Erotic Hypnosis Gave Me the Most Intense Orgasm of My Life

When you first meet Neil, a handsome if regular-looking guy in a tight waffle shirt and a pair of jeans, you might call him nerdy if he wasn't so nondescript. Based on looks, you wouldn't think that this former IT guy makes his living giving people the most mind-bending, dick-splitting orgasms found anywhere on the planet. But, yes, this guy with a Ned Flanders statue on a bookshelf and Snoopy cartoons on the wall does just that in his Spartan apartment in New York.

Neil doesn't induce these sensations with magic hands or a dick that would make Ron Jeremy jealous. In fact, he doesn't even take off his clothes at all. What Neil does is lie you down on a couch, tell you that you're getting very, very sleepy, and then wake you up to the most intense feeling of sexual pleasure you'll ever experience. What's his secret? That old staple of bad superhero cartoons and schlocky cruise-ship stage shows: hypnotism.

Neil bills himself as an "erotic hypnotist." He uses triggers placed in the unconscious to simulate and intensify the sensations of orgasm to the point that they are unbelievably awesome. Mind-blowing is an accurate description in so many ways. It's not a very practical skill and probably a vast misuse of a practice that's always straining for credibility, but people have been misusing medical techniques for their own selfish enjoyment as long as there has been medicine and selfishness.

Like so many modern stories of sexual kink, Neil's involvement in the field started with the internet. Working in IT, he found a job with his "own office and an internet connection" and one day stumbled upon a chat room for guys into using hypnotism as a part of sex. Most of these guys were in the bondage community and used hypnotism as another means of control, something far more exotic and harder to buy than your standard pair of handcuffs.

Neil, who got into hypnosis after seeing various cartoon figures controlled, bought some books on the subject and started to play around with other guys he met online. After getting considerably talented, he took a certification course at a hypnosis school in Manhattan that he's reticent to name. He got so good at putting people under his thrall, both for carnal pleasure and more conventional (and boring) uses, that in 2008 he quit his job and devoted all his time to doing sessions in his house.

Now he gets all of his clients—mostly male, mostly gay, but decidedly mixed—through word of mouth or some postings he does in the racier corners of the internet. About half of his business is legit (trying to quit smoking or stick to a diet) and the other half illicit, but certainly twice as fun as doing something like denying yourself the enjoyment of a good smoke or a second donut.

I met Neil to see just how good he could make me feel using only the power of his voice and my mind.

He starts the session off with a big spiel about the history of hypnosis—which was interesting, if a little boring (it was sort of like asking about occupation and siblings on a first date). Then he talks about how it works. First he subdues the conscious mind—the part that is in control, asks all the annoying questions, and puts the world in order—so that he can make suggestions to the unconscious mind—the part that controls our feelings, sensations, habits, and all the other things you don't think about until something is going either really wrong or, in the case of one of Neil's sessions, really, really, really right.

We talk a bit about my boundaries, and I tell Neil I have no problem getting naked or being touched but am a bit concerned, as most people are, of being made to do something I don’t want to do. Neil tells me that he wouldn't do that, but even if he wanted to it's impossible for hypnosis to do something that's against your basic nature, like robbing a bank, killing someone, or wanting to make out with a member of the Kardashian family.

There's no pocket watch or, "You're getting sleepy, very sleepy," type thing to put me under. Instead, Neil has me lie down on a couch and talks a lot about relaxing more and more, over and over, and something about a ball of light that moves through my body, progressively slackening all the muscles of my body. The whole process is, quite intentionally, rather boring.

After waking me up out of what feels like the early stages of sleep or that floaty part at the end of a yoga session, Neil asks me what I liked and what I didn't like. We talk about the sensations a bit, and then he makes me go right back into it, this time having me walk along a beach and find a house. I wander from room to room of the house, relaxing more, until we're in the basement and Neil instructs me to go into a Room of Forgetfulness, which sounds like the title of a bad Bond movie or the place where a priest would take you to make you touch under his robe. While inside he tells me that when I wake up, whenever I see him touch his ear, I'll take off a piece of clothing.

Neil wakes me up and I still remember everything about this room and the suggestion he planted. As he touches his ear, my conscious mind, like a date that didn't get a nice enough dinner, says there is no way that Neil is going to trick me out of my clothes.

He's determined, and I go back for another trance. This time, while I'm under, Neil instructs me that when I wake up, even if I remember what he said, I'm going to take my clothes off, and if I don't I’m going to feel very uncomfortable until I do.

As he wakes me up again, I think that I have him pegged, that I'm not going to be tricked, but there is a strange tingling all over my body and I can see, in my mind, that I want to take off my sweater. I chat with Neil about it and he notes that I'm fidgeting. "Is there something you want to do?" he asks. Without any prompting, I take off my sweater. But the tingling continues and I remove piece after piece of clothing to try to make it stop. Sitting on the couch in just my underwear, I still feel an urge to take them off. The feeling doesn’t seem forced, just highly suggestive. Damn, this guy is good.

I lie down again and fall into a deep trance but am still conscious, mostly of how cold I am lying naked on a couch. Neil is talking, I know, but I can't really remember what he's saying. He wakes me up again and asks how I feel. "Great," I say. He then touches my wrist, and a wave of warm glowing pleasure washes over my body and makes my dick stand at attention. He lets go and it subsides. "Feels, good, doesn't it?" he asks. He grabs my wrist again and the feeling returns, even stronger. It feels exactly like that moment when you're beating off and you know you’re about to crescendo and blow your load. If an orgasm is like falling off a cliff, this feels like standing over the cliff, staring down into the chasm with the wind blowing on your taint. It's absolutely amazing.

Neil grabs my wrist five or six times, letting go for a few seconds in between. Each time he lets go, I just want more. Instead, he puts me back into a trance, the deepest one yet. I'm conscious of Neil talking and giving me orders, but I can't focus on them. Instead I'm thinking of playing pool, old record players, Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl (Seriously? Gossip Girl?), and a hotel out of the Prohibition era. It's a random collage of images that seemingly have nothing to do with each other. It's like a dream, except there isn't even the faintest hint of narrative or logic.

When Neil wakes me up he asks how I feel. "Great," I say again. He then taps my forehead and says, "Control. Get up." I stand up. "Play with your dick." I play with my dick, which is rapidly increasing in hardness. He taps my forehead again and says, "normal." I stop and return to normal. All I can do is laugh. Hypnosis is a hell of a drug. Neil taps my forehead again and says, "statue." I stand completely still. He then moves my arms around and they stop wherever he places them. I’m still chuckling, somewhat amazed. Another tap and another, "normal," and my hands drop to my sides.

Neil puts my wrists together and says, "cuffs." My wrists slap together and will not separate, even if I try. He has handcuffed me using nothing but air. It's a strange sensation, not like a real pair of restraints, which are defined by your struggle against them. Instead they seem voluntary. Like your hands just belong like that. But when I try to pull them apart they're as inseparable as the Olsen Twins at a fashion party. The more I struggle, the firmer they feel. Neil says, "release" and my hands fall to my sides. He moves them behind my back and cuffs them again.

With a tap on my forehead, Neil says, "sensitive," and then touches his hand to my chest. It's like lightening is shooting out of his fingers and through my body, each jolt shocking my cock even harder. He moves his hand around my chest and it's like one of those globes from Sharper Image, where the electricity follows wherever his hand goes. It feels fucking incredible.

Still touching my chest, Neil releases my hands and taps me to control again and has me play with my dick. As soon as I touch it, I feel more aroused and more pleasured than I have ever felt in my considerably slutty life. It's like being completely sober and on three hits of ecstasy at the same time. "I'm gonna come," I tell Neil. "Is that the worst thing?" he responds.

I don't know if I can adequately explain the sensation, but it's like my dick split open and released a million rays of sunshine all over my body. Apparently Neil's suggestions not only allowed me to be controlled in innocuous ways but also intensified my horniness and made the pleasure last longer and be more intense. That's never a bad suggestion. It was like an orgasm, but I was nowhere close to shooting. It was just like a Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally, where it just kept going and going and getting better and better and it felt so good and so foreign that I never knew if it was going to end, like I could feel that way forever. Strangely, it was almost non-sexual. As if the feelings were completely devoid from the act I was performing on my body, something from some part of a libido I never knew I had. This wasn't about getting off, it was just about an unbridled pleasure that felt like it would either drive me mad or split my brain in half.

Finally I shot. A lot. More than I have in a long time, making a mess all over a small black end table. After, I was still awash in the glow, almost dizzy—no, giddy—with enjoyment. "Wow," doesn't even come close to describing it. I've been in all sorts of dirty situations from here to Greece and back again, and that was the best orgasm of my life. Maybe it was because, as I said, the experience was somehow non-sexual. It was somehow clean. It was purely hedonistic in a way, controlled by the hypnosis, but entirely unfettered. I had to sit down.

Neil asked how I felt and I said I just wanted to go back to sleep. He actually put me back under, which was better than any post-coital cigarette I've ever had. He made some more suggestions, mostly about how when it was over I'd be fully awake. When I woke up, I could do nothing but thank Neil. But how could I thank him? I ended up giving the man who guided me toward my most amazing erotic moment nothing but a chaste hug.

I left wishing there was a way to hypnotize myself, because beating off with my boring conscious mind guiding the proceedings would never be that good. I'd just have to give hypnosis another shot. And if you want to see what the hype is about, give Neil a call. He's the best sex partner who will never touch your junk.

Also by Brian Moylan:

The VICE Guide to Bad Celebrity Plastic Surgery

An Etiquette Guide for Straight People in Gay Bars

@brianjmoylan