Am I about to live every man’s dream, or am I going to end up a sexually-charged vegetable?
It’s all I could think about as I lay in bed, eyes closed, trying to calm my nerves and. work-up an erection? Achieve climax without an erection? Recite the lyrics to a Donna Lewis song? Who even IS Donna Lewis ? I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing, or what I was to expect. (As I later found out, that’s the point—it’s about the journey, not the destination. Don’t miss the forest for the trees or whatever cliched saying is tattooed on your college bud’s lower back.)
Okay, here’s the story: earlier this year, I met with an erotic hypnotist. Yep, they exist. For science, I suppose? For the chance to find a new way to get off? For the opportunity to reach Nirvana? Serenity now, and whatnot? Sure, all of the above. The results were, very much, unexpected—but interesting nonetheless. Here’s what happened.
[Note: these pictures were taken this week; this is not when I was undergoing the hypnosis. But I WAS in every one of these positions during.]
I would put myself at the Dana Scully-level of skepticism when it comes to anything, really. I do, however, feel that my skepticism and optimistic outlook inevitably led this exercise to be a success. What I received was a lesson in expectations, a newly discovered sense of identity within my brain and, pun intended, a total mind-f*ck.
Clinical sexologist, sex counselor, and certified hypnotist, Dr. Amy Marsh , tells me that there’s no orgasm “button,” per se—you can’t just snap your fingers and jizz your pants, despite what these guys may have tried to make you believe. Dr. Marsh and I conducted our session via Skype last January; from the very beginning, she calmed my nerves and assured me that she wasn’t going to put me into a trance that would leave me as an ever-ejaculating walking vegetable. WHICH IS KINDA BULLSH*T, AM I RIGHT?!
“It’s very close to meditation,” said Dr. Marsh, helping to describe what I was about to experience. “It’s close to being very involved in a hobby or a computer game. Hypnosis is a goal-directed daydream.”
The session begins. Dr. Marsh tells me to stand up and put my hands at my hips like Superman, which is appropriately dubbed the “Superman” pose (see above). Dr. Marsh tells me this stance boosts your levels of testosterone and, like the session she gave me, will make you feel like an overall more sexually-confident person.
Next, she leads me into heavy breathing and tells me to find my happy place. I make a note in my head to tell her that my “happy place” is a beach in the Bahamas covered in snow. I love the beach, but I love winter, so a snow-covered beach seems to make the most sense. There are also monkey-butlers and Cadbury eggs everywhere, obviously. I wonder what other people’s happy places look like? I think to myself. Damnit! Focus on YOUR happy place! Okay, I’m back; feet in the snow while sipping a Piña Colada.
Dr. Marsh tells me to breathe, deeply. Again. Once more. I start to feel myself slipping into a state of. something. I’m calmer. I’m getting closer to the snowy beach. But I find this state to be confusing. I know, for a fact, that I could jump out of it at any moment and walk around feeling fine, but I just don’t want to. It’s like those moments when you’re about to fall asleep, but you still can consciously hear the ambulance siren noise from the street below.
That’s what Dr. Marsh’s voice is like: faint sirens in the distance that I kind of want to ignore, yet I’m still intrigued by where that ambulance might be headed, and think about who’s in trouble, and if they’ll be alright.
The session lasts about twenty minutes. I drift in and out of listening to my doctor, sometimes hearing every syllable out of her mouth, really trying to focus on myself, on my sexual state of mind, to channel her encouragement: “Keep in mind that you’re still in complete control of your body, I’m simply guiding you,” she says. Other times, Doc might as well have been speaking Mandarin, as I’m caught in my own head, questioning why we’re on Earth and trying to remember who killed Laura Palmer in Twin Peaks .
This much is true: the 20 minutes fly by. I’m roused out of my state, whatever state that is, and. feel incredibly calm and confident. Sexually, at least. Any insecurities I have about sex were gone—no self-conscious thoughts about my body, no worry about if I could “perform” or not; of course I could, because I wasn’t even thinking about it.
You know how after Usain Bolt runs the 100-meter in 9.98 seconds, and he’s asked afterward, “What went through your mind during the race?” and he answers: “Nothing, just. my mind went blank.” That’s exactly how I feel. In the zone.
Of course, there’s still one problem: there is no female in my immediate vicinity. My girlfriend was far away at this point, so I couldn’t “test out” the aftermath. But it’s really not a problem. It was almost comforting to know I got to this level without a partner in the same room. Because I know it was real.
Per all of this, Dr. Marsh tells me that it’s normal. I immediately see how this kind of hypnosis, when practiced time over time, could produce a very fruitful sexual relationship with a loved one. Patience. it’s all about patience.
Erotic hypnosis—like the dollar menu at Taco Bell—is exactly what you make of it, and that’s a pretty exciting/comforting thing.
When done right, there are no sensor bars or bleeps in one’s head. I can’t help but think this was because, despite some reservations, Dr. Marsh struck an excellent tone with me. She led me toward the thought that I can do anything and feel anything within the happy confines of my brain.
Your happy place is the 4chan of the mind—anything could happen and it might be gross. If you come away from your experience with a sexual hypnotist and you feel none of this, it just didn’t work. But if it can work for me, the guy who can rarely focus on one thing for more than 10 minutes, it can work for you; I believe that firmly.
“If you can’t get abducted by sexy aliens in real life, do it in your mind.”
Dr. Marsh said this to me during our session more than once. For whatever reason, the phrase sticks with me. Rule 34 exists in real life, but only if you want it to happen. All it takes is a little bit of focus and guidance.
And a happy place.
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Jeremy Glass is a former sex & dating writer at Thrillist and the entire office seemed pretty OK with him standing on the desk, posing like Superman.

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