The fact that I did not think about consequences is what allowed
me to commit some heinous acts. Unfortunately, the lack of thought doomed
me to not taking advantage of the full spectrum of possibilities that I
had accidently created for myself.
It seems easy to be philosophical about it now, but as a horny
sixteen year old it was a bitter pill to swallow.
Prologue II: Biological and Chemical Accidents
Sixteen and male is an awkward state, especially when you’re
different from everyone else in high school. I was not a geek, a freak, a
member of the D&D crowd, a metal head or a pot head.
I was different.
My parents were mostly responsible for that. I am, admittedly, a
biological accident and they did not discover a parental bone between them
while I was a child.
They were not opposed to me but I had not been a part of their
life plan. This left us in something of a quandary. Their solution was to
treat me as an adult relation that would be living in their home for an
extended period of time.
I do not remember a time when my words were not taken seriously,
judged as any adult’s might be, or a time when my questions were not
answered with intelligent truthful bluntness.
I had a child’s playthings but they were overlooked as any of a
relative’s minor idiosyncrasies might be. While our relationship lacked
warmth, I had a much better understanding of the world and more freedom
than my peers.
I was also different because I had thought about my life plan for
years before I could make any significant movement through it. My father
was a plastic surgeon; my mother, his personal nurse.
Art can be found in many guises, and though the concept sounds
strange even to me; my father had art in his soul. In my father’s
profession, there are plastic surgeons who do face lifts, nose jobs, tummy
tucks, etc. My father had an eye for what would make a woman believe she
had left the operating table more beautiful then when the anesthesia had
The first time I saw the before and after pictures he was filing,
I knew I had the same eye. It gave us something to talk about. I think my
father found being my mentor a much easier relationship than being my
father. It also placed me in a difficult situation at school. I knew what
I had to do to get where I wanted to be. Of course, purpose can lead to
inattention and carelessness.
That’s the beginning of my story.
It was my junior year in high school. Lamentably, I was a sixteen
year old virgin with no realistic possibilities for changing that.
I had the normal high school pre-college curriculum which put me
squarely in Chemistry lab once a week. Most kids would not have pulled
what I did but my father’s money, my freedom, and my attitude about my own
future made me as close to untouchable as you can get in a high school of
1500 students. The fact that I was in an experimental class that
separated the most gifted students from the rest of the student body just
added to the effect.
The experiment that week was to make aspirin. A fairly innocuous
experiment except that I really had not paid attention to the procedure. I
had heard that aspirin was a good base point for a designer drug. A few
molecules moved from here to there and you had a hallucinogen. I did not
know if that was true, but it seemed interesting. I was not the type that
took drugs but somehow there was a difference if I had made the stuff
myself. I ended up watching my classmates and trying to follow in their
steps but not caring too much if I flubbed the process.
The teacher was watching me carefully, more than likely because I
had a slight reputation when it came to certain things. The only thing he
could really call me on was that I was making more aspirin than anyone
else in the class but I ‘seemed’ to be doing everything right. Then again
someone cannot watch 10 high school juniors and keep a careful eye on the
dangerous one in the pack.
The inevitable happened. I was given a window of opportunity to
add my own touch to the experiment.
The lab was the last class of the day, so everyone got to leave
after they had succeeded in their experiment. The timing on my experiment
seemed to be off by a significant amount. My classmates started leaving
with snickers and knowing looks in my direction.
Like I said, I had a certain reputation when it came to these type
The teacher was an old-school disciplinarian. It seemed to irk him
that I had so much free reign. He sat by me giving me a lecture about the
perils to which my lack of discipline would probably lead. I had to bite
my lip several times to not tell him that I did not really see any purpose
to high school except to get me into a college where my life could really
start. Why should I bother paying all that much attention in a place that
could barely handle the mediocre, never mind the gifted and we should not
even talk about those the system had decided were lost years ago?
A smile had begun to shadow my face as I thought about his
reaction if I blasted him with that when the glass beaker on top of the
At the age of four, I tested a theory that my too bright young
mind had conceived. My parents seemed to deal much better with things
about me if I offered it to them as fait-accompli. An adult does not ask
permission. He/she does things if they do not affect someone else, and
sometimes even if they do. When I was four, I had discovered the Tae Kwon
Do donjon in my town. I had my nanny sign me up for classes. The nanny
was another working solution to the parts of me that my parents REALLY
could not handle. My first nanny was a fifty year old woman with something
like 20 grandchildren who did not really have the time to love and all
that stuff me, but she tended not to interfere with me either. She was
pretty much someone for me to come home to, and a ride around town.
By the time that beaker exploded, I had taken 12 years of Tae Kwon
Do and four years of Kenpo. By the time I consciously realized what was
happening, my body had acted to remove itself from danger.
My chemistry teacher was not as well trained. He caught a full
blast of the contents of the beaker.
I got off the floor expecting a loud harangue to start any second,
but he seemed stunned. I counted lucky stars and turned the burner off. I
started clearing the glass out of the way; a childish attempt to hide the
evidence even when the adult has watched you commit the deed.
I was done with the cleaning and studying the results, the
supposed aspirin, when the silence struck me. I looked up at my teacher
to see him staring off into the distance.
He focused on me. Slightly.
I moved from side to side in that joking “here I am” manner.
I was beginning to get nervous, Mr. Paz never let an opportunity
to lecture me go by. I figured the only thing that could make him stay
quiet was that he was formulating a whole new teacher-student torture for
me. I noticed glass around him and rushed to get a broom.
He wouldn’t move.
“Hey, Mr. Paz could you move out of the way, I need to clean this
Language is a curious thing. If he had taken that to mean what I
meant it to be, it probably would not have gone anywhere. He would have
gotten away from ALL the glass and I would have trooped innocently along
figuring I had gotten away with the mother of all high school chemical
He took it to mean get off the stuff you’re standing on. He moved
about six inches, onto a bigger pile of glass and lab tabletop
paraphernalia. I gave him an annoyed look.
“This would be much easier if you stood by the separator.” I said
I continued my attempts to clean up the floor barely noticing he
had moved away. After I was done, I returned to studying my so called
‘aspirin’. I figured it definitely was not aspirin because it was a color
that my classmates’ experiments had not been. I ran the little chemical
test we had been given to verify our results.
It definitely was not aspirin.
I looked up to make sure Mr. Paz had not seen the test results. He
was standing by the half-door that separated the classroom proper from the
laboratory staring off into nothing. The first inkling that something more
than ‘not aspirin’ had happened began to creep up my spine.
“Mr. Paz, what are you doing just standing there.”
“You told me to stand here, David.” was his monotone reply.
I am honest with myself, my Tae Kwon Do instructors had taught me
that. I am not a brilliant person, but I am smart and, more importantly,
disciplined when my own interests are involved. It can be a more
succesful combination than just brilliance. On the other hand, it means
that I can get caught by surprise and freeze until I can think something
I sat frozen trying to study the impact of his words. Five minutes
later I came to the conclusion that I needed more data, something out of
the ordinary was going on but I did not really have a handle on what the
‘out of’ part was. I devised a plan but it was fraught with risk. It
would answer the most questions and I was already in major trouble so I
really had nothing to lose.
“Hey, Mr. Paz, show me everybody’s grades.” I said in a voice just
short of joking.
I watched, amazement zipping up and down my body and through my
brain, as he walked to the his desk and pulled the black grade book out of
his briefcase. He walked up to me sat the book down in front of me; it
opened to the page of my classmates’ grades. I moved the pages back and
forth between his schedule of classes that year and tried to absorb some
of the possibilities.
I was not really convinced. I figured while this was far gone, it
could still be a part of a really elaborate teacher-student torture. Not
likely with his open grade book in front of me, but a part of me was still
expecting the hammer to fall.
“Hey, Mr. Paz. It’s hot in here, why don’t you take your clothes
off.” I figured that would seal the deal one way or the other.
I was mildly surprised when he started to unbutton his shirt. Very
surprised when his pants went down. Flabbergasted when the t-shirt came
off. Floored when I was face to head with a flaccid penis.
I could not see a teacher to student torture that could possibly
involve THIS. It was the end of his career if it ever got out. I sat there
staring at a naked old man for a few minutes before I made some critical
“Put your clothes back on, Mr. Paz.” I watched as he put his
clothes back on.
“Go sit down at your desk, Mr. Paz. I’ll be ready in a few
I started to separate the remains of my experiment.
15 minutes later I had what looked like 7 ugly colored, misshapen
pills. I put them in a test tube, sealed it and walked up to Mr. Paz.
I stood looking at him for a minute before I spoke again.
“Mr. Paz.” He looked up at me. The only time he seemed to focus
was when I was talking directly to him.
“Go home, and go to sleep, Mr. Paz. All that happened was the
normal David undisciplined science botch up. You reamed me out, I seemed
to actually pay attention this time, so there’s no need to discuss any of
this. Forget everything else that happened after everyone else left.”
He nodded at me, got up, walked to the closet, pulled his jacket
out, grabbed his briefcase and walked out of the classroom.
It was a slow walk home.
I could not plan anything with the pills without being sure they
were safe. I made myself wait a week to see if Mr. Paz had bad
side-effects or something. It was a tough week for my sparring partners,
the pressure of waiting made me driven.
Mr. Paz’s behavior did not change towards me in the least, as far
as I could tell he did not remember anything other than what I had
After that week, I figured the pills had to be pretty safe. I
needed to experiment and figured sacrificing one pill to find the range of
control it would give me over someone else was the only way to proceed.
It took another week to set up.
I had moved into the basement of our house a few years before my
botched experiment. The basement had a full bath, a walled in space that I
used as a bedroom, a good sized living space and an entrance through the
garage. My moving in there had been another of my fait-accomplis to
prevent my parents from getting involved. It solved some of our problems
when the first nanny finally quit. At the time, I was 12 and my mother
decided that I did not need a nanny anymore, so she hired a live-in maid
who had extra duties as my caretaker-type person.
My mother has an uncanny knack for knowing people and what
motivates them. We had gone through a different maid every two years so
far. My mom always picked out one of the upperclass students from the
local college. It was a good deal for the student because they got free
housing, food, and only had to clean a barely-lived in house, clean my
living space every weekend, and drive me to my martial arts schools. My
mother sealed the girl’s loyalty by offering to pay their college tuition
on top the money paid for the maid services. My mother taught me to cut
through the bullshit and that offering the right thing to the right people
made your life much easier.
The key to my experiment was a portion of time that Cheryl, our
maid, would not be home. My parents were rarely home on weekends so they
were not an issue. The only time other than her classtime was when Cheryl
visited her parents on her weekend off. I would be done with my martial
arts classes at noon, she would drive me home, and then go home for the
rest of the weekend.
I would have from Saturday noon to Monday morning alone.
I gathered two video cameras, and some tapes. I made a very long
video with some explicit and some flighty instructions on it for when the
pill affected me. I made a six hour tape, not knowing exactly how long
the thing would last, but left explicit instructions at the end of the
tape to track time past the limit of the tape. I did not figure on much
more than 12 hours since Mr. Paz had acted perfectly normal the next day.
I cleared the living area in the basement and setup the cameras. I told
Cheryl not to worry about cleanup because I would take care of it this
time. I made sure she saw me carrying stuff out of the basement that gave
the truth to my words.
Saturday noon finally came, I waved Cheryl away as she drove out
of our garage. I took a shower to clean the sweat of me and to give
Cheryl time to return if she forgot something.
Finally, I turned on the video cameras and set the VCR to play in
20 minutes, which was what I thought the average time for a pill to take
effect was. I swallowed one of the seven pills.
Nothing seemed to happen for a few minutes, I felt pretty normal.
I was on the edge of thinking that the stuff probably had to be inhaled
when I came to with the VCR playing and the cameras still recording.
I stood up wearily. I turned the VCR and cameras off before I
looked at the clock. The best I could estimate was that I had been out
for five hours. I sat down heavily, and tried to remember. I had been
very careful about testing how much I could make someone forget. I could
remember most of the things but there were definite gaps, and there were
places that I knew had gaps but I could not quite make them feel like gaps
of memory. There were also places in my memory where something very
improbable had been painted over what must have really happened.
I went upstairsm, cleaned up in the bathroom, and had something to
eat. I was not fully prepared to handle much of anything so I sat in front
of the the large TV in the living room. It was dark out when I woke up.
I still did not feel like watching any of the tapes but decided it was
The pressure in my chest returned.
I went downstairs and took out the notebook I had used to script
the instructions tape. I popped one of recorded tapes into the VCR.
It was eerie watching my recorded actions. I watched as my
image’s anxiety started showing. I could have fast forwarded but I was in
the grip of fascination. It was as if the pill was still acting to control
On the tape, it looked as if every muscle in my body had been hit
with a jolt of electricity; all in the same instant. I became painfully
rigid, and then slowly as if the need to exhale so that I could inhale was
the only reason to release, I relaxed. There was about a five minute wait.
The VCR activated and the snow on the TV screen in the tape turned black,
and finally a picture of myself showed. I heard the third image of myself
try to gain my attention.
The subject turned to the TV. I had made sure that the subject
would not be facing the instructor. I heard the instructor begin to give
instructions. The first set of instructions were innocuous. I had wanted
the subject to be kept in a comfort zone of actions that had been
performed for years in a relationship of master and student. I watched
the subject begin the stretching exercises done at the beginning of every
Tae Kwon Do class. I had wanted the subject to be in the comfort zone for
only about twenty minutes so the class was structured like a lower belt
test. The difference came when the subject was taken through the entire
set of hyongs that he knew.
I leaned into the tape. I watched as each hyong was performed as
close to my idea of perfection as I had ever done. The subject was
completely within soft focus. The subject was stopped in the middle of a
hyong and instructed to remove all clothing. I watched as different things
were asked of the subject. Questions were answered without hesitation and
with complete honesty.
I watched the subject masturbate.
I watched as the subject was instructed to go upstairs and get an
item from every room of the house. The further into the tape I got the
more strange the instructions became the more the I should have fought
against performing the actions.
It did not seem to make a difference what was asked of the
subject, the subject would proceed with the action if possible. Five hours
later, I turned the VCR off.
I sat on the floor watching the blank TV screen. I could not pin
what I felt.
A sick type of excitement?!
Not sick as in emotional disease, but my stomach was rolling as if
it could not decide whether it wanted to expel everything in it or not.
The skin on my arms tingled as if chilled, and my head ached from the
pressure of the possibilities I was fighting not to be swamped by.
I got up pulled the tape out of the VCR, pulled the extra tape out
of the second camera and picked up the instructions tape. I walked out the
garage door still fighting the pressures inside me. I destroyed the tapes
I went back inside. I walked into my bedroom and pulled the beaker
out of the drawer I had hidden it in. I lay down on the bed holding the
beaker over my eyes. I stared at it for a long time.
Certain things had been proven.
The subject responded well to vocal cues. I had tried to work with
hand signals but achieved no results. I didn’t think hand signals would
work except for the most simplistic like a hand wave that said ‘Come
here’. I had no clues about physical contact cues.
The more specific the instructions the better. If given
instructions that lacked clarity, the subject interpretated them within
the confines of their personality.
The near-perfection performance of the hyongs meant that the body
was more relaxed and capable of performing things to a degree that could
not normally be achieved.
The subject did not have social or personal inhibitions. That went
against everything I had heard about hypnotism but I had seen the
evidence. Whatever the pills did was on such a basic level that things
like inhibitions ceased to exist, even survival instincts seemed to be
suppressed to some extent. I looked at the cuts on my forearms. I had made
sure there would not be any permanent damage, but I had been capable of
accepting a lot pain if those were the instructions. obviously I had not
wanted to test that too far.
The subject could be made to forget entire time periods. It was
easier if something was put in the place of the lost memories and the
subject was allowed freedom to fill in details. All in all what I had in
my hand seemed to be the stuff of fantasies.
Those fantasies were knocking at the door of my awareness.
I smiled up at the beaker.