I sometimes wake up at night and contemplate and speculate and masturbate thinking about what it might be like to have the Touch. The Touch? Simple, just touch a person briefly, skin to skin, and he instantly sees things your way. He’ll do anything you request until you release him and he won’t remember anything about it afterwards.

“How about comping me the room?” I brush Patel Singh’s brown skin as I reach for the pen to sign the Super Eight registration card.

“Most assuredly!” He beams. “No charge! No charge!”

Or maybe I introduce myself to the car dealer. “What’s the very best you can do on this Corvette? Forty-four five, you say?” I ask, shaking his hand with sincerity. “How about fourteen-five with one percent financing, oh, and a five year warranty?”

Or maybe a cop stops you: “You in a hurry to get somewhere, Sir?” He asks, reaching for my license and registration. “I clocked you at ninety back there.”

“Oops,” I say, dropping my license and brushing his hand in my attempt to recover it. “How about you just write this one up as a warning for a bad turn signal lamp?”

“Very good, Sir. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Let’s go over behind those bushes and you get down on your knees.”

Having the Touch would eliminate the need to really work. All I’d do is show up every now and then, touch my boss on the arm to get his attention, and remind him to give me a raise and to deposit my check in my account.

There would be other benefits associated with the Touch. Say, for instance, that your wires are crossed and you prefer the companionship of other males. You like it rough? The Touch will get you the biggest baddest outlaw biker out there. You like young boys? Just go to any Taco Bell or Burger King located near a school and get in line with the juvenile lunchtime crowd and jostle the one you desire. Kids are bumping into and poking each other all of the time and he probably won’t even notice. “Go to the restroom at exactly Twelve-eighteen,” you command. You don’t need to speak out loud; once you administer the Touch communication can be silent and subliminal. You immediately notice the kid looking around for a clock, the checking his watch or cell phone for the correct time. Bingo! You leave your table at Twelve-fifteen and go to the restroom, and you are casually washing your hands when he comes in. “Stand at the urinal and open your fly.” Since he isn’t planning on pissing his pants he readily complies. “Now turn and face me and smile.” No kid would ever display his stuff to an adult stranger so you know you have him firmly hooked. You give him directions to your home or motel room and tell him to show up unobserved at two in the morning, and to bring a couple of rubbers and a disposable razor.

The next morning he’ll only be aware that he has a shaved crotch, sore asshole, strange taste in his mouth, and that he is completely spermed out. He’ll be embarrassed about having to explain his denuded crotch to his buddies when he strips for PE, but at least he still has his balls. I wouldn’t nut a kid but older men might not be so lucky.

A bully that hassled me when I was a kid might stumble into the emergency room wearing nothing but the tourniquet that has been around his balls for the last two days. With him may be one of his cronies with an ugly open wound where his nuts once hung. The third member of their terrible trio may find himself hanging upside down from an overpass, balls stretched to his knees. None will have the slightest recollection of just how they became injured. In fact, there would probably be rash of castrations. Just about anyone who has ever wronged me would be eligible. The boss who once fired me, the guy in the gas station who tells fag jokes at my expense, even the mailman who displays disgust at my magazine subscriptions. All richly deserve castration. Some won’t remember their surgery, others I will release from the Touch before I nut them so they can relive the pain of the knife or the slamming of the bricks for the rest of their lives. I’m not worried about getting caught; the investigating officer will surely see things my way.

I don’t yet have the Touch, but I’m working on it. I innocently touch people all of the time, constantly looking for a favorable reaction to my subliminal suggestions, but all I’ve gotten so far is a lot of dirty looks and rude comments. I’m sure it will work sooner or later.