OK, hello, I’m James Hardy, the author, or nom-de-plume, of this story anyway. My real name is not James Hardy, it’s not even James, but I’m well over 18 now, ha, ha, and I guess I should issue the standard content warning about this is adult (18+) fiction reading material derived from my vivid overworked imagination. It involves acts that would, and/or could be construed as incest, rape and nonconsensual sex if it was actually real. Also, trust me on this, hypnosis does not work this way in real life we are assured by all the so-called experts in the various fields of psychology, and psychiatry. WARNING: Do Not Try This At Home. That being said, let us move on to the story...

Synapse of story: When 54 year old James Hardy is forced into early retirement he decides to go back to college taking up where he left off with Psychology, and Counseling, as a new career choice. He also decides to do his own experiment as his doctorate dissertation. The theory he chooses to explore, is that any competent older male using hypnosis and the Oedipus Complex, the psychoanalytic theory first introduced by Sigmund Freud, that describes a child’s natural feelings of desire for their opposite-sex parent. He reasons that he should have no trouble securing a harem of young compliant females on a modern coed college campus today. In the last chapter they become a vampire coven

All over 18, Hypnosis, Mind Control, Male-Female, Male Dominant, Heterosexual, Bisexual, Consensual Sex, Non Consensual Sex, Incest Georgia State University GSU

Going Back To College.

Look, I’m a middle-aged guy that likes to think he’s kept himself in pretty good shape when this all started. Some say middle-age, or you can look at it as middle adulthood, ha, ha, is the age range of the years halfway between childhood and old age. Others will say it’s somewhere between when your born and when you die. The exact age is subject to very heated public debate today, but the term is commonly used to denote the age range that starts around 40 or 45 and goes to 60 or 65, 66 is generally when Social Security and retirement kicks in. Anyway, I like to think I’ve aged like a fine wine, or a good aged cheese, ha, ha, I like to think I’ve stood up pretty well, and get no complaints from the women I date.

Yes, I’m 54, almost 55, now and I’m still single. I can honestly say at this age I’m a confirmed bachelor, but I still occasionally date. Most of the women I date now I find are about my age and mostly divorced with grown kids, but some of the women I date today are younger than me, some of them much younger than me. Some of them say I look something like older distinguished actor Robert Mitchum at 6 foot 3, and 200 pounds. I have green eyes and wear wire rimed glasses, but I still have a full head of curly dark brown hair with gray sideburns, thanks to Just for Men, and good teeth, thanks to a great dental plan.

At 54, I had built up my two prestigious high end luxury car dealerships in Atlanta, Georgia until I was the top of the food chain in my city, and state. For that matter, I was one of the best dealerships in the entire Southeastern Region. And then my Japanese luxury car maker decided to merge with a South Korean car maker, and that new car maker decided they had too many dealerships in my city and state. I lost in the downsizing battle of the budgets that ensued.

The real bottom line is they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse to retire ... buyout ... my two dealerships. So now, I had a hefty, some might even say obscene, chunk of cold hard cash in my bank account, but no job, or dealership anymore, and a lot of NDAs, Nondisclosure Agreements. The main reason for all that money was those NDA’s. It seems that a “Goodwill clause” outlines the treatment of goodwill ... an intangible asset representing a business’s reputation, customer relationships, and brand value ... within a contractual context.

The NDA clause typically specifies whether Goodwill is included in the sale of a business, how it is valued, and any restrictions on the seller’s use of the business name or customer lists after the transaction. The clause often includes restrictions on the seller’s ability to use the business name or customer lists post-sale, ensuring that the buyer retains the value associated with the Goodwill.

Yes, it seems that “Goodwill” is crucial in business transactions as it often represents a significant portion of a company’s value beyond its physical assets. It encompasses factors like customer loyalty, brand strength, and overall reputation, which can greatly influence the purchase price during a sale. A well-defined Goodwill clause helps prevent disputes over these intangible assets and protects the buyer’s investment in the acquired business reputation.

No, I couldn’t just go out there and start up another dealership selling cars, not even selling used cars, or really anything else for that matter, in direct competition with them. And that was the only thing I was really good at ... selling cars ... well, selling things ... that is. At 54, almost 55 years old, I didn’t consider myself middle aged, washed up, or over the hill for that matter, but everybody else apparently did it seemed to me at the time. Why not settle back and enjoy my early retirement everyone advised me.

Yes, I loved to play handball, and even played a little golf, but admittedly I wasn’t that good at golf. Frankly, Scarlett, I find hitting the silly little white golf ball around the 18 holes, which is really only 6 holes on one golf course I played at, about as stimulating and exciting as watching paint dry on a hot summer day. I mainly stayed in the cool air-conditioned county club itself when I went golfing. The clubhouse was where I had made a lot of sweet deals over the years.

So, there I was in the clubhouse, down three Johnnie Walker Black Label Scotch on the rocks, bemoaning my cruel unjust fate to anyone that would listen. Yes, I might have been getting a little morbid, and turning into a lush ... well. honestly a drunk ... like the Matt Helm character Dino, Dean Martin, played in the Matt Helm movies. Anyway I was bemoaning my cruel unjust fate, and my good buddy George Papadopoulos, who is a Greek by the way, and is way past middle age and still works full time for an advertising agency, suggests that I go back to college.

At first I just laughed, go back to college? Ha, ha, ha, hilarious right? I was 54 years old, not 17, or 18, right out of high school, but George went on to explain that as a former Marine I still had my good old GI Bill to pay for college. When I checked with my local college Human Relations people, GSU’s, HR Department, I found out that George was right. I mean it wasn’t like when I got back from Nam and needed the money to pay for college. I had plenty of money now, more money than I really needed to live on, a new sports car, a big house with the mortgage paid off, even a paid-up membership to the local country club. But, that set me to thinking about when I had originally started to college at Georgia State University, GSU, after getting out of the Marines and back from Nam ... Vietnam ... years ago.

I had wound up a business major, but I had to take elective minors too. I especially remember the psychology courses I had taken, and even the beginning counseling courses. For awhile there I had even seriously considered taking up Psychology, and Counseling as a career. One of the Counseling courses had dealt with the power of positive thinking, suggestibility, and hypnosis. The, “I’m OK, You’re OK”, thing. That along with, meditation, yoga, and self hypnosis, anyway. But in the end, I decided that selling things, and making money, was more my style. Trust me, nobody gets rich on a college professor’s salary, and it’s even worse for high school and college guidance counselors.

When I was a good salesman, I was very, very, good, but no, I had never sold a refrigerator to an Eskimo. Well, not yet anyway, but the eggheads, the environmental scientist anyway, tell us the sky might not be falling Chicken Little, but the North and South Poles are definitely melting. Yes, climate change is causing both the polar ice caps to melt in both the Arctic, and Antarctica circles, and the impacts will be felt worldwide as rising ocean water levels, and warmer temperatures. So, I might live long enough to sell refrigerators to Eskimos after all, ha, ha, ha.

So after some serious consideration and planning I went back to college. The college staff actually welcomed me back with open arms like a long lost alumnus, and we ... well, me and my nerdy 22 year old male assigned college guidance counselor/social coach, Fred ... talked about alternative trades, and career paths, that I could start off in. I dragged him to the local Starbucks on campus and we discussed it over a couple of hot coffees.

Well, honestly I had the Cafe Americano. According to Starbucks, it’s a classic espresso-based drink made by diluting espresso shots with hot water, resulting in a rich and bold flavor. The kid, Fred, had the Peppermint White Chocolate Crème Frappuccino. Its a seasonal Starbucks favorite blended drink that combines peppermint, white chocolate, and a creamy Frappuccino base ... typically available only during the winter holiday season.

Damn, I miss the good old days when a cup of coffee was just a cup of black coffee, and maybe some cream and/or sugar added. When nobody even knew what the term decaffeinated meant back then. I mean, I ask you honestly, if you ain’t drinking black coffee for the caffeine high then why the Hell are you drinking it?

Anyway I listened attentively for an hour. Hey, the kid was young, and inexperienced, and needed encouragement that he was doing a good job, but honestly I already had my own plans all laid out and ready for implementation.

Yes, for the record here, I might be a confirmed bachelor, but I had tried marriage. Yes, I had married my childhood sweetheart, we had gone steady for years, when I was just out of high school and starting college. I was admittedly young, naïve, stupid, innocent, artless, foolish, and didn’t know any damn better at that time and age. The marriage had lasted a whole year before we both applied for a cheap no-fault divorce for incompatibility a whole year latter. Hey, trust me, the incompatibility didn’t have anything to do with our love life, ha, ha, ha. I couldn’t complain about the sex. In fact, if marriage was only about sex I’d probably still be happily, or should I say blissfully, married, to Elle.

Elle had the beautiful face and body of a Norse goddess, say Freya or Frigg. In the world of Norse paganism mythology, Freya, is the Norse goddess representing love, beauty, fertility, sex, war, gold, and seiðr ... a form of magic that grants the ability to see and influence future events. She is also the daughter of Njörd, the god of the sea. Freya, on the other hand, holds a strong connection to pigs, considering them sacred, and she is often depicted riding a very large boar with huge sharp ivory tusks and golden bristles. And men question why women think of men as pigs?

Elle, at 5 foot 7, 115 pounds, 38-25-36, a head of blazing red hair, and sky blue eyed, looked a lot like Hollywood actress Rita Hayworth, who was actually a natural born brunette. Elle was a fantastic fuck in or out of bed. She was also a trained ballerina and gymnast, and a natural born double jointed contortionist, and more than a bit of an exhibitionist, too, Hey, “double-jointed” is one of those phrases everyone throws around casually, but it actually describes a real anatomical trait ... just not literally having two joints, ha, ha.

What “double-jointed” actually means is some people like Elle have something called, “hypermobility”. That means their joints can move beyond the typical range without pain or injury. This happens because of, looser ligaments, more flexible connective tissue, shallower joint sockets, and differences in collagen structure. No one has extra joints, their joints just move more freely than is normal. Elle could actually suck her own nipples, and lick her own pussy with her legs behind her back. I think we tried every one of the 101 sexual positions the online sex manual she found on the Internet recommended the first week of our honeymoon in Atlantic City.

Sex for us back then became like a game of Twister, a classic party game where players spin a dial, and roll the dice, to determine where to place their hands and feet on a colorful floor mat. This leads to increasingly awkward and hilarious positions. It’s a game of flexibility, balance, and pure, unadulterated fun, perfect for breaking the ice at parties and creating memorable moments.

Yes, we created some very memorable moments that I still have on VCR tape. Sure, Elle was a hell of a flexible gal that could literally bend herself into a pretzel, and even suck her own nipple, or eat her own pussy for that mater, but I soon found out she couldn’t cook worth a damn. Honestly, she was such a bad cook she could even manage to burn the coffee, something I honestly thought was damn near impossible until then.

But, what really ruined the marriage was honestly she could spend more in a damn week than I earned in a month back then. No! make that an entire year. I was years paying off the debt she ran up on our joint credit card in monthly installments. Did you know just one Russian Sable fur coat cost upward of $30,000.00 dollars, and she managed to buy it on the so-called Easy Monthly Installment Plan using our joint credit card. Since she had actually worn the damn thing once it depreciated in value because it was used.

Hey, I wished her luck in finding a real “Sugar Daddy” that could afford her and moved on. When the divorce was finalized six months latter I moved on with my life, and she went back home to Mommy and Daddy who were old aristocratic blue blooded super rich old money. Her parents and relatives had never approved of me a mere plebeian anyway. I understand she eventually married the Ken her parents had originally picked out for her. Hey, I wish her and him a wonderful Barbie life in their Barbie world.

After that my dating and love life became sort of a roller coaster of ups and downs, monsoons, followed by long dry seasons. Nothing more that one nigh stands with some woman I picked up at work, or with a understanding escort, or even a working girl sometimes. Of course, there was also the occasional angry golf wife, or should I say golf widow, out for a little revenge sex on her uncaring, cheating, neglectful, bastard of a husband that I picked up at the country club drowning her misery in dirty Vesper martinis at the bar all alone. Yes, the country club was the ideal place to pick up neglected “golf widows” and MILFs, I soon found out.

It seemed that in those years that getting ahead in business was much more important than finding my so-called, “true love soul mate”, or the next Mrs. James Hardy for that matter. Hey, I had tried marriage, and believe me I had learned my lesson, once was more than enough for me. I mean that when there was so much free available pussy out there to pickup there isn’t any real need to settle down with just one. Yes, as somebody once said, verity is the spice of life, and I had lots and lots of verity to chose from in those years.