Mystified Michelle

Not for the first time I feel a tinge of guilt. Michelle and me have been friends since we were in Ms. Thompson’s fourth grade class. She was the girl in the cute flower patterned dress and I was the awkward kid wearing a bowtie. (Thanks mum!).

Even then she was amazing. Even then I wanted to be with her, though neither of us understood what that meant. So instead we were best friends, the brother and sister our parents had not provided for us. It was perfect and we loved each other as brothers and sisters do.

Of course when hormones kick in and puberty hits we messed things up. Or I did, I’ll be honest I messed it up. I loved her both as a sister and as a woman who suddenly had pert breasts and tight sweaters. I wanted more than to be the one listening to her talk about how sexy the football players were, or sitting watching her cry over her latest breakup. She had been clear, we were friends. The best friends but she had no interest in anything more.

I pushed the issue. Not in a physical way. Never. But I was emotionally manipulative, I felt hurt by her refusal and in turn hurt her in ways that only best friends can.

By high school graduation she would not talk to me. We went to different colleges, we did not keep in touch.

I felt guilty, and I was. I feel that way now as I watch her sitting on my floor counting backwards the baggy shirt she took from my closet barely covering her still pert breasts. Her eyes glazing more with each number.

I had heard a few months ago that she was engaged. Our parents are still friends, never really knowing the full story of why we aren’t. I live in Palo Alto now. Graduating from one campus to another. It’s an hour drive from where I grew up, but sometimes it feels like a different world. So when she showed up at my door with a backpack and tear stained face I was surprised.

I let her in, of course, and listened to her cry about another breakup. True love, she kept saying. I nodded wisely not saying that I felt I knew something about the topics of true love and heartbreak.

I offered to let her stay in the guest bedroom that now held mostly Avengers action figures and old school books that are too expensive to throw away and yet completely unwanted by anyone else. It had a bed and my old iMac which mostly just held my iTunes library now it’s screen aways a swirl of colors as it sat there streaming music and movies to my AppleTV.

She accepted, and I figured she had wanted the invitation. Returning home to her parents’ would feel like a defeat, going back to her fiancee an impossibility. I had not been the best friend she deserved, but I was what she needed. Or at least my bedroom.

But I am a selfish and greedy man. Weak in flesh, desire guiding my actions rather than noble intentions. The superheroes that I read about would not have done what I did next, but the villains sure would have.

It was easy to add the subliminal files to the iMac while she was washing up on her second night. I’d recorded them at work, using a sound room that we have for making UI sound effects and recording voice over for promotional videos. Basic hypnotic patter mixed into a white noise, masked and played lightly on a loop. The swirling colors of the screen saver filing the room in a dim light as she slept and listened.

Of course I can rationalize this. Her mood improved after two nights. My suggestions to forget about her fiancee and move on aided her recovery. And if that was all it was then maybe I could have been the hero of this story. But I did what all tragic villains do, I played God. Direction her recovery and her affections aware from her fiancee towards me.

The night she crawled into my bed, waking me up with a blow job, I knew it had worked. The next day I confirmed by using her trigger phrase that she had accepted in her sleep. “Mystified Michelle.” It sent her deep, her head slumping forwards her eyes closing. Her mind open to me like a bit of Perl code waiting to be rewritten.

As she counts now she deepens herself. Wiping away any resistance. Unlike the villains in the comics I feel guilt for what I’ve done, but also unlike them I know that I will not be caught. She has nobody who would suspect that she’s being changed, reprogrammed. Nobody in her life will find it odd that two childhood friends have fallen in love. It will seem natural and perfect.

Even to her. As she counts her memories change. Now in our story it was me who pushed her away, her who always loved me deeply and passionately. I have been all she ever wanted, and now she is happy to finally have me.

I feel guilty. I have never been a good friend to Michelle, but now I’m getting my reward.