling as if it could not decide whether it wanted to expel everything in it or not. The skin on my arms tingled as if chilled, and my head ached from the pressure of the possibilities I was fighting not to be swamped by. I got up pulled the tape out of the VCR, pulled the extra tape out of the second camera and picked up the instructions tape. I walked out the garage door still fighting the pressures inside me. I destroyed the tapes systematically. I went back inside. I walked into my bedroom and pulled the beaker out of the drawer I had hidden it in. I lay down on the bed holding the beaker over my eyes. I stared at it for a long time. Certain things had been proven. The subject responded well to vocal cues. I had tried to work with hand signals but achieved no results. I didn’t think hand signals would work except for the most simplistic like a hand wave that said ‘Come here’. I had no clues about physical contact cues. The more specific the instructions the better. If given instructions that lacked clarity, the subject interpretated them within the confines of their personality. The near-perfection performance of the hyongs meant that the body was more relaxed and capable of performing things to a degree that could not normally be achieved. The subject did not have social or personal inhibitions. That went against everything I had heard about hypnotism but I had seen the evidence. Whatever the pills did was on such a basic level that things like inhibitions ceased to exist, even survival instincts seemed to be suppressed to some extent. I looked at the cuts on my forearms. I had made sure there would not be any permanent damage, but I had been capable of accepting a lot pain if those were the instructions. obviously I had not wanted to test that too far. The subject could be made to forget entire time periods. It was easier if something was put in the place of the lost memories and the subject was allowed freedom to fill in details. All in all what I had in my hand seemed to be the stuff of fantasies. Those fantasies were knocking at the door of my awareness. Hard! I smiled up at the beaker.