tagMind ControlThe Palmist Ch. 02

The Palmist Ch. 02


AUTHOR'S NOTE: Everyone in this story is at least 19 years of age. Everyone.

So one afternoon, after classes, and allowing about an hour before I had to go in to Feedler, I walked into the place with 60 dollars in cash in my wallet. Chimes hung on the inside of the front door, and they rang when I walked in. The front room was decorated with moons and stars, rich purple tapestries, and silvery beaded curtains hung in doorways. A woman emerged from a back room. She appeared to be in her 30s, about 5-foot-5, with long, tightly-curled black hair.

"Hello. Welcome." Her voice was velvety and reassuring, but did I detect a touch of mischief in it? And was her welcoming smile actually a smirk? Or was her overall manner just soft and understated?

"I'm Lila," she said. "What's your name?"

This is Lila? I thought. As long as the place had been in operation, I would have expected an older woman. Maybe she was just blessed to look younger than she was. I didn't expect to be asked my name, either; I was more prepared for "What can I do for you?" But I answered: "Uh. I'm David."

"David." She smiled again. Or did she smirk? In either case, she maintained the expression as she regarded me carefully. Sensing immediately that I didn't know what to expect from my visit, or my exact purpose, she crossed the room in front of me like a breeze, keeping her eyes on me, and gestured with an arm, as she said, "Come sit down, David. Let Lila help you."

We sat on stools low to the floor, with an even lower table between us. I felt a longer table, that would put more distance between our faces, would put me more at ease. But, apparently this was where we needed to be. I decided I had to trust that Lila was the professional.

"David. You're troubled. I would be happy to do any kind of reading for you today. But something tells me you're leaning toward palmistry?"

"Yes. Actually. Yes, that's right. I, uh...."

"Is it a relationship problem, David?"

"Uh... yes. Yes. It's... it's definitely a relationship problem." I exhaled, long and hard, and tried to prevent tears from coming to my eyes. "Um, ahem.... I don't really... I've never done this before, um.... what are your... your prices?"

"There's a chart right here, hun. If you'd like we can just start with the basic palm reading, and at the end of that, if you want more, you can decide then."

"OK. Yeah. The basic reading will be fine." I reached into my wallet and produced the prescribed fee, handing it to Lila in cash. As she took the cash, she wrapped her hand around it in... sort of a ... sensual manner, I'd say. Simultaneuously she looked into my eyes and her lips formed what seemed to be her typical smile-that-might-be-a-smirk. Without a word, she got up and glided to the other side of the room to place the cash in a money box, like one might use for a yard sale.

When she returned, she asked me to offer my dominant hand, and she examined my palm with both of her hands. I had expected her to study it just by sight, but she used her fingers to caress and outline various features of my palm. The first thing she said was, "Mmmm. Do you see this line, hun? That is your heart line. Do you see that poster over there? See how the heart line on that hand is strongly defined, and unbroken? How do you think yours compares?"

"Um... mine looks jagged. And... it's like... broken in two. Part of it here... and the rest of it here."

"Yes. And a big gap between. But what's in that gap? This line running across, like so. That's your fate line."

"OK. So what does that mean?"

"Well... at the risk of making palmistry sound much simpler than it generally is, these features mean exactly what you might guess. They mean that the heartbreak you've just experienced is deep, and profound, that you have a big 'gap' to fill, so to speak, before you can get your heart back on track. But, also, that this was fated. And there was really nothing you could do."

"Hmm." I was skeptical, but ... there was no question I was brokenhearted. And that the hurt ran deep. And it was comforting to be allowed to believe I couldn't have done anything to prevent it, because the last five months had been filled with second-guessing every little decision I ever made during my time with Katrina. But... was she saying things that could really apply to anyone who confessed to a "relationship problem"?

I asked her if there was a love line. She said the love line and the heart line were one and the same, but most palmists called it the heart line. What about my other lines? I asked. According to Lila, they all held fortunate indications. "But," she said, "right now, hun, you're right in here." She traced her finger between the two disconnected parts of my heart line. "You're right in the gap. And I know you're hurting badly, David. You just... exude pain, hun. She hurt you very deeply. And we need to get you across the gap."

Hearing such a direct affirmation of my feelings broke them loose in an instant. Tears nearly sprang from my eyes, and I lowered my head and sobbed. I saw large teardrops land on the floor just in front of my stool. Lila still held my hand in both of hers, gently, but firmly enough to transmit a kind of tactile sympathy. A whimper worked its way from my throat, and took me by surprise. "I'm sorry," I said, sniffling. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, hun. You go right ahead and cry, you're safe here. It's what you need, hun, you go right ahead."

I accepted her invitation, and hung my head, shaking it slowly as I sobbed, ever more uncontrollably.

"What's her name, hun?" Lila asked.

"Katrina," I replied, almost whispering, my head still lowered.


I nodded, sniffling.

"I'll get you some tissues, hun."

Once my nose was emptied, Lila explained that in a basic palm reading she would normally take another 15 minutes to thorougly discuss the indications of the other features of the hand to the client. But in my case, she said, the heart and fate lines, and the crisis I faced now, took precedence, so instead, she'd like to offer me plenty of time (much more than 15 minutes, if necessary) to tell her about Katrina, and our relationship. She said that though it was not on her menu of services, she had special remedies available for heartbroken men. She said she'd helped many men in similar situations find ways to deal with what had happened to them. She would not charge me for the "fact-finding" portion, so I was welcome to tell her our story.

So I began to talk about meeting Katrina, what our relationship was like, how I'd been dumped without warning, how even though Katrina had tried to fool me with "after-summer hope", I knew the break-up was final, and how I'd found out well afterward that, in fact, she had cheated on me. Initally, I just sketched the overall arc of events, but Lila coaxed the fine details from me. She wanted, in particular, to know the exact sequence of events that took place at Blackfoot Lake, and also upon our return to campus.

She asked what Katrina and Brittany looked like, and what kinds of clothing and jewelry they wore. How their hair was styled, and even how they talked. It seemed odd to me that these details would even be particularly relevant, but she said she knew I had images in my mind, and it was important for her to be able to envision these things as well.

Somehow she even managed to get me to confess details of my fantasy-masturbation life as it now stood, how I found my mind assaulted with the taunting voices of girls telling me, "I want you to taste my pussy", and how I got hard, and yet felt shame, whenever I saw girls on campus apparently smirking at me.

By this time, I needed to suspend the discussion, to continue on to work at the Feedler plant. Lila asked what time I got off. I said midnight. She asked if I wanted to return then. Even though her business was not open at that hour, she lived in the house, too, and said she would make us some herbal tea and we could discuss the matter more. No charge just for that, she assured me. Once she felt she fully understood the state of my soul, she could design therapy and explain its cost.

I agreed, and returned that night to the isolated little house on Whitestone Road. Lila led me to the kitchen in the back of the house, where she fixed me a cup of some very strange-tasting tea, with herbs in it she said were good for my soul in its current condition. I trusted her, even though I couldn't pronounce the names of the herbs and didn't exactly find them delicious. Before we began the evening's discussion, she placed a voice recorder on the table and said she would need to record the session to capture important details of which she might need to remind herself later.

She sat with me for an hour, encouraging my tears as she had me re-live, once again, the excruciating experience of having Katrina's infidelity revealed to me, the images that constantly assaulted my mind, all the questions I couldn't stop asking myself, as well as the down-to-the-minute account of exactly what happened in our tent that night.

She brought out two photo books and set them on the kitchen table. The first looked to be filled with pictures of women, of various ages and appearances, and diverse clothing styles. It was organized by age, with the youngest women in front, and age increasing as one flipped toward the back. On the first two pages were women who Lila said were all 18, about a dozen of them, and Lila asked which one looked most like Katrina. I picked one out, and she asked if any looked like Brittany. I said, Not really. So she turned to the next pages, 19-year-olds. Immediately I spotted one with a thinner face but a smile just like Brittany's, and her hair, though slightly lighter, was exactly Brittany's style. I pointed to her.

"OK," Lila said. "What about Mindy? Do any of these girls look like Mindy?" I flipped through the first few pages and settled on one, among the 23-year-olds (even though Mindy was 19). I noticed Lila had a note pad (with suns, moons, and stars all over it) on which she jotted the names Katrina, Brittany, and Mindy, along with the numbers associated with photos in the book.

"Very good," she said. "OK, now you mentioned your friend Derek flirting with some girls in Remo's. Do you know those girls?"

"One I knew from high school, and she's at BC now."

"Do you ever interact with her? Is she in any of your classes or anything?"


"Tell me about her."

I explained that Megan was just a hometown acquaintance, a cute girl, very friendly and sweet, but I had never known her that well.

"What if you found out she might be interested in you? Would you pursue her?"

I sighed. "Um... well... it's hard to think of pursuing anyone right now, to be honest. My confidence is just so... shot... right now. And actually, I kinda think my friend Derek would be upset. Like he's already claimed her or something. Even though it's probably totally impractical for him to date her...."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, because he's in Anniston and she's here--"

"Well, they're just a couple hours apart. They could spend every weekend together and skype and face-time every day. And maybe one of them would transfer."

"Yeah. I guess."

She had me pick out a doppelganger for Megan, and then we discussed my friends Ryan and Trey, who were also with us at the Slow Drift concert, as well as the nature of my friendship with Derek. I told her that Ryan definitely had a thing for Brittany, although as far as I knew, they were then, and are still, just connected by their common circle of friends. I said Trey was only loosely attached to that circle and that I hadn't spent much time with him apart from that weekend. Finally, she asked if I had any idea at all what "some dude from Trentstown" might look like. I said I had no clue.

"Well, when you picture him, what do you see?"

I sighed and said, "Well... I try not to picture him."

At that point, she got up and went to some shelves on which she had dozens and dozens of herbs, and selected one from which she said she'd make me a second cup of tea. While it was brewing, she returned to the table and opened the photo book of men, which was also arranged by age. She had me pick out likenesses for Ryan and Derek, and she wrote them down. She asked if I knew Mindy's boyfriend's name; I said no. Nevertheless, she wanted me to find a guy who looked most like him.

When the tea was ready, she had me drink some, close my eyes, and describe for her what I pictured Katrina and guy-from-Trentstown doing from the moment they first saw each other and spoke, all the way to the time they separated that night. She wanted me to describe in detail how I thought it all went down, exactly what I imagined they said to each other. She even wanted me to describe what I thought their sex might have been like. When I got to the part where I imagined "dude" on top of her, with his head beside hers, as she wrapped her arms around his upper back and held him closely, and he pumped his cum into her, Lila interjected, "The cum she later made you lick all out of her."

My eyes were still closed, and as she said that, I closed them more tightly, furrowed my brow, and exhaled in a snivel. I thought to myself, "I'm *aware* of that, was that really necessary?" Apparently she thought it was, though, because she wanted me to continue, in excruciating detail, describing the cunnilingus which later occurred in my and Katrina's tent. She peppered my description with her own remarks, such as, "And you thought she was so wet from desire for you", and "While you were licking, her eyes were probably closed while she thought about him." Getting to the part where Katrina fell asleep, she said, "And you didn't know it then, but now you know she had at least three orgasms that night, and the young man from Trentstown had at least one, while you were denied any. They let you go to sleep horny and frustrated, but they sure had their fun, didn't they?"

At one point, Lila said, "OK, David.... you can open your eyes now." She turned off the voice recorder, and said, "I think I have all the information I need. And I'm very sure I know exactly how to help you get through this crucial period in your life, in which your main objective should be to the get across the gap, along your fate line, and get onto the second part of your heart line. I've helped many men do this over the years, David. And my success rate is 100%. I know that's a very bold statement, but it just happens to be true.

"Fate led you here to me, David, and I know I can help you. The next step would be a session in about a week or two. I will need time to prepare it. The fee is 100 dollars, which is at least as much as a psychotherapist or counselor would charge you for a one-hour session."

I nodded, and said, "OK... So... what would happen after the first session?"

"Well, naturally more sessions, for as long as you thought they'd be helpful to you. Very much like psychotherapy in that respect, and also always completely optional, and stopping any time you felt you were ready to move on with life. But where I am different from any therapist, David, is that, as I said, I have a 100% success rate. And it's because I go so deep to diagnose. A person should be able to tell a therapist anything, but can you imagine telling any therapist ALL of the details you shared with me, and lingering on them like we did? Most therapists would try to pull your mind away from those painful details and not want you to dwell on them. But we didn't do that, did we? And that's part of why I'll be able to help you so much."

"OK. Well... let's schedule the first session, then."

"Well, we won't be able to schedule it yet, because as I said, I'll need to prepare, and I'm not sure exactly how long that will take. My guess is a week or two. But when I'm ready, I'll call you and let you know you can come in. OK?"

"OK. So... in the meantime, what should I do? Just wait?"

"Wait, yes, but I do have something for you to do in the meantime. First of all..." At that, she got up from the table, went to her herbs shelves, and bagged up some of the kind from which she'd made my second cup of tea. "Take this with you, and have a cup any time you like. I know you don't care for the flavor, but you could add some honey if you like. Just use about a half-teaspoon for one cup. Now... also: Between now and the session, here's what I want you to do every night when you go to bed. I want you to lie in the dark until you fall asleep, and think about ... let's see, 1, 2, 3, 4... five things: 1. Katrina and her new guy fucking in his tent, 2. You eating Katrina out that night, 3. Katrina and Brittany talking about it, 4. Mindy kissing her boyfriend and then smirking at you, and 5. Megan... any thoughts about Megan you want to have. Think about those 5 things every night. All five of them, in any order you like, revisiting each as many times as you like. And I want you to just stay in bed, and think about all those things. Once you've gotten in bed, don't get back out of bed. Stay in bed until you fall asleep, thinking about those five things. And while you're doing that, David, I don't want you to touch yourself. Not only that, I don't want you to touch yourself at all, any time, until we have our first session."

My eyes widened. I said, "Not... masturbate... at all?? For ... over a week? A week or *two*??"

"Right. Not at all. That's important. No masturbation until the first session."

I scoffed, but Lila didn't respond. We just looked at each other a moment, and then I bit my lip, thinking, "Jesus Christ... is she serious? Possibly *two weeks* of not touching myself? Does she have any idea how near-impossible that is for a 19-year-old?" I continued searching her eyes for some sign of wiggle room on this. She just looked at me. "Um... OK. I guess."

"You can't guess, David. You need to commit to this, hun. You trust Lila, right? I know it will be difficult, and I know some nights the horniness will keep you awake much later than you would be otherwise. And it'll be so tempting to just grab yourself and pump out an orgasm so you can bring an end to it and go to sleep. But you mustn't do that. You need to just spend more time with those five images, and let them do their work."

I sighed deeply, like I was about to dive head-first into a cold swimming pool. "OK. I'll do it."

Needless to say, the next two weeks were an absolute torment, and not just at night. My econ class was a struggle, as I found myself constantly distracted by Mindy, and in the second week, I even made it harder on myself by choosing to move to a different seat, one that afforded me a more direct, more torturous view of Mindy. In or out of class, when a conversation arose in which Mindy or I were both included, I found it harder to speak, especially to her. I found myself more nervous around her. And outside, after class, if her boyfriend was around, I constantly watched whatever they were doing, at least with my peripheral vision if not stealing direct glances. I got erections when they touched or kissed each other.

A couple times, I happened to see Megan on campus. Each time, she was with a group of friends. We didn't pass close enough to greet each other, but each time, I could hear her voice, and heard her laugh. I was immediately assaulted with the notion that she might be laughing about ME for some reason... like one of her friends might have just insulted me in some way, and she laughed in reply. It was ridiculous. They weren't talking about me; I knew that. Even if they were, Megan wouldn't approve of them insulting a high school acquaintance she knew as a nice, decent guy.

Yet... in bed, when I thought about Megan (as she was one of the five required subjects), I started to conjure up scenarios in which she DID laugh at my expense. I even imagined her starting to date Derek and then transferring to Western, thereafter meeting Katrina and Brittany. I could picture them all sitting in the student center, possibly with "dude from Trentstown" there, too, visiting. And all of them laughing about what a dupe and loser I was, and how I ate cum from Katrina's cheating pussy, and she didn't tell me, but loved making me do it. I pictured Megan putting her hand over her laughing mouth, and saying, "Oh my gahhhhd." Then I imagined Derek saying, "When I saw him last summer, he still had no clue you even cheated on him. He was still in love with you then." Then Megan says, "He still is NOW," and Derek says, "Yeah, and I felt bad for him at first, but now I'm like, Oh my god, dude, get over it. Haha, what a loser." Then Megan laughs again, and naturally, so do Katrina and all the others.

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