The Psychic Psychiatrist

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
Artwork (c) 2003 by Dean Cameron.

Illustration of The Psychic Psychiatrist

How odd, the way Dennis' mind had transformed the room, Dr. Morgen thought as he drifted through the maze of fearful images buffeted by the screams, moans, clattering, and other, less identifiable but no less horrible, sounds. That vortex, that was the sink. In his fear, Dennis had regarded the way water ran out of the sink down the drain...and his fear had turned it into this sucking, clutching maw that pulled at every fiber of his body.

And those bloody hands...were they the tree branches that could be seen out of his window? Perhaps he had seen them at sunset, when redness lit their edges...and seen instead blood-encrusted fingers.

The grinning skull, all those bloodshot eyes glaring malevolently, the array of flashing blades that clashed together in a constant cacophony of clattering...those he didn't recognize, but so much of the delusions generated by a psychosis are personal and private. Now that he could see what Dennis was seeing, he could ask Dennis to explain, and interpret them the easier. Words, especially from someone paralyzed and incoherent from psychotic fear, could be difficult to obtain, much less comprehend.

Through the horror, through the danger, through the deeply incapacitating fear, Dr. Morgen floated. Somewhere in here, somewhere behind the screams and the blood and the vomit and the excrement that overwhelmed everything, somewhere right in the very center of it all...

Ah, over there! Small, timid, shivering, nude and filthy.

His patient.

He moved closer and saw the fetal-position. Probably, out in the real world, Dennis was in just this position on his bed, fearing everything, a terrified young man.

"Dennis?" he said. No answer, not even a movement. "Dennis? Dennis?" It took several repetitions before he got the muffled, wordless grunt.

"Dennis, look up." he said. Again, he had to repeat it over and over. "Dennis, look up. Dennis, look up."

Finally, barely, one blue eye raised up over the protective forearm. "Who...who are you?" he said.

"It's me, Dr. Morgen." Dr. Morgen said kindly. "Do you recognize me?"

"Uh...sort of." he said. "You've lost some weight." he said.

Dr. Morgen smiled. "That's because I'm not really here." He said. "I'm in your room with you, and you're in a receptive state, remember?"


"You agreed to let me enter your mind, do you remember that, as well?"

"Uh-huh." the head ducked back down.

"I've come inside here with you, so that I can help you." Dr. Morgen pressed. "Dennis, if this is going to work, you have to trust me. Can you trust me?"

The head didn't rise up, but the body shivered.

Dr. Morgen sighed. He hated to force the patient into any images, it could pollute and contort the dream state and these images, these symbols, powerful and disgusting as they were, could tell volumes, guide him in how he would be able to overcome the underlying causes of the fear that incapacitated this young man. Any tampering with these images, other than by Dennis himself, could delay and even cancel out the therap eutic value.

But a start required some risks. Dennis was lying upon a bed of worms, squirming, wriggling, disgusting worms. Dr. Morgen reached out and touched the bed, concentrating. Direct the images, don't let them get out of control.

A golden glow spread out from his hand and flowed under the cowering youth, and he jerked in surprise, looked up, his face lit by the golden light.

Dr. Morgen had turned the bed into a golden cloud.

" did you do that?" Dennis asked.

"These are only images in your own mind." Dr. Morgen said. "These images have become your reality and that is why I am here with you, to help you return to reality."

"But this cloud...."

"It's my gift to you." Dr. Morgen said. "It is your safe place. You are safe here with me."

"Safe?" Dennis looked down at the cloud, felt of it, it moved beneath him like a giant fluffy pillow, smooth and gentle undulations wafting outward from his hand.

And Dennis...unfurled himself, stretched out and sat up. As he did, Dr. Morgen saw him change, the hair which had been coarse and unkempt became silken and fair, the body glowed with an inner light (this was dreams, Dr. Morgen told himself, a man may be anything he wishes in a dream), the years fell away until the 50-ish figure was now half that age, perhaps a bit less.

Dennis smiled and the smile would have adorned an angel. Dr. Morgen smiled back and said, "Now, Dennis, won't you tell me about these other things around us? I can see what they look like, but tell me what they mean to you."

A shrieking banshee-like figure of a woman flew between them and Dr. Morgen jerked back despite himself. "Sorry, it just startled me." he said.

"My sister." Dennis said.

"Ah!" Dr. Morgen willed his body, his real body sitting outside in the room, to make a note on his pad. It was so easy to let this state be the reality...but that was why Dennis was locked inside here.

"She always ran around the house when I was little, yelling and screaming . Always demanding Mother's attention."

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Unimportant." Dennis said. "Could you sit beside me here, please, doctor? I don't like seeing you out there among all those other people."

Interesting insight, most of these were inanimate objects. People?

"I'd be happy to sit beside you."

As he had influenced Dennis' dreams when he changed the bed-of-worms into a bed-of-golden-cloud, Dennis as the sole resident of this universe could do the same to him. He had been wearing his usual suit of clothes, but as he settled in beside Dennis, he found himself as nude as Dennis (the bare, defenseless child, everyone's id is naked).

He chose to ignore it. In a way, his being naked along with Dennis was a sign of acceptance, Dennis was putting them on an equal basis here.

"These other people." he gestured about. "Tell me about this one." And he pointed to the rack of knives. "Who is this?"

"Can't you hear them?" Dennis said, his voice quavering.

"I hear them."

"They're laughing at me. They always laughed at me."

"Who's laughing at you."


"Why are they laughing?

"Because I'm not like them."

"Not like them how?"

"I was better than them in school."

"These are your childhood friends?"

"They weren't my friends! They were never my friends! They wouln't play with me!"

Play with knives? Or who the knives represented, rather, and why were they knives now? Dr. Morgen wished he could see his notes, he had to simply hope that the signals he was sending to his fingers of his body were writing what they ought to. He looked down to see his hands and found that one was around Dennis' shoulders and the other one was holding onto Dennis' erect cock, pumping it slowly. Not aggressively, nor perhaps not even sexually (though it was fully hard), this was a dream sequence and things were not always as they appear. This could be an expression of Dennis' trust of him.

"I like that." Dennis said to him shyly. "Can I play with yours?"

Dr. Morgen got a flash of insight. "Dennis, how old are you?"

"Seven." Dennis said absently. "I mean, twenty-four. Why did I say seven?"

"When you knew these people," Dr. Morgen indicated the knives, "how old were you?" Now that he knew it, the clattering sound they made together DID sound like laughter.

"I was in the first grade."


"Uh-huh." Dennis said. "Can I play with yours?" This time his hand came down and caught hold of Dr. Morgen's penis.

He had done this before, let sexual elements enter the mental universe he was sharing. After all, sexual imagery was strong and primal, it could engender many useful emotions. But always, when a patient would touch him in a sexual way in this situation, he felt nothing at all, even when his body would respond (in the mental universe) to the stimulus.

Not this time. This time, it was like a real hand touching his real penis. The fingers were a velvet brush across his foreskin, and when they gripped him, he hissed in the surprise of pleasure unexpected.

"See, you'll like it, won't you, Tony?" Dennis said. "Come on, let's play."

Dr. Morgen shuddered, the pleasure was so damned intense. He realized, "You're psychic!" No other explanation would let Dennis physically stimulate his projected body. Even the Dennis of the real world, had he gotten out of that bed and started touching Dr. Morgen's real body, since the psyche was here in Dennis' mind, it would not have resulted in pleasure of any sort. Only a psychic touching a psychic, mind to mind, could result in this stimulation, the way the fingers felt real upon his projected form, the way he felt wave upon wave of desire envelop him at every tug and press of the hand upon his body.

With a great concentration, he tried to remove his hand from Dennis' cock, but it wouldn't move. His other hand, though, he still had control of, he took it and grabbed Dennis' hand and said, "Stop this."

"Why?" Dennis said. "Don't you like it?" There was an element of the child in that voice.

The face was hurt...then resentful. "You're just like them!" And he scuttled over to the edge of the cloud and hunkered there.

At least he had done a significant movement. Dr. Morgen followed, placed his hands upon Dennis' shoulders, contact caring, gentle...but not overtly sexual.

"Who am I like?" Dr. Morgen said. He felt a catch in his throat and gulped. That sexual touch, the power of a psychic ability upon his own, was far more intense than he had thought. "Who is Tony?"

"Tony was my friend in school." Dennis said plaintively. "He came to stay the night and I wanted to play. But he didn't. He pushed me away, even though I asked him again and again. I was nice to him!" he shouted. "But he wouldn't."

"Which one is Tony?" Dr. Morgen said. "Which one is he?"

One of the knives came up, larger and more prominent. "Dennis is a faggot! Dennis is a faggot!" it derided them.

"Shut up!" Dennis shouted at the knife, and it flashed at him, aiming at his heart, burying itself there.

Dennis looked at the knife in his chest, no blood and then up to Dr. Morgen. "Take it out." he said. "Please."

When Dr. Morgen reached down for the knife's blade, it vanished away and swirled away into the vortex, chanting, "Faggot, faggot, faggot!" as it went.

"He told them!" Dennis said. "He told everyone! He wasn't supposed to tell!"

Without turning, without changing, Dennis stopped being with his back to Dr. Morgen and now was facing him, an instantaneous transfer of the psychic presence.

"And you felt it, all of it." Dr. Morgen said, as he comprehended. "Poor child!" he cried out. "Poor little child!" For he remembered his own youth, able to read minds, able to see himself as others saw him. He'd been lucky, he had been around people who like him, who cared for him, he had been able to integrate the images more slowly into his own mind. But to hit such a wall of bigotry and hatred so wonder Dennis was so afraid.

"It's all right." he told the anguished young face that looked into his own. "It's going to be all right, baby." he said tenderly to the beautiful young face.

When that face, so clean and so vulnerable, reached up for him, giving it a kiss didn't seem so wrong.

He had failed to reckon with the way the psychic connection intensified things. It was why psychics never integrated with each other. Had Dennis been any more trained, had he not been crippled and diminished by his fears...Dr. Morgen's brain could have been damaged by the intensity of emotions resonating back and forth, him reading Dennis' mind reading his mind reading Dennis' mind....

The kiss was tender, loving, ecstatic, and his body responded with sexual rut, his cock plowed into Dennis' as it grew back to full tumescence once again.

How was he to get out of this? Dr. Morgen thought in the mists of his delight. If he broke the connection with Dennis now, while Dennis still clung to it, it could do untold damage to Dennis' untrained psyche, even his own would be severely wrenched by the ordeal. But the alternative violated the most basic tenent of psychiatric care...not to become intimately involved with your patients. Sound advice, important rules, solid guidelines.

Which meant nothing with the advent of psychic psychiatry. He wouldn't be doing anything more than joining with Dennis mind here? The body wouldn't be touched. The mental bond between doctor and patient would be strong, but that was a part of the treatment, wasn't it?

The bond clarified so much. Traumatized by his early sexual rejection, Dennis had that rejection reinforced again and again by every tentative sexual advance of his life. Nobody accepts a sexual advance right from the start, or if they do, such as an encounter in the bar, there is a selfishness about the act which would be the same as rejection to the emotionally supersensitive young man. He felt it in the surroundings, the laughter of the knives, the glaring stares of the rows of eyeballs, the vortex threatening to suck him in if he wasn't careful.

To heal the patient, you must heal the mind.

So Dr. Morgen chose a dangerous but necessary path. He didn't repulse the sensations that this ardent, long-rejected young man, sent at him. He let it encompass and surround him. He let his lips feed off and feed back the desire that emanated from Dennis, and when the pleasure surged around him as a result, he wondered if he would even survive this experience, sex in the body was amenable to control or even withholding of emotion. That was impossible for sex in the mind.

He had to love this young man and he did, as much as he could. He was holding the id, the primal man, all the layers of pain and fear were outside of this golden cocoon he had spun, he lowered Dennis onto the cloud and he let his hands and his lips and even his body stroke Dennis, approve of Dennis, accept Dennis.

And Dennis drank in the positive emotions, beamed them back to Dr. Morgen three-fold stronger, Dr. Morgen had never felt his cock so hard and he longed to bury it within this desirable, so very desirable, young man.

And no need for words even mentally spoken were needed here, Dennis understood it as a need of his own and they turned, and Dennis cock slid into his mouth without his needing to fumble for it or guide it, for their bodies were simply manifestations of their minds, and their minds were one.

Dr. Morgen felt the firm young pud slide into his mouth and over his tongue and it was a raw, open joy that pulsed into him. And Dennis' mouth found Dr. Morgen's cock and when the lips first touched his glans, it was sheer, unadulterated delight!

To make his mouth move upon this cock was no effort at all, the mind was supreme in its own realm and everything cooperated in a way that the real world could never hope to match, only in fantasies were two bodies so well matched, so uniformly synchronous in motion, so expertly manipulative, his cock was not mauled, not pinched, not wrinkled in any way, it was the ultimate sensual stimulation, the utmost physical fulfillment, he felt himself as the very living embodiment of his passion, he knew that he could transform this scene, turn himself into nothing but a penis, turn Dennis into nothing but a mouth, and they would still share in this ecstasy.

Moving like undulating waves of pure thought, he sucked on Dennis and sliding like sinuous surges of clear coalescent emotions, Dennis sucked on him and it was all joy, it was all delight.

He heard the moans of pleasure and he felt the sensations of delight and it took him a moment to realize that the many frightful surroundings that had permeated Dennis' mind were gone. In there place was a serenity and a strength that showed itself as a pastoral paradise, their golden cloud nestled just above the grass, around them were birds and butterflies and flowering plants of sizes never seen upon this Earth...but ever-present in the joys of the flesh. Dr. Morgen himself had upon occasion inhabited this place while he writhed in mundane sexual delights with a partner or two but this was the first time that he felt it so fully present, so totally solid.

A new wave of delight permeated his brain and he closed his eyes, and moaned and he knew that his climax was upon him. Answering moans from Dennis showed that they were still in synch, they would naturally reach this psychic climax together. And what the result of that would be remained to be seen.

He let the climax take him, he felt the orgasm wrench his spirit, he felt the world around them roar with thunder and power. This would be a climax that the entire universe of the spirit would join in with.

He rose to the heights of delight, he felt this joy radiate out from him like a supernova exploding in the heavens, in its original sense, a new star born out of the blackness, to join the universe as something new and great, as he drank down a nectar never borne of the human body in the form of Dennis' sperm, this was no jizz he had ever tasted before, this was the ambrosia of the gods, this was the nectar of the ultimate power, and he felt his universe, he felt his body outside this universe, shiver and shudder...and transform.

With the end of climax, there came a weakening of the psyche, and he felt his ability to hold onto Dennis' mind weakening. He fled back to his own body like an arrow to the target, guided by lasers to a perfect bulls-eye with no talent needed, for he was his own target and his arrow was himself rejoining himself, and he dove into the darkness of his own mind, his own skull, once again, lay there, quivering from the raw power of that moment. His guides in his psychic training had been wiser than he'd known, this was not an experience he felt he could ever repeat. Only the more pedestrian joining of bodies for him from now on!

He shivered, adjusted his body more to feel where it was preparatory to moving it, and realized he was lying flat. Odd, he had been sitting in a chair when he began the mind-link. Well, he must have fallen, though why would he have ended such a fall on his back with his arms and legs by his side?

He sat up, looked about, blinked.

"Uhh?" came the sound and he looked down to see Dennis awakening, getting up. Nude, his body not the perfect form of the mind, but younger, stronger, cleaner than the wretched quivering hulk he had been.

A quick look at himself told him that he was also nude, and that his body was ten years younger than it had been, and slim and muscled in a way he had always striven for but never attained.

And their surroundings.... "We're trapped in here together." he gasped to Dennis. Their world of their climax, the large flowers, the clear skies, the bucolic serenity, all of it, beautiful and peaceful...and in this context, quite frightening to him.

"They'll have to send somebody in to get us." he babbled to Dennis. "They must realize what has happened, they must!" Or would they just assume that he had gone catatonic? But this body felt...real. Very, very real. Yes, a complete withdrawal into the mind.

"They won't find us." Dennis said. "We've escaped."

"Escaped?" Dr. Morgen chattered. "We haven't escaped anything. Our bodies are back in the ward, in your room, and our minds are here!"

"No, we brought our minds here." Dennis said, smiling. "We made it across. Nobody will ever be able to hurt us again. Never to fear anyone again."

Was the mind's voyage to this place of peace then, a partial transition across what?--Space, time, dimensions?--to arrive at this world? Was this, then, perhaps, where the mind truly lived, had lived all along, before exile to that other world, a place of fear, of doubt, of pain?

Was this...heaven?

He reached down and deliberately pinched himself, hard. It hurt. Really hurt.

"All right." he said to Dennis. "We're here. Now what?"

Dennis smiled. "Just like the fairy tales. We live happily ever after." He caught Dr. Morgen's hand and pulled at him, very like a child. "Come on, I'll show you what I mean."

And Dr. Morgen embarked upon the strangest journey of his life, led by his patient on a guided tour of paradise.


Comments, complaints or suggestions?
E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1