Chapter 1: Bough's Invention

The full late autumn moon illuminated the the flat roof with a stark white light. I cast a pale shadow as I crunched across the crushed tar and pebbled surface to a telephone booth sized vent cowl. Leaning forward I pried the previously loosened grate from the frame and set it aside. Pausing I listened, a far-off train whistle carried in the brisk fall air, then twisting I lowered my feet into the opening and dropped into the darkness below.

I had been sneaking into to this warehouse for a year. It was a block-sized, windowless, three storied storage building owned by a tel-communication research company across town. The vast building was packed ceiling to floor with shelved seemingly unaccountably forgotten crates of treasure. For a fifteen year old budding electrician in the dawning of the transistor age it was like a ongoing private Christmas Day.

Earlier in the week I had seen a delivery truck backed up to the building’s loading dock. I always tried to pick through the new shipments before it was crated. I was trying to build a stereo receiver from a diagram laid out in Popular Mechanics. This was 1964 and cutting edge technology. I wanted to listen to the new FM rock station broadcasting from Cleveland.

Lowering myself from the ventilation shaft I dropped to the top tier of the rack shelving. Using my flashlight I stepped across the stacked wooden crates to the wall. Then I climbed down the shelving supports to the floor.

There was a small mountain of cardboard boxes at the dock area waiting to be shelved. I walked around the containers shining my flashlight across the visible labeled content descriptions. This shipment was different. PROPERTY OF US GOVERMENT PROJECT PSYKHE had been stenciled on the top flaps of the boxes. Most of the boxes contained manila folders crammed with printed records. One box had the flaps folded in on each other and I pulled that one open. A folded newspaper lay on top the contents.

A pen circled article read LOCAL TECHNICIAN KILLED IN CAR ACCIDENT. I glanced at the picture of a moon-faced balding man peering owlishly at the camera behind huge thick glasses. I set the newspaper aside. The box was filled with what looked like the miscellaneous junk from someone’s desk. Parts of ink pens, a stained chipped coffee cup, small gnawed stubs of pencils, binders, a stapler, a stack of loose leaf notebooks, various technical books and a framed picture of the man in the newspaper and a older woman. At the bottom of the box I found a cigar box sized device.

With the flashlight pinned between my shoulder and cheek I used both hands to closely examine this new find. It was in a thin pressed metal box with three glass dials, a series of plastic knurled knobs and a small rubber pencil eraser shaped protuberance at one end. There was a simple on/off toggle switch which I immediately flipped. The box hummed, the needles pegged and then settled back to zero. I waited for a moment, but nothing else happened. I flipped it over and shined my flashlight on a hand-written yellow tag taped to the bottom. It read PROTOTYPE: VAGUS NERVE MODULATOR It was signed H. Blough. There was also a unattached AC cord and plug coiled and taped to the bottom.

I flipped it off and stuck it in it my pack back. Standing, I walked around the stack and did a collection of other loose electrical components. I was done in 15 minutes. Retracing my path to the roof I climbed down the fire escape, I lowered to the last rung and then to the top rung of a extension ladder leaning against the building. I climbed to the ground and hid the ladder in the heavy brush growing by the building.

I ran the mile across the stubby, harvested wheat field to backyard of the my suburban home. Using the tall TV antenna tower attached to the house I climbed to the second floor and angled into the open window of my bedroom. Hiding the pack under my bed, I disrobed and crawled into my warm bed.

In minutes I was asleep, after all this was a school night.

The next afternoon after school I immediately grabbed my knapsack headed to the basement. I went into the workshop and examined my new plunder. I separated the various circuit boards, loose wiring and electrical components into boxes under the workbench until just the box device remained. I released the top and opened it. It was jammed with brightly covered resistors, transistors, capacitors and several odd shaped coils of copper wire. It was powered by four simple D cell batteries. I realized when the AC plug was inserted in the proper fitting on the side it disengaged the batteries. I snapped it shut, plugged it in and turned it on.

My dog, Sadie, had followed me to the basement and lay curled at my feet. She sprung up and whined. Mike looked down at her and noticed her ears up in quivering alertness. Holding the device I turned on the work stool causing the directional end of the device to pass across the dog. The needles jumped and then returned to zero.

I experimented with this development, watching as each time the rubber protuberance crossed Sadie the needles responded. I turned the first knob, the humming changed pitch and the dog immediately cringed as if struck.

“Damn” he thought and turned it off. “Sorry girl” he said reaching down to rub her ears.

I went back that night and took all the notebooks in the box. Over the next few days I learned more about this device. Blough evidently was the dead man the newspaper article had referred too. The technical research had been contacted by the government to determine it sound waves could be used for crowd control. Several years into the development the research funds had dried up. The program had been dropped and forgotten by all except this guy Herman Blough.

I followed the scientist’s work which went from official looking typed sheets to be filed to later loose leaf stenographer notebooks. Secretly he had continued and expanded the technology. Instead of blanket sound broadcast as a force he had re-focused on wavelengths affects on the brain’s receptors. He called it “the base reptilian receiver” He had found frequencies that caused changes in the base drives of the mammalian brain.

Blough had access to the chimpanzees kept for research. Evidently he would go to the labs after hours to experiment. He had found he could elevate and change the chimps behavior. In particular he had focused on areas of the female nervous system. There were detailed graphs labeled “arousal”, “submission” and what Blough had called “heightened sexual response”.

There was a sense of creeping paranoid intensity in the later books as Bough’s work evolved. His boss had been suspicious of the unaccountable company resources. The last dated notebook conveyed how deeply secretive Blough had become. Convinced he had made a major breakthrough he had wanted to have a fully functional model to claim complete credit. There were pages that seemed written in code. The date of the obituary was several days after his last entry.

I read the obit again and thought about Blough. He had no family except maybe the older lady in that picture. Probably his mother. Nobody had wanted his things. I pictured some janitor, detailed to clean up the desk, had simply dumped the old guy’s life work into that box.

In the coming days I began to experiment with the instrument. I studied the all his files. Blough had described how some female chimps were more reactionary to the device’s emissions. Blough had theorized it was animals that had suppressed a strong female sexual drive due to group hierarchy pressures.

Sadie the dog became my first subject. Then quickly feeling pity for my suffering best friend, I thought of my older sister. I waited till bedtime then sitting next to the wall which separated my bedroom from hers, I played the directional knob across where I knew her bed was. I kept a record of the results of different settings. My first attempts had been clumsy. With the setting all on high I had caused her to go running to the bathroom to noisily vomit. That was the end of experimentation that night

The next night I was more scientific. I reread the research notes and carefully spanned the levels which indicated what Blough had referred to as the “libido” range, adjusting the frequency while watching the needles move degree by degree. Suddenly through the wall I heard her gasp. I paused then boosted the corresponding signal. I heard a quiet moan. I increased the levels. Pressing my ear against the wall I heard a rhythmical sound of her bed squeaking and slightly thumping against the wall. I slowly increased the signal. I jumped when her bed slammed against the wall and she let out a high throaty wail.

I heard my parents door bang open and my mother’s hurried steps down the hallway. Quickly shutting off the box I jumped back, turned of my lamp and climbed into bed. I could hear my mother’s concerned voice and my sister’s barely audible replies. My mother remained with her for another ten minutes. She then opened my door to see if I was awake. I decided that was enough for that night.

Over the next week, by trial and error, I perfected his use of the machine. I could bring my sister to a sobbing, frantic release within minutes. I found a perverse pleasure in tormenting her, playing her up and down, bringing her close and backing it down. One morning after our mother fretted about my sister becoming more “wan and peaked” and maybe she needed to go to the doctor, I decided I had better stop. No one at home ever did catch on to my culpability. I did notice my sister and her boyfriend’s relationship had changed. She wanted to go out with him every night and was pushing to have a later curfew. My father was directed by my Mother to have a long talk alone with the boyfriend.

I decided he wanted to see if I could affect a adult’s behavior. One adult in particular came to mind.

Mrs. Sharock was the school French teacher. She was a older woman, of course to me, even though only in her late 20’s. She had a thick mass of strawberry blonde hair which which she fashionably pinned and piled on her head. She was stunningly pretty with large blue eyes, a pert nose and full red lips, that I thought always poised ready for a kiss. She was slightly shorter than my 5” 10’. She had a slender frame, but was graced with a wonderful set of high, melon-sized breasts. All the guys would turn and watch her walk down the hallway. The way that firm tight bottom moved under that swishing skirt on that axis of long slender, well-shaped legs accented by high heels would make your dick ache in the confines of your jeans. All my buddies had a awed, heated adolescent crush on her.

Because of her youth Mrs. Sharock’s felt generational empathy in her toward her students. She made efforts to cross the age difference. Perched on her tall stool in front of the class, like she was one of us, with one long leg crossed at the knee, folding behind the other, her skirt would ride back exposing tantalizing glimpse of nylon covered thigh. I always felt she knew she was tormenting the boys in the class. MY friends would all exchange pained expressions as she completed her ritual of mounting the stool and crossing her legs. Almost daily I suffered a hour long, painfully hard, pants bound erection sitting through French lessons. The girls uniformly hated her.

I made my plans, decided the day and took the device, with brand new batteries, to school. My class schedule included Mrs. Sharock for French class and again in a small study hall before lunch. I arrived early and got a seat directly before the front her desk. I hid the device under my folded jacket on the desktop. Mrs. Sharock came rushing in right before the final bell, dumped a armful of books and papers on the large desk and sat down. She briefly scanned the room, satisfied everyone was being studious turned her attention to her own work.

I had my head braced over a book with my hand concealing my eyes, as if concentrating. I waited 10 minutes, then with my free hand positioned the device under the jacket, so it was concealed but I could see the readouts. I moved the box slightly until the needles twitched as they detected her brain wavelength. I started very slowly at the very base levels observing her by slightly spreading my fingers. Minutes passed with no reaction when suddenly she squirmed in her seat. I paused then increased the lower frequency.

She jerked as if being shocked by electricity. Her cheeks blushed. She pushed back from the desk, rose and with heels clicking hurried from the room.

I followed this pattern the rest of the week. I would only just brush at what I discovered were her response ranges. I took delight in making her squirm. I enjoyed watching as she mightily tried to maintain her decorum and not cause the class to take notice. She would respond visually to even minor fluctuations. I found the point were she could sit at the desk, head bowed and rigid, but not have to get up and leave the room. I would loved to have followed her down the hall to the teachers lounge and bathrooms and seen what transpired in the privacy of a toilet stall.

By Friday I was satisfied I knew how to break her. After the bell, I set up the device, tuned her in, then slowly increased the libido base stimulation levels. She shook her head in annoyance at the now uncomfortably familiar, first tingle of contact. I had wondered why she hadn’t connected before that she seemed to have this problem in this room and time frame and gone to the principal. The answer to that wasn’t hard to reach. Imagine explaining having orgasms in a classroom!

She looked up and intently scanned the room. I felt her eyes. It was quiet with only the scratching sounds of pens and rustle of books. I twisted the dial and out of the corner of his eye watched the needle rise. I looked up at Mrs. Sharock. She held her head stiffly erect with her eyes closed. Her lower lip trembled. I turned the knob past half. Mrs. Sharock shuddered and made as to rise. Her eyes opened in alarm and she sat back down as if she had lost her strength. She silently bowed her head down to rest on the book before her and seemed to be straining. Her hands clenched then relaxed. I glanced around the room. The dozen other students weren’t paying attention and unaware of the teacher’s distress.