Chair stories fair exchange. High chair no stories

6. STORIES ABOUT THE FATHER

While working, I never say “good” or “bad,” only “that’s it,” “well done.” I do not tell the patient what is good and what is not. Once we were talking with Jay Haley and he said: “Your dad never praises anyone!” We started arguing. Jay noted, “He’s always interested, asking questions and saying, ‘Yes, yes,’ but never praising.” I didn’t believe it then, but I remembered it. When my kids were 7 and 8 years old, we lived in Arizona. Dad had a garden, which we hated because we had to work there. One day, the children and my father were digging in the garden and he asked them: “Does this plant have long roots? How long are they? And what has grown? And he repeated: “Yes, yes.” When the children returned to the house, I asked if grandfather praised them. And they answered with one voice: “Yes, of course!” This was a very useful lesson for me: while working, I am interested and say: “Yes, yes.” Then I ask you to remember something pleasant.

There are many different ways suggestions. One of Erickson's most important achievements, which revolutionized hypnosis, was the use of trance collaboration in therapeutic work. Before Erickson, traditional hypnosis had an authoritarian approach in which the therapist told the patient what he needed to do. This was common practice, and Erickson was taught to work the same way, but over the years he realized that this did not always work and began to introduce softer, more open suggestion. Roxanne, my sister, and I wrote scientific work, where they traced the development of Erickson’s approach to hypnosis from authoritarian to softer.

Five people worked with Erickson constantly throughout his life: his sister, and when she was old, her daughter, my mother, my sister Roxanne, and me. We described the part of his life in which he practiced hypnosis. Moreover, each of us chose and described the incident that she most remembered from her entire experience of communicating with Erickson. Here are some of them.

One day, when my Aunt Bertha was a girl, her father put her into a trance. She was a naughty girl, she did something and didn’t want her father to know about it. Bertha woke up from this trance in tears and said: “I didn’t want you to find out.” The father replied: “I don’t know anything, I don’t want to know, and you and I are both just learning.” After this incident, at any demonstrations, he never again put a person into a trance without first agreeing and explaining what he would do. My Aunt Bertha, willingly or unwillingly, reminded him of this, in case he forgot.

My mother remembered another incident of trance. He made such an impression on her that she spoke about him 50 years later as if it happened yesterday. During a trance, in the presence of a whole audience of doctors, her father told her to forget something. But my mother was always proud of her memory, and she didn’t like the idea. She had been working with her father for several years and, in order not to let him down, she tried to do what he said. This contradiction was resolved in the following way: she remembered some program on the radio, the character of which kept forgetting something. And so she sat and did exactly what she was told, and at the same time remembered her favorite character, and this made her laugh very much. She left it to her father to explain to the audience why she was laughing since that wasn't the point. And after 50 years, my mother said: “I showed him that he cannot make me forget anything.” After that, he never asked anyone to demonstrate anything that did not coincide with their character and mentality.

The next episode was a demonstration that my cousin and I gave in front of a learning audience. Father warned us in advance that the audience was interested in seeing how a person with a healthy ego would resist hypnosis, and clarified: “I will ask you to do something that I know you cannot do. Can?" We replied: “Of course, this is just a demonstration!” He put us into a very deep trance and created a state of anesthesia from the waist down, and then asked us to stand up. We couldn't feel our legs and gave up. On a conscious level everything is fine. He showed the audience what he wanted to show. But do not forget that in trance we are increasingly vulnerable and suggestible. And we worked with dad for so long, he is our closest relative, we love him, and he loves us, and, of course, we had higher expectations for him than for any other therapist. These high standards both helped and hindered him. We didn’t get up, the demonstration was over, it was time for us to leave. I woke up, everything seemed to be okay. But my cousin didn’t want to wake up. She looked at some imaginary green stripe drawn on the floor. And even 25 years later, falling into a similar trance, she said: “It was so beautiful, I can still see that green stripe.” For her it was a very significant moment in some way. And although she and I were very sweet and obedient girls, when her father tried to bring her out of her trance, she said: “Leave me alone, I’m busy.” He was silent, and when after a while he again tried to bring her out of the trance, she again told him: “Hush, I’m very busy!” This was very unusual behavior. She eventually woke up and told him off. And she remembers how he stood, listened with complete respect and apologized for disturbing her pleasant hallucination. I personally don’t remember anything about this. I can’t remember even when my cousin talks to me about it. Although I remember everything that happened before and after the trance. After that, I once told my father: “But I don’t know how to anesthetize anything, not even headache" My father was very surprised because he knew what I could do. He believed that anesthesia was one of the most important areas of application of hypnosis, because he himself suffered from pain for a long time. And then he realizes that his daughter, with whom he has been working for ten or fifteen years, does not know how to anesthetize. This is very unusual and he was upset. He finally talked to me and asked (we were talking about Dr. Bruno Bettelheim, who had been in a Nazi concentration camp), “What if you had gone to a Nazi concentration camp?” And I answered: “This won’t happen to me.” He said, “Okay, maybe not. But you love to travel. What if, God forbid, you get into a car accident and not even you, but one of the passengers needs anesthesia? How are you going to do that?" And then I finally agreed to learn again.

That time he gave my cousin and me two mutually exclusive suggestions, which caused such different reactions in me and my cousin. He had never done this before, you could always rely on him. My cousin responded by getting angry with him, and I, since this did not at all coincide with his usual behavior, forgot the ability to anesthetize. I would like to emphasize that before this I knew how to anesthetize, but now I forgot and did not want to learn. And once again I would like to draw your attention to the respect with which he treated his patients and us when we were his patients.

When I was a very little girl, I received a serious injury. I caught a squirrel and it bit me very hard, so much so that I even had to undergo surgery. I told them at home that I fell and hurt my hand myself, I don’t know how, without mentioning the squirrel. This incident caused numerous age regressions. Every time I have age regressions, I see, as if on TV or in a crystal ball, how as a child I run after this squirrel, reach out, and then lie and say that I fell. And right there in a trance. That's why I know that you can lie in a trance. And for several years, dad did not show in any way that he knew what really happened. He, being a self-respecting therapist, could not use the information received from me in a trance. And I didn't know that my secret was out until I grew up. He always treated us with respect. He never gave us mutually exclusive tasks again.

One more important point The one that changed his attitude towards hypnosis was the following. One day he asked his brother's wife for permission to put her into a trance in order to demonstrate hysterical paralysis with her help. He was just discussing this case with the doctors. My sister-in-law got married very young and didn’t even go to college. When the demonstration ended, he thanked her, but then she said in fear that she could not go. The father replied: “You did a great job, you did great.” But she said again: “But I can’t walk.” Erickson: “You demonstrated exactly what I wanted! Enough! Thank you very much!" Sister-in-law: “Please, but I can’t walk! I don’t even want to try!” He thought quickly and said, “Yes, but I didn’t say you couldn’t dance!” And she really loved to dance. Someone came out of the audience, invited her and they danced a circle. Then she said: “I was very scared because it was such an overwhelming feeling.” Erickson, of course, came out of the situation remarkably well and after this incident he learned, it seems to us, not to force people to go further than they want to go.

The following example really stuck with my younger sister. Dad never asked her to do anything, he only set some boundaries. He wanted her to learn to control the pain. But he was stopped by an incident that happened to me when I forgot how to anesthetize. And every time he put her into a trance, he said: “There is a lot more to learn, but I don’t know if you’re ready.” When she asked him to teach her how to control the pain, he answered neither yes nor no. He said she could learn a lot when she was ready. Then one day she went for a ride on a motorcycle and burned her ankle with an exhaust pipe. Riding a motorcycle was prohibited in our family. And my sister was afraid to even say that this happened. When she did tell, she expected to be scolded. And her father looked at her and asked: “Did you use hypnosis to stop the pain?” She replied: “Yes!” The father remarked: “So you have already learned.” This way she learned what he wanted when she was ready for it.

There are types of maintenance therapy that last a lifetime. About 25 years ago, an outpatient schizophrenic came to his father for help. He went in and out of special hospitals and took some medications. Schizophrenia could not be completely cured, but his goal was to improve his life. He wanted to avoid going to the hospital so often and interact with people as successfully as possible. Let's call this man Joe. The first thing my dad did was recommend getting a dog, not necessarily a purebred. He suggested that Joe find a friend at an animal shelter. Together with my sister, Joe chose a wonderful dog at this shelter. Taking care of an animal is, of course, a big responsibility. So the dog had to live with us for some time. (Dad really liked the therapy, tightly intertwined, like a skein of thread, when one thread comes out, and what is in the middle is completely unclear.)

So, Joe's dog stayed in our house and on those days when he did not feel well enough, my mother fed him and took care of him, but still the main responsibility for the animal lay with Joe. He now had a reason why he had to get up and start the day. He helped my mother clean the backyard where our dogs walked. It was a fair exchange. Joe and my five-year-old son built a dog kennel together. It was a wonderful experience for both of them. Joe felt like he was in charge for the first time, and my son had a wonderful time interesting activity. (A feature of children of this age is that they can easily make friends with anyone, therefore, surprisingly, such children are good company for outpatient schizophrenics.)

So, the dog lives with us, but Joe walks it and takes care of it. Years have passed. The first dog died, the second appeared. Joe and my mom walk the dogs every day. All these years, Joe comes to our family dinners, and when he gets bored or gets tired of socializing, he gets up and leaves. Thus he got big family, in which he is treated wonderfully, he can interact and communicate as much as he wants, he can turn and go whenever he wants. His life is much better than before. My mother now has a companion for walking the dogs, a person who comes every evening to feed the dog and watch TV with my mother. In addition, my father suggested that my three sisters and I bake some homemade cookies as a gift to Joe once a month. I have an analytical mind, and I asked my father: “Why?” He replied: “Firstly, Joe will receive such a wonderful dish at least once a month, secondly, he will have the opportunity to treat someone, thirdly, he, as a well-mannered person, will write you a thank you card, that is will interact with people again.” And especially for me, he presented a wonderful example of his intervention in a magnificent package: “Once a month you can feel gratitude to fate for the fact that you are not like Joe!”

There are a great many ways to interpret Milton Erickson. Some do it closer to the source, some further away, some are completely inaccurate. If I wanted to study his methods, I would go to the source. Because learning from someone who studied from someone who also studied from someone is too far from the original source. Even if you study Ericksonian therapy from me, and I already knew my dad, it will still be colored by the influence of my personality.

My father died 15 years ago, and since then the atmosphere and essence of therapy has changed quite a lot. In many ways he had more freedom. At that time, by the way, there was no custom when the insurance company pays for the patient, as is customary now. Such insurance requires limiting the time you work with a patient. People came to him, flew from different places for a week or a weekend. And, of course, he cared for these patients as long as they were with us.

L.M. Krol: As far as I understand, in the last five or ten years of his life, your father became very popular, many students and followers appeared in the house. Before this, there was another period of his life when he worked very hard, but his fame was local. And ten years earlier, he worked even more and was almost alone, he built the castle in which others already lived. My question is: what was the atmosphere in the house during all these periods?

Betty: I lived the first, early part of my life on the grounds of a mental hospital where my father was the head of the psychiatric service. It was work from 8.00 to 17.00, “from bell to bell.” When I was a teenager, we moved to Arizona, where my father opened a private practice. When my father was just beginning to be recognized as a wonderful therapist and hypnotist (and he considered hypnosis his life mission), he gathered a group of professional doctors and taught them hypnosis. This was in the early 50s. During this time he traveled throughout America teaching hypnosis. At the same time, he also conducted a private practice. Then Gregory Bateson, who was working on the problem of communication in schizophrenia, one day saw his father’s name in a list of literature on double binds. They already knew each other a little. Through Bateson, a group of fairly well-known family therapists learned about Erickson and began going to his classes every weekend. One of them, Jay Haley, later published a book based on the materials from these sessions, which was called “The Extraordinary Therapy of Dr. Milton Erickson.” This was the beginning of short-term strategic therapy, and my father's fame spread beyond the realm of hypnosis. After this, the first students appeared. But there were always people in the house and, in essence, there was no big difference.

Question: When did you start practicing and what were the difficulties at the beginning?

Betty: I started in private practice about eight years ago. Starting is always difficult. I don’t even know how to answer this question, because everything was difficult. What challenges are you interested in?

Question: What kind of connections can be made between NLP and Ericksonian hypnosis, between Milton Erickson and the founders of NLP?

Betty: I am often asked about this, in the USA this is also a very popular trend in psychology, and I even consulted with my mother on this issue. Bandler and Grinder wanted to study the phenomenon of genius and explain it large groups. Although in a sense this is a paradox. First they studied Bateson, then they worked with Virginia Satir, then Bateson introduced them to his father, and they began to visit us often. I remember this very well because I was one of the subjects they practiced on. Of course, I was the subject of many, but I remembered them because such a funny situation happened then.

I just arrived from Ethiopia. Dad asked me: “Say something to Grinder!” I said in Ethiopian: “Hello, how are you?” Here he, without blinking an eye, also answers in Ethiopian: “Hello, thank you, good! How are you and your relatives?” That's when my jaw dropped. But he was a linguist!

Then they worked a lot with dad and together wrote the books “The Structure of Magic-1” and “The Structure of Magic-2”. Dad stopped working with NLP for many reasons, of which I can name two. First: if NLP is very structured, it is characterized by a stepwise approach to solving a problem, then Ericksonian hypnosis implies an almost incredible variability of methods and techniques, depending on each specific individual. The difference in approaches was too great. In addition, Erickson's main emphasis was on hypnosis. He believed that hypnosis was a very powerful tool and that it was in the best interests of subjects that hypnosis should not be taught to anyone who did not have, as we would now say, a PhD in medicine, education or psychology. Followers of NLP do not accept such strict restrictions.

L.M. Kroll: There is a saying about Bandler and Grinder, attributed to Milton Erickson: “They think they took the pearl from me, but in reality they only took the shell.”

Question: Could you name any students of Milton Erickson who could be targeted as people “close to the source”?

Betty: I'm usually reluctant to answer questions like this because you always forget someone, and often they are really good therapists. Jeffrey Zeig is a man from the very core of Ericksonian therapy. Without Jeff, I think the entire Ericksonian movement would not have existed. Jeffrey studied with his father for years and did a tremendous job. Stephen Lankton, Steve Kalegen, Jim Parsonfine, Herbert Lustig, Jay Haley, Ernest Rossi are great examples.

All of Erickson's students deeply embraced his theory, but each follows his own path. This list is still not complete or accurate.

L.M. Krol: Betty, I would be very interested to hear short description the house you lived in as a child, where Milton lived: his reception room, his bedroom, the garden.

Betty: There were two houses, because of course a mental hospital doesn't count. The house I grew up in was very small by American standards. The girls slept in one bedroom, the boys in the other, Dad's office was in the back of the house, and the patients were waiting in the front room. Sometimes there was a playpen there, a box of comics, and a dog running around. There were pecan trees and a compost bin in the backyard. In fact, this house could hardly be called a doctor's house. We had just moved to Arizona, and Dad's office was very sparsely furnished. When he first started, there was only a table and two chairs. Jay Haley asked, “Is that all?” Dad replied: “No, actually, I was still there!”

Over the years, people have given Dad extraordinary gifts. Real treasures, although not expensive in the conventional sense of the word. All this was located in and around his office.

He was color blind and his favorite color was purple. Usually everyone gave him gifts of this color. He's been collecting purple cows for years. He loved one children's poem:

"I've never seen a purple cow,

And I never thought that I would have to see it!”

We lived in our next house for twenty years. My father started using a wheelchair. Although he had post-polio syndrome, he was a very lively and active person. My father even went for walks, hikes, and rode a bike with a stick. I realized that he was crippled only when at my wedding he walked me down the aisle and we didn’t fall into step. This is real activity and strength of personality.

We had like two small houses. The students studied in the smallest of them, standing behind the larger one. There was a tiny office there, a small hallway where the students actually gathered. And there are books everywhere. And all my father’s treasures were laid out there.

Question: Betty, you worked as a teacher for many years. Have you used the knowledge acquired from your father in working with schoolchildren?

Betty: I'm probably so saturated with all these ideas that I can't talk about anything with even the slightest concentration without falling into a trance. For me, this is the most natural way to communicate with people. Of course, I couldn’t help but use everything I learned.

I would like you all to clearly understand: despite the fact that father was a genius of hypnosis, he was a living person. I'll tell you one of his favorite stories.

A group of photographers from very famous magazines once came to visit my father. Wires and cables were laid throughout the house, and special lights were turned on. We all knew that the “guys” from Life magazine had come, and this was very important. Mom was running and fussing. My sister was about four years old at the time. And so she came out, put her hands on her hips and asked very demandingly: “I would like to know what is so wonderful about our dad?”

My father always strived to enjoy life. Remember when I told you how he loved to dig in the garden? Whenever possible, he did all the work in the garden himself: planting plants, weeding, picking vegetables and fruits. And when he began to get more tired, he did less and less in the garden, but we did more and more for him. When in last years In his life, he was lying in bed and we brought him a flower or some wonderful radish, it seemed that he received no less pleasure from seeing the fruits than from working in the garden itself. He managed to somehow adapt his expectations and demands to his physical capabilities. And when a person can satisfy his needs in life, he is happy.

My father became famous for his extraordinary powers of observation. Most of it was based on his own story: he was paralyzed and unable to move for a year, and almost the only thing he could do was lie down and entertain himself with imaginary dialogues of imaginary characters. Fortunately, you and I don’t have to have so much fun. But sometimes, at some boring party or sitting in the waiting room at the airport, it can be interesting to watch how people unite in groups, and guess who is going to leave and who is going to come up and how the relationship between these characters or those might develop. Or, for example, turning off the TV sound while watching a movie, try to guess what is being said and how events are developing.

My father was musically deaf and did not have the opportunity to enjoy music, but he noticed that when people speak in a certain way, they breathe in a certain way. You can even calculate some rhythm. He turned off the sound of the TV and, watching the singers and breathing in time with them, tried to understand what song they were singing.

Another example of his powers of observation. During World War II he was a member of the medical commission for the selection of young men for the army. There was little time allotted for each of them, but he managed to notice this feature: if young man there was a tattoo mentioning his mother, then, as a rule, his card indicated that he was either registered with the police, or had even already served time. My father later said that it was very interesting to find out the nature of such general phenomena. And now, when in my work I come across older people who have a tattoo with the word “mom”, I often think: “I know something about you!”

Once, when dad was already a doctor, he invited his trainees to simply look at one patient and clarified: “I want you, without asking this woman anything, to figure out why she is in the hospital.” At the same time, he spoke, clearing his throat and sighing heavily, hoarsely. All the trainees said: “Pneumonia... no, asthma... lung cancer...” They didn’t even notice that her legs were amputated. You see how easy it is to draw attention to something and distract from something.

Now I will tell you one story that, firstly, shows what an observant person he was, secondly, dad himself remembered it for the rest of his life and, thirdly, for me it illustrates the difference between a genius and a good smart person. When dad was a little boy, he lived in areas where there is a lot of snow, although not as much as here, of course. He got up early in the morning after the snow fell and walked to school, trampling a path in the snow. Sometimes the path was straight, sometimes wavy, and sometimes very, very wavy. And then he liked to hide behind a tree and watch other guys walking along his path. He wanted to understand how crooked the path should be so that others would not follow it, but would try to trample their own. He discovered that people prefer to walk even on a very crooked path than to trample their own. I think this is very important information, and dad also took it into account all his life.

Question: Do you and did your father’s family believe in God?

Betty: My family and I believe in God. Our religious upbringing was somewhat unconventional because we didn't go to church. Father taught us to respect Man, Nature, and God.

Question: You received a pedagogical education. Why didn’t you immediately start working as a therapist, or become your father’s student?

Betty: Because I wanted to be a teacher. I have been doing hypnosis for as long as I can remember. My sister Roxanne and I were subjects of my father's demonstrations from the time I was 10 years old and she was 12. My teaching career began normally, and then I began working with children with emotional disorders and juvenile delinquents. I realized that this work was interesting to me, and then, as a result, I took up psychotherapy. But you can use hypnosis in so many areas! When I taught at school, I often used hypnosis in my classes.

Question: Have you ever refused to work with a client, and if so, why?

Betty: I don't turn them down as clients, but I don't work with them, especially in one particular case. Of course, if I understand that I cannot help a person, then I do not start working with him. Most often, we do not “get along” with those clients who come to me to complain and cry. I thought about this for a long time, but, unfortunately, no matter how hard I try, nothing helps: if a client comes with the sole purpose of complaining and crying, usually everything is limited to two meetings.

Question: In Russia, children very often inherit the profession of famous parents. In the Erickson family, only two of the children continued to do what their father did. Can you explain this?

Betty: I think there are several behind this one question. First of all, if there was one thing that was praised in our house, it was individuality. The desire to be yourself, to do what you want, was encouraged. Secondly, we grew up and did not realize that our father was famous. He remained a daddy for us. It took us quite a long time to realize that he was so famous.

Question: From your stories, I understand that you often use trances with your children. Does this also apply to relationships with your adult loved ones?

Betty: I don't even know how to answer. Being in an altered state of consciousness is so simple and natural for me. If I'm tense for some reason, then I'm definitely in a trance. And besides, The best way to put someone into a trance - to be in a trance yourself.

Question: Many books have been written about Erickson by students who worked with him. As a daughter, can you name the fragments that distort the image of your father?

Betty: Most of the distortions are due to the fact that they became Erickson's students in the later years of his life and saw him as an elderly, physically weak man. They describe an elderly, weak man who spoke in an indirect, streamlined manner. They didn't see my father as he could be: dynamic, strong and extremely active. I want to tell a story that can prove this.

At the age of 17 he suffered from polio. This naturally affected the rest of his life. Therefore, from the age of 18, when he learned to walk again, until the age of 60, when he had to use a wheelchair, he constantly walked with a stick. We children never saw our father without her. Maddie Wychport, who produced the tape about my father, once asked me the question: “When did you first find out that your father was crippled?” I told him that this happened when I was 23 years old, I was getting married, and in church my father could not keep up with me. And when I looked at him in surprise, he smiled and said: “I really can’t!”

About three years ago I discussed this story with my brother. “Of course, I saw that my father was walking with a cane, but I didn’t fully realize it!” The brother said the following. He, his father, and one of his patients went hiking one day. When climbing the mountain, my father was far behind. The brother turned around and saw that his father was trying to cross some small crevice between the stones. At this time, his father called him and asked for help. It was then that my sixteen-year-old brother realized that his father was walking with a stick, that he was a cripple.

Question: Could you tell us about your children? What are they doing?

Betty: I'm not married now. My ex-husband I’m a military pilot, that’s why I’ve traveled so much. The eldest son has his own recording studio, the middle son is a teacher, married and has no children, and the daughter is a policeman.

Yes, yes, don't be surprised. We need to let the children go, although it is very difficult. I remember my daughter as a little girl with pigtails sticking out in different directions, wearing a dress with a nautical collar. Recently I hugged her to kiss her good night and felt a gun on her belt. That’s when I realized that she had already grown up.

Question: Can you say something about your mother?

Betty: Oh, thanks for that question. Of course, my father would not have succeeded as much as he did if it weren't for her. A wonderful woman and mother, she was much gentler than her father. They made a wonderful couple. I think she enriched him. She is an impeccable lady, a very smart woman.

Question: I read that your father took part in the interrogation of prisoners of war. As far as I know, this is not the most publicized fact. If possible, please comment.

Betty: As far as I know, he did not participate in the interrogation of prisoners of war. He was working with some people in connection with a secret project related to psychology. I know of only one topic on which he worked in this way: changing the image of the Japanese - from a small, worthless man to a fairly effective nation capable of acting as a formidable adversary during the war. Even my mother doesn't know many of the details of his work at that time.

He also worked on the draft board. In this capacity, he talked with many thousands of people, determining to what extent they were fit to be soldiers. From this experience he formed an opinion about the human norm in all its manifestations. And I am sure that this work changed his ideas about therapy: he always believed that being normal was not some narrow sector, but a wide spectrum.

Question: I read that Milton Erickson did not believe in the manifestation of unusual abilities. I thought that these were all tricks and nothing more. Do you agree with him? The fact is that at present in Russia all kinds of sorcerers, sorceresses, evil eyes, damage, etc. have become very widespread. What do you think of David Copperfield?

Betty: You're right, my father didn't believe in all psychic powers. He was a scientist and did not believe in anything that was not scientifically proven. I think so too. David Copperfield is a wonderful magician. When I was 14 years old, one of my father's students (let's call him Mr. A), quite well known in the world of hypnosis, worked with my father to define what a hypnotic trance was. My job was to sometimes be in a trance, sometimes not to be in a trance, to be in a trance, trying to deceive him that I was fully conscious, and finally, while fully conscious, to pretend that I was in a trance. My father always believed in justice and believed that if someone does something, they should get something for it. Mr. A. had a remarkable talent - he received the title of professional magician in college. Therefore, his gratitude was expressed in the fact that he showed me magnificent tricks. For me he was like a real wizard, it even seemed to me that he read my thoughts.

Question: What was your father’s attitude towards the other most widespread schools in the United States - psychoanalytic and behavioral?

Betty: My father was educated and had traditional psychoanalytic training (in the spirit of the Freudian school) and, naturally, he had great respect for it. But he believed that man is too unique and complex to be described in one theory. He had no antagonism towards any direction, but he believed that hypnosis could do much more in this sense. The only thing he was always at war with were charlatans of all kinds.

Question: How many patients do you see in a row and how long does it take you to get tired?

Betty: Sometimes I see many patients in a row and don't feel tired until the last one walks out the door. I believe that all this is due to the trance in which I constantly find myself. I remember perfectly everything that concerns any of my clients, everything that we talked about at previous meetings. Usually I concentrate my attention so much on my client that if during work I leave the room for a while and meet the next client there, I even get lost and don’t understand who he is. I think this kind of inclusion is one of the most important benefits of hypnosis.

Question: How do you prefer to induce trance: is it the result of inspiration or do you develop a pattern in advance?

Betty: I don't like the word "inspiration", I prefer "practice" and "experience".

Question: Sometimes clients tell horror stories from their past. But sometimes it becomes clear that the story is completely fictitious. Could you tell us how you react to such situations?

Betty: What might be the purpose of such a person - to be the hero of this fantasy, to drag you into this fantasy, or to refuse to do something? First you need to find out the patient's true goal. The next step would be to show the patient other ways to be a hero in his own life. own life, maybe more difficult, maybe less enjoyable or interesting. But under no circumstances should you arrange a confrontation with their fantasies - this is part of their world with which you need to start working. When clients appear with this behavior disorder, we need to help them begin to function better than before, because there is probably no talk of a complete cure.

5 (100%) 6 votes

It’s strange - I go to church, read scriptures, and know prayers...
And it’s as if I just realized today that YOU CAN’T TAKE SOMEONE SOMEONE’S EVER, otherwise there will be trouble!

I have always dreamed of a chair like this – small and folding. You can sit on this one even on the bus even when all the seats are occupied.
I saw such a chair right under my feet.
And what is he doing here all alone?
No, well, obviously, someone forgot it! Set it and forget it. Maybe some fisherman, or an old grandmother... Anyone!
What's the difference now? Maybe they have long forgotten about him. We said goodbye forever. What now? The ship has left. As they say: what falls is lost.
In general, I took the chair for myself.

The next day there wasn’t exactly “work” at work, but I wouldn’t mind having some extra. My salary is piecework. How much you have done is all yours.
And just as I was thinking about this, the foreman comes up and hands over a stack of hundreds of textolite boards, noting with a smile:
– Do you need work?
- Yes, sure. - I was happy.
- Will you have time?
- Easily. – I was sure.
- Well, come on, come on...
"That is great!" – I thought.

It had to be done urgently.
So, I started cutting up the circuit boards. A machine with a long and powerful knife cut two and even three boards at a time.
In this, as in any other matter, the main thing, I thought, is to get the hang of it. And my hand was so full that in an hour I could turn twenty boards into a thousand small ones, on which radioelements were then laid. And - into the oven.
In short, in six months I got the hang of cutting circuit boards and other work and got my knack for it.
And so I cut, that means, I cut, chop and chop and suddenly - on you!
I can’t imagine how this happened!
In front of me, right on the edge of the knife, hung a small piece of my ring finger with a third of the nail, bleeding.
It's not every day such a sight. No, well, of course, I saw it on TV and live and whatnot! But to have a piece of your finger - believe me, this is the first time.
I got up. I threw a piece away from myself. I don’t even know why I threw it away?
Blood welled up from the wounded finger. I put my finger in my mouth. Felt the taste of blood. Of course, I don’t disdain it, but not enough to love drinking it.
- Is there a first aid kit here? – I asked.

First aid was given to me with five points. You are my good employees! May God bless you with every health!!!
I just feel kind of weird. My ears are blocked. The pain is just a little bit. And some kind of lightness, fatigue.
I leaned my elbows on the table and rested my head on my left palm.
-Are you feeling sick? - they asked me.
- No. Just a little uneasy.
Someone said: “He’s afraid of blood!”
They sat me on a chair. The congestion in my ears was even worse. My vision grew dark and foggy. I also said:
“I feel like I’m about to lose consciousness,” and my eyes began to slowly close, stick together... They closed.
I fell asleep. I dreamed of something, but for some reason I forgot what!
And then I woke up.
The foreman held my head. Several workers stood nearby.
- What are you doing? - they asked me.
“Yes, I fell asleep a little,” I came to my senses, “It’s much better now.”
- Do not joke so…
In general, they bandaged my finger, gave me sweet tea and sent me home.
– I didn’t do it on purpose. “I said as I was leaving and thought: it’s good that it wasn’t the whole finger.”

Went home. They also gave us hydrogen peroxide and a little bandage.
And after a while I call a friend and say: “Yesterday, you know, I found a chair.” Someone forgot, apparently. I was lying alone. I thought it was a draw. So I picked it up. And today I cut off a piece of my finger and nail. Not on purpose.
And a friend tells me: “You know, once I was driving along the road with my father and I saw a good thing lying there.” I thought about taking it for myself. Why waste it? And the priest tells me: “Don’t take someone else’s! Someone may have forgotten or lost this item. And now he mourns about it. And this could be someone’s grief right now.” In general, I listened to the priest and put that thing in its place.
- God bless! – I seemed to come to my senses. - This finger is behind my chair! That's what I need!
– I thought the same thing. - said the friend.
I also said that it was by the grace of God that this happened. And it’s good that I didn’t cut off the whole finger, but just a little bit.
Here's your finger on the chair!
And yet, just one finger made my whole body cry.

“Because we know that if one member in the body suffers, the whole body will suffer” (Bible)
Even my wife said that she was somehow anxious before lunch. And the finger got hurt right then – before lunch.

It’s strange - I go to church, read scriptures, and know prayers...
And it’s as if I just realized today that YOU CAN’T TAKE SOMEONE SOMEONE’S EVER, otherwise there will be trouble!

© ZEM+lya for publication on the website

“Stories about the miraculous” is the short prose of Yunna Moritz of mysterious power and beauty, her “pornographic stories”. No one else can tell such stories. This is a special “book creation and drawing” of the Russian story, in the nature of which is the expanse of divine freedom.

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They. And I want to say, scream: “Where is it, why can’t you see, I’m in pain! I’m dying! HELP!!!” But no one, no one hears her... Friends? No.No.They don’t care what happens to her... “Alice, play cards with us,” Vadim shouted, “I don’t want to, I’ll win anyway, you know that...) And in... it becomes easier. But the main thing is to know who it is.” open, because people are different. They may not understand, or they will laugh, and even worse, everyone tell about your feelings. But Ira was not like that. Alice trusted her. Having arrived home, Aliska decided to call her beloved...

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Whoever stays under water the longest dives. All the adults competed, and so did we, the children. MULLET. Next I want tell How fishermen used to catch mullet in my childhood. Remember the song? “Scows full of mullet, Kostya brought them to Odessa.” For... scow. After which they continue to pull the “traps”. Delicious mullet! But I’ll be honest, she’s so beautiful that I’m glad there are sailboats now No, and have forgotten how to weave mats. That's why the song was forgotten. And you see the mullet, because there are a lot of them. Her favorite treat...

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Here are veterinary certificates with stamps, and your veterinarian says that one more stamp is missing. We have it here with us No seal, and if we now eat such heat over a hundred miles away with these pigs in order to put a seal, then it is unknown ... the seal on these certificates, then what - these pigs will become healthier because of the seal”??? He answers: “Of course, No" I tell him: “Well, if No what is the reason"? He answers: “Yes, our veterinarian is so principled.”... Then I tell him: “Sergey Stepanych, if...

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Petro, what can we drink here - besides alcohol, we just don’t wash it down with brine, but with cherry plum compote, will you or No? (And at the food processing plant they picked up half-liter cans of cherry plum infused with alcohol) Petro, of course, didn’t know, he really thought it was compote... everyone is rolling away with laughter... they can see Petro for last night even more told. And Petro caught the air and said: “What are you guys... everyone here is a fool in the procurement office.” Petro the driver answers him: “Yes No... we are gradually teaching you this, to join our team, so that you...

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The Story of an Angel

I will be with you? - I ask in the hope that at least my angel loves me as I love my chosen one. - No, - the angel is cold and motionless, only his feathers flutter in the light breeze. “Why?” I ask silently. - Because people and angels cannot... be together. You are too hot in your actions and emotions, and we are cold and calculating. We have No positive emotions, we experience, only your fears, illnesses, troubles, pains, sorrows. We feel everything bad. It is our life. We...

A small room, illuminated only by the dim light of five candles. The candles stand along the edges of a circle drawn in the center of the room. Ancient symbols are drawn inside the circle. In the center, sitting on his knees is a man dressed in a black robe with a hood. Lies in front of the man open book. He whispers words, in a language long forgotten by everyone. There is a knife nearby. The voice is getting louder. Without stopping to read, the man takes a knife and runs the sharp blade along the wrist of his left hand. A few drops of blood fall on the book. The man raises his hands to the sky and shouts the last words of the spell. It is unclear where a gust of wind comes from, extinguishes all the candles except one. In the ensuing twilight, a tall, black figure appears in front of the person sitting.
- Did you call?

Oleg stood opposite the nightclub, from which music was coming, and smoked. He was bored here. He never liked places like this. Oleg was annoyed by the crowds of high-flyers, showing off their fat wallets, swallowing little pills that replaced their happiness, and then shaking all night in a dull semblance of a dance, to an equally dull and thoughtless semblance of music.
Oleg showed up here only for the sake of one bitchy, rich person, a female, who was interesting to him, or, more simply, Oleg wanted her. He decided that after the party, he could take her home and get everything he needed from the girl. But after two hours spent in this place, he was completely disappointed in her. Oleg never thought that depravity could reach such an extent. Although luck still smiled on him. Oleg was about to tell everything to hell and go home to have a drink alone when a charming brunette approached him and started a conversation. She introduced herself as Maria. It turned out that she was the only one in the club. Oleg immediately noticed the girl’s ambiguous hints, and after half an hour she invited him to go to her home.
And so he was waiting for her here, at the exit from the club. Oleg was already immersed in sweet dreams of how he would soon have good sex. And Maria herself interested him. She behaved freely but in no way cheeky. The girl clearly knew her worth, but she was by no means one of those who usually gather in such places. When asked by Oleg why the girl was here alone, Maria responded directly to surprise: “I’m looking for interesting young male people. You’re suitable for this role.”
Oleg threw the bull on the ground and looked at his watch; it was the beginning of two in the morning.
Soon Maria appeared. She smiled cheerfully and a little shyly.
- Here we go? - Oleg asked.
The girl nodded and they headed to his car.
When the car was already driving through the night streets of the city, Oleg asked:
- Do you live alone?
- No - Maria looked at him playfully - My brother lives with me, but he won’t bother us.
- Maybe we can still go to my place? It’s cozy here and we’ll be all alone.
- Are you scared? - she smiled mysteriously - Don’t be afraid, you’ll like my brother.
Oleg laughed:
- You said it like you were going to have a group sex.
- Why not? - Maria said and also laughed.
The rest of the way Oleg thought about how lucky he was that he met this girl. Maria was relaxed, devoid of stupid complexes, and easy to communicate with. In addition, she had a very good figure and shape. “Perhaps we shouldn’t break off relations only after satisfying each other,” Oleg thought. “Perhaps it’s worth trying to achieve something more.”
The car turned into a small courtyard. Maria showed Oleg where to park.
When they got out of the car, Oleg suddenly asked:
- And often do you bring guys you don’t know well into your house?
“Not often,” Maria answered calmly, “But you’re not the first.”
She laughed cheerfully again and headed towards the nearest entrance to a tall building.
There was something mysterious about this girl, something that might repel some and attract others. Oleg clearly belonged to the latter. He really wanted to know this girl completely.
Maria dialed the code and entered the entrance, Oleg entered next. The elevator took them to the sixth floor. Maria called apartment number 39.
- Don’t normal people sleep at this time of day? - Oleg inquired.
- Normal people They may be sleeping, but my brother hardly treats them like that.
Oleg could not understand whether he was annoyed or attracted by the fact that he could not understand when Maria was joking and when she was serious.
The door shutter clicked and the door opened. A tall, thin and very pale man appeared before Oleg. It was absolutely impossible to determine his age from his appearance.
“Hello,” Maria muttered as she entered the apartment, Oleg followed him in. “Meet, this is my brother,” she gestured to the man.
Oleg extended his hand to him and introduced himself, he shook it silently. For a few seconds their eyes met and Oleg realized that he didn’t like this guy. The look of his dark eyes expressed arrogance, coldness and an evil grin. The new acquaintance alarmed and scared Oleg a little. What was also surprising was the fact that Maria didn’t add her brother, he didn’t do it himself, he didn’t say a word at all. He did not find any resemblance, not even the slightest, between brother and sister.
The girl led Oleg into one of the two rooms of the apartment, small but cozy and what he liked most, with a large bed against the wall. Maria left for a while and returned holding two glasses in one hand and expensive wine in the other.
They drank. But there was still about half left in the bottle when Oleg and Maria went to bed. The sex was great. Maria was a mad, burning fire. Afterwards, when Oleg, lying in bed, lit a cigarette, being in a state of euphoria, he tried to remember when he felt such a strong orgasm and could not. This sex was without a doubt the best sex of his life. Everything that happened exceeded all his expectations.
Maria got out of bed and, putting on a translucent robe, said that she would go for about fifteen minutes to take a shower. Oleg put out his cigarette and lay down on the bed with his hands behind his head. He imagined what would happen if he and Maria succeeded, something more serious than just sex. How jealous all his friends will be when he shows them this beauty. Thinking about this, Oleg himself did not notice how he soon fell asleep.
He woke up in the same dark room. There was deathly silence throughout the entire apartment. Maria was not around. He got out of bed and got dressed. Then he took out his mobile phone from his pocket. It didn't turn on. “Has the Botorea really sat down?” - Oleg was mentally surprised - “Like it was still full recently?” He put the phone back and looked around. There was a large clock hanging on the wall; it showed exactly three in the morning, but it seemed that the clock had stopped. Oleg left the room into a long corridor. Even from the street, not a sound reached his ears. Oleg felt uneasy.
“Maria,” he called quietly.
The answer was a barely audible sound, like a child's cry. Oleg listened. He wasn't crazy; he could actually hear a child crying from the direction of the kitchen. Oleg groped his way in that direction. The kitchen was small, dimly lit by the light of street lamps. When he entered there, the sound stopped. Suddenly, silence fell again.
- Hey. Is anybody here? - Oleg peered into the twilight trying to catch at least something.
In the opposite corner he noticed some movement. His heart began to beat rapidly. Oleg saw a girl no older than ten years old. She was completely on her feet, squatting and hiding her head in her knees, sobbing quietly.
- Hey - Oleg took a few steps towards the child.
The girl shuddered, slowly stood up and looked at him. Ice horror rolled through Oleg's body. The girl was crying, but instead of tears, blood flowed from her eyes. Blood was smeared all over her face and child’s body. Oleg gave a muffled cry and stepped back.
-Will you play with me? - the girl extended her hand to him.
The guy rushed out of the kitchen. He ran down the corridor to the front door, which he found only by colliding with it. Oleg began frantically looking for the shutter with his hands, but there was none. When horror began to overwhelm his mind, Oleg began to hit the door with his fist with all his might. It turned out to be useless, the door was strong. The pain soon forced him to stop. Oleg turned back, peering into the darkness of the corridor. From there, out of the pitch darkness, someone was approaching him. He heard quiet, shuffling steps and the subtle creaking of the floor under someone's feet. Oleg began to tremble.
Maria!!! - he yelled as loud as he could.
The answer was a loud, arrogant laugh that seemed to come from all sides at the same time. Something walking in the darkness was already very close to Oleg. In these seconds, he remembered that when he entered the apartment, he saw, to the right of the entrance, the door to the room, which, according to Oleg’s assumption, should have belonged to Maria’s brother. He immediately rushed in that direction.
The door to the room opened with ease, he flew into another, at first glance, deserted room and abruptly closing it behind him, he listened. Everything was quiet on the other side of the door. Oleg stood for several seconds, trying not to even breathe. Then he turned around and looked around. A weak light from the street also penetrated into this room. Oleg felt that the first feeling that there was no one in the room was deceptive. Someone was here. Oleg felt it.
“Maria,” the guy called with hope. There was no answer.
He heard the soft tread of bare feet on the floor and a girl came out of the darkness towards him. He couldn't get a good look at her, but it wasn't Maria.
“They took me,” she whispered, her voice sounding hoarse, “And now they took you.”
Oleg began to shake. He wanted to scream, but could not make a sound. Fear stuck in my throat like a lump. Ice-cold beads of sweat rolled down my back.
“They are monsters,” the girl whispered.
Oleg began to step back and after a couple of steps he ran into the wall. The hand touched the switch. He instinctively pressed it. The light came on only for a moment. But this was enough for Oleg to see a girl with deathly pale skin and crazy running eyes. She screamed. The light bulb burst. Again there was darkness and silence in which only Oleg’s rapid breathing could be heard. The girl disappeared.
Seconds ticked by. Oleg stood and tried to comprehend what he saw, to find an explanation for it, but it was impossible. What he saw went beyond the usual and it made the hair on his head stand on end. "What to do!" - the thought was spinning in his head - “we need to run away, but how?”
Oleg carefully crossed the room and stopped at the window. From the outside there was a city at first glance, the same as it had always been. But no, something was wrong. This city seemed dead. No people, no cars. Only the calm light of lanterns and windows, in which Oleg did not notice a single person. It seemed that at some point time froze and all the people disappeared at once.
- What's going on here!!! - he screamed, no longer able to contain his fear. Now panic began to take over him.
Behind him, Oleg heard a quiet, but ear-piercing creak. He turned around slowly. The door to the room slowly opened, and behind it Oleg saw the open entrance door, through which light from the entrance lamp poured into the darkness of the apartment. Oleg took several cautious steps towards the door. Nothing happened. There was no one nearby. Then Oleg rushed away from the apartment. He jumped out onto the stairwell and ran down the stairs.
Oleg ran three floors before stopping and realizing that nothing around him had changed. He was still on the same sixth floor, and there was still the same apartment 39. He groaned quietly and rushed up the stairs. But each new floor turned out to be the same sixth floor.
- What's happening?!!! - Oleg shouted from powerlessness and fear.
He ran to the door of apartment number 40, located opposite.
- Help! - Oleg shouted, banging on the door with one hand and the bell with the other. But everything was clear.
Suddenly, the elevator started working, its cabin began to rise up the shaft.
- Hey! Hey can you hear me?! - Oleg ran to the elevator doors - I’m here!!! - he yelled - Sixth floor!!! Help me!!!
The cabin slowly rose and stopped on his floor, the doors opened. Oleg was about to run into the interior when he saw Maria’s brother in front of him.
Well, why are you yelling like that, you’ll wake up the whole house - he grinned evilly.
Oleg froze in his tracks. Something has changed in this man. Red veins barely began to appear on the pale skin, and the eyes seemed to have sunk deeper into their sockets.
Is it just me, or do you want to run away? - with these words, the man pushed Oleg hard on the shoulder, and he fell on his back - It’s impolite to leave without saying goodbye!
The man got out of the elevator and the cabin doors closed behind him.
- What's happening?!!! What do you want from me?!!!
- Nothing from you anymore. We already took what we needed! Your soul no longer belongs to you!
Oleg jumped to his feet and saw the same girl smeared in blood in the doorway of the apartment.
“Don’t go,” she cried. “Play with me.”
Oleg screamed in horror and rushed down the stairs. On one of the steps, his leg twisted and he fell head over heels down the steps onto the flight between floors.
“You can’t escape from here,” said the man slowly descending after him. “Deal with it.”
Oleg’s whole body ached, but he still stood up, leaning on the windowsill. He looked around trying to find a possible way out of this terrible situation. Oleg's gaze fell on the window. He immediately pulled the handle of the frame, but it did not budge. Maria's brother was already nearby. Oleg hit the glass with his fist and it shattered into fragments. His hand was cut in several places by glass, but Oleg did not pay attention to it. The guy climbed onto the windowsill and looked down. Jumping from here was crazy.
-Are you really going to jump? - the man came very close - You don’t have enough courage!
Oleg was shaking. He looked into the man’s eyes and saw something terrible there, so terrible that it made Oleg jump to the bottom. A few moments of weightlessness. A huge number of incoherent thoughts rushed through his head like a hurricane. Throat tearing scream. Fast approaching land. Hit. But Oleg didn’t feel it. Everything was covered in darkness.
Oleg opened his eyes. He was still lying in the same room of Maria, only now it was lit by four candles standing in the corners and one in the center. Oleg raised his head and saw the same creepy man.
- I told you that you won’t run away. And you won’t be able to die either, because you’ve already died - the man bared his teeth in a bared grin and pointed somewhere with his hand.
Looking there, Oleg saw two dead bodies. One belonged to him and from this everything inside shrank and the horror reached indescribable heights. The second body belonged to a young girl whom Oleg saw in this apartment. But the creepiest thing is that next to the dead body the same girl was quietly sobbing.
- What's happening?!! - Oleg was on the verge of madness.
“I’ll explain everything to you,” came the voice of Maria who entered the room, followed by a girl. “You see, this is my sister.” Maria pointed to the girl. “Our parents died when she was only six years old, and I was eighteen.” I raised her myself. She was the dearest and only close person to me in this world. I loved her very much. We lived together for about five years. But... - Maria took a short pause - One psychotic degenerate kidnapped her on the way from school, raped and killed her. Then he was caught, but he did not live to see the trial. This sadist hanged himself in his cell - Maria stroked the girl on the head - I was left completely alone. Alone with your grief. Around me there were only greedy, self-satisfied people like you. But I found a way out. I plunged into acultism. Many people think that this is all nonsense, but in practice I have been convinced of the opposite. I was looking for a way to bring back the innocent and unjustly terminated life of my little sister. And I found a way out - Maria looked at the man whom she introduced to Oleg as her brother.
“I was the way out,” he said, rising from his chair.
- Who are you? - Oleg whispered with dry lips - Devil?
“Throughout history, people have given me many names,” he grinned. “I entered into a contract with Maria, according to which she had to give me two souls in exchange for the soul of her sister.” The girl was supposed to become one and her body would subsequently become the body of one returned to life. And the second soul is like an additional payment - the demon laughed - This is you.
- No - whispered Oleg - No. This is all impossible.
“I think this is a fair exchange,” Maria grinned. “Two dirty, pathetic little souls, in exchange for my little sister,” she looked into Oleg’s eyes, “How was the sex for you?” I like it. You were so gullible that it didn’t cost me anything to mix a slow but reliable poison into your drink.
- No! - Oleg found the strength to scream - It’s all a lie! I'm not dead!
“Not dead,” the demon confirmed, “And not alive.” Now we are between the world of the dead and the world of the living. This is where the exchange will take place.
The girl in the corner began to cry louder and was shaking.
- I didn’t do anything! - Oleg was overwhelmed with hysterics - It’s not my fault! Let me go!
“Well,” said Maria, “it’s time for my sister and I to return.” The price has been paid.
The demon nodded. Maria took the girl by the hand and they retreated outside the room.
“It’s time for us to go to a place where you really like it,” he approached Oleg.
All the candles went out at once. The light now passed only through the doorway where Maria and the girl stood. But the door began to slowly close.
- Stop! No need! - Oleg yelled while kneeling in front of the demon - Nope!!! Do not leave!!!
“Goodbye,” Maria said smiling.
- Stop!!! - Oleg rushed to the door, but the demon grabbed him by the shoulder and brought him to his knees again.
The girl in the corner began to sob loudly.
- No need!!! It's not my fault!!! Nooo!!!
The door slammed shut.
There was complete darkness.

Maria and her sister were heading home. Warm, summer evening made me ready for a pleasant walk. They were in no hurry.
- Tomorrow we will go to the sea? - Sister asked Maria.
- Yes, we are leaving tomorrow morning - Maria smiled - You will finally see the sea, as you have long dreamed of.
They were already approaching the house. Maria was telling some old joke. They both laughed carefree. The girls did not have time to react when a truck appeared on the seemingly calm road. His driver saw them too late. He pressed the brake pedal to the floor, but the car's brakes failed. The driver turned the steering wheel, but the heavy car could not turn quickly. At the last moment of her life, Maria only managed to scream and tightly grab her sister’s hand. There was a dull thud. Both girls died instantly.
People quickly began to gather around the scene of the accident. Some called an ambulance, some called the police, some just stood and watched. The truck driver sat next to the corpses and held his head with his hands. While there was turmoil in the middle of the road, I stood on the sidewalk and calmly watched everything that was happening, A tall man, with very pale skin.
“Now the price has been paid, in full,” he said quietly.
The demon smiled and walked away.

)Name:"Re-education (infantilism). Part 23"

“That’s it,” I said affectionately, twirling my finger in Sasha’s butt, “Let’s anoint the butt well to make it easier for the baby to poop.” Now let’s just spread the oil over the buttocks and legs - here, on the inside of the thighs.
I poured baby oil on Sasha again - this time on his little boy's property.
“Boys need to lubricate their scrotum very carefully,” I explained, “Especially here in the back.”
“It’s so funny how she kicks her legs,” Nastya smiled.
“We know how afraid he is of tickling,” Ksyusha giggled.
“It’s okay, he’ll be patient,” I grinned, sliding my fingers over Sasha’s clenched scrotum. “By the way, do you see how I’m holding the boy?” He can kick his legs, but he can’t break free.
“Good pose,” Nastya agreed.
“The most important thing is that everything in the child is open,” I explained, “You can touch it wherever you want.” Every nook and cranny is between the baby's legs. And no matter how the little one flounders, he still can’t stop me.
“You’re strong,” Ksyusha grinned, “And I definitely won’t be able to hold it if it starts to break out.”
“My sister will help,” I said.
Having quickly anointed both of Sasha’s groin folds, I lowered the boy’s legs and poured baby oil on him just below his navel.
“They smear the lower abdomen and forehead in front,” I explained to Ksyusha and Nastya, “Everything below the navel.”
I began to carefully spread the oil over Sasha’s tummy, smiling as the boy trembled from the tickling.
- And the pussy? - Nastya asked.
“We’ll also anoint it now,” I smiled, “What do we need?” baby oil it's a pity.
I lifted Sasha’s little pussy and slowly began to smear it with baby oil, watching as waves of shame rolled over the boy one after another.
“Like this, from all sides,” I said affectionately, “And the proboscis too.”
“The only thing I needed right now was a fountain,” I grinned, feeling how Sasha’s pussy tensed.
“Well, that’s all,” I said, having finished smearing the boy with baby oil, “You can swaddle him.” Just first, let’s make sure that little Sashulya uses his diaper for its intended purpose.
I defiantly lathered a banana and quickly shoved it into Sasha’s ass, causing everyone to laugh.
“This is banana therapy,” I grinned, wrapping Sasha’s diaper. “Now remember how to swaddle a baby.”
“First they make panties out of gauze,” said Ksyusha.
“That’s right,” I nodded, “That’s it.” Now we wrap it in the first diaper. It reaches the baby somewhere up to the armpits.
- That is, the handles should be left free? - Nastya clarified.
“Take your time,” I smiled, “I haven’t wrapped him in the first diaper yet.” And this is how it is done: they raised the legs with the butt, wrapped them and wrapped them around them. And now the second end. Do you see how the package turned out?
“Very neat,” Ksyusha nodded.
- Now will you wrap it in a second diaper? - Nastya asked, - Shoulders with arms?
“It usually depends on the baby himself,” I said. “Most of them leave their arms free, but restless ones, like Sasha, are swaddled completely.”
I laid Sasha’s hands at the seams and began wrapping the boy in the second diaper.
“Let’s tighten it tighter,” I explained, “Because I know that he will try to free himself from the diapers.”
Having lifted Sasha’s body with some difficulty, I tucked the other end of the sheet under the boy.
- Well? - I turned around at the girls standing at the table, - What do you say?
“What a lalya,” Ksyusha smiled.
“Don’t even say that,” the older sister agreed with her, “a real baby—in diapers and with a pacifier in his mouth.”
“Only the cap is missing,” Lenka added sarcastically.
“I doubt that the Andryushins will fit on him,” I grinned.
- Are you going to leave it lying on the table? - Lenka asked.
“We can put him in one of the cribs,” I suggested.
- Do you think it will fit there? - Lenka grinned skeptically.
“Let’s try,” I didn’t give up, “That one over there.” It's still empty for us.
“It should fit,” Nastya smiled, measuring Sasha with an appraising look.
“Well,” I turned to the girls, “Who will help me?” One, two, they took it... Oh, you’re so heavy, Sasha.
Lenka, Nastya, and I carried the seven-year-old boy into a crib.
“With difficulty, but it fit,” Lenka grinned.
“Cool,” I smiled contentedly, “Now Sasha will sleep in this crib all the time.”
The boy grimaced with displeasure.
“There’s no point in looking at me like that,” I continued, “I won’t let you wet the sofa.” It’s good that today I put oilcloth under the sheet - I felt like I was going to wet myself. Shame and shame! Lie down now and think about your behavior. And so that you don’t get bored, we’ll give you a baby bottle.
I took the pacifier out of Sasha’s mouth, replacing it with a previously prepared baby bottle.
- Well? - I raised my voice, - Drink water quickly! Are you not listening again? Did you want another enema? I'm not kidding, Sasha.
The boy sighed heavily and began to drink.
“That’s better,” I grinned.
After waiting for Sasha to drink the entire bottle, I put the second one in his mouth.
- Are you in charge? - Lenka, sitting on the sofa, smiled.
Ksyusha and Nastya giggled restrainedly.
- Still dry? - I asked the boy, feeling his diapers, - Don’t be shy, do your own things in the diaper.
“You don’t have to endure it,” Ksyusha addressed Sasha affectionately, “You poop in your diaper and we’ll quickly change it for you.”
“Isn’t that what you were trying to achieve by constantly refusing to use the potty?” - I smiled mockingly, - To be swaddled like a baby? So what's up? Use diapers as intended.
- I'm not a baby! - Sasha declared, spitting out the pacifier.
-Who's the big one? - I grinned, - Big boys themselves ask to go to the potty. Really, Maximka?
The three-year-old boy smiled happily, pleased that I praised him.
- What, you’re too tired? - I asked Sasha, - And in a small way?
- Is he really still suffering? - Nastya smiled.
“I’ve probably already wet my diaper on the sly,” Ksyusha giggled.
“We’ll check now,” I grinned, again putting my hand on Sasha’s diapers.
- Well? - Ksyusha asked impatiently.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged and, moving my hand a little higher, pressed hard on the boy’s stomach, immediately hearing him begin to poop.
-Have you decided to use the diaper for its intended purpose? - Ksyusha smiled.
“And he said that he was big,” I grinned mockingly, “I can imagine what a pile he has in his diaper now.”
“And I immediately started peeing,” I smiled, feeling a strange warmth under my palm.
- Well? - I turned to Nastya and Ksyusha, - Decide who will change Sasha’s diapers now.
- Can I? - Ksyusha volunteered.
“Come on,” I nodded, “But first you need to move the boy to the table.”
The girls helped me take Sasha out of the crib and take him to the changing table.
“Go ahead,” I nodded to Ksyusha.
The 12-year-old girl began to carefully unwrap Sasha’s diapers.
- Who peed in the diaper? - she affectionately turned to the seven-year-old boy, reaching the gauze, - Little Sashunya? Now let's change our baby's wet diapers.
“It’s funny talking to him,” I grinned, noticing how embarrassed Sasha, already red with shame, became.
“Interesting poop,” Nastya giggled when Ksyusha opened the gauze diaper.
“They smell so fragrant,” I smiled, nodding at the banana contents of Sasha’s diaper.
“If only all the kids pooped fruit,” Lenka grinned.
- Will you hold the little one? - Ksyusha asked her older sister.
Nastya lifted the boy’s legs to the limit.
“Put your arms up, above your head,” I suggested, “So that the baby doesn’t climb anywhere with them.” Yeah, that's it.
“It’s so cold,” Ksyusha was surprised, taking a baby wipe from the box.
“Wipe the boy’s butt well,” I asked, watching the girl move a wet napkin between Sasha’s buttocks, “Especially the hole.” Do you remember how I did this?
The girl giggled and stuck her napkin-wrapped finger in Sasha’s butt.
“Push it even deeper, don’t be afraid,” I grinned.
“Oh,” Ksyusha was wary, “He seems to have something there.” Looks like he didn't poop completely. What do they do in such cases?
“Make me poop again,” I asked.
- How? - Ksyusha asked uncertainly, - Twist your finger in your butt?
“Try to tease me with a soapy brush,” I suggested, giving Ksyusha an electric toothbrush.
- Just tickle the little one's hole? - Ksyusha smiled, dripping liquid soap onto the brush.
“Yeah,” I nodded, “And you, Nastya, hold the boy tight so that he doesn’t break free.”
Ksyusha placed the electric brush on Sasha’s hole and pressed the big blue button.
“First, walk along the hole,” I prompted, “Yeah, like that.” Now poke it lightly.
“It’s so fun to flounder,” Ksyusha giggled, continuing to tease the desperately struggling boy with a buzzing brush, “But he doesn’t want to poop.”
“Now he’s going to poop,” I said confidently. “Try to unclench your butt with two fingers.” Even wider. Yeah, that's it. And tickle where the hole turns pink.
“Wow,” Ksyusha smiled, “He’s shaking so much.” And the hole pulsates convulsively.
“Keep going until he poops,” I said.
The boy, trembling all over, spat out a piece of banana from his butt, immediately squirting a thin stream from his pipette.
“Well, finally,” Nastya grinned.
“And he started a fountain for us,” Ksyusha giggled.