Note to the Reader: This story is one of wish-fulfillment.  One of Goddess Marquesa’s favorite pass times.  It is, of course, entirely fictional.

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“STOP!  HOLD IT!  PLEASE STOP!   Stop right now.  I don’t want him representing me!”  If the defendant’s outcry doesn’t quite stun the courtroom, it certainly wakes it up.  A loud outcry arises from the spectators and echoes through the space.

Bang! Bang! Bang!  The judge’s gavel punctuates the outburst.  “The defendant will come to order.  Order in this courtroom.”  To the defendant, “Sir, sit down and remain quiet!”

“Your Honor, I don’t want this man representing me. I want — I demand — new counsel.”  Still standing, the defendant turns defiantly to his attorney.  “You’re Fired!”

An eruption of voices breaks out again.  Bang!  Bang!   “Order!  Order!  I’ll have order in this courtroom or I’ll empty it.”  Clearly a no-nonsense judge.  After this threat, he pauses while the room quiets down.  “Defendant and defense counsel will approach the bench.”  The two file up to the bench.

“Your Honor,” begins the defendant, “I no longer wish to be represented by this counsel.  It’s my legal right to choose my defense.”

“Hmmm….,” the judge ponders this assertion for a moment.  “Yes, it is your legal right to choose your counsel.  But I find this request most unusual, especially given its timing in this proceeding.  All of the evidence has been presented, the People have summarized their case, and your counsel was set to deliver his final argument to the jury.  You are aware of the gravity of your request?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Most unusual, most irregular.”  The judge frowns and ponders for a few moments.  “Still, I find that you are within your rights.  Defense counsel is dismissed!”  Bang!   “The Court will appoint new counsel…”

“Excuse me for interrupting, Your Honor,  I can save you a lot of time.  The person I wish to represent me is present in this courtroom.”

“And whom might that be”

“Her.”  He points.  “The blonde lady in the third row.”

“The person indicated will please stand and approach the bench.”  Goddess Marquesa rises and comes forward, walking deliberately.  Owing to her her natural magnetism, every eye in the room is riveted on Her as She makes Her way to the bench.  “Madam, please tell the court your name and address.”  Marquesa complies.  “Thank you, Madam.  This defendant wishes you to undertake his defense in this case.  Are you an attorney?”

“No, Your Honor, I’m not an attorney.”  But, she thinks, if I’d chosen to be one, I’d have been a veeery goood one!

“Well, if you’re not a lawyer, then what exactly do you do for a living?”

“Your Honor, I run an interpersonal communication and motivational therapy clinic.  I’ve been counseling clients, and doing so quite successfully, I might add, for a number of years.”

“Interpersonal communication and motivational therapy?”   The judge’s voice oozes skepticism and incredulity in equal measure.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Your Honor,” blurts out the defendant, “If this kind lady will agree to undertake my defense in this case, I really want Her to represent me.”  He’s thinking, Oh please, Dear Goddess! Pleeease say ‘Yes!’   His desperation is so palpable that Marquesa can feel it.  The judge frowns at the interruption and shoots an annoyed look at the defendant.  “Sorry, Your Honor, I didn’t mean to interrupt.  But I’d really like Her to defend me,” he persists.

“This is most irregular, most unusual.”  He pauses a moment.  “Still, defendant is within his right to choose his own counsel.”  To the defendant, and probably more for the record than out of concern for his rights, the judge reiterates, “Once more, sir, I assume you are aware of the gravity of this situation, and of the importance of the decision you are making?”

“Absolutely, Your Honor.  That’s why I want this lady to defend me.”

The judge turns back to Marquesa, “Madam, are you willing to take this case?”

She doesn’t hesitate a second. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Are you aware of the gravity of his situation?”

“Yes, Your Honor, completely aware.”

“What qualifies you to defend the accused?”

Marquesa doesn’t bat an eyelash.  Having enjoyed courtroom films like Anatomy of a Murder and TV shows like LA Law, She’s not worried about running afoul of legal procedure. More important, She knows Her upcoming summary will place Her squarely in front of the jury, where She can can do Her best work. The old salesman’s adage, There I stood alone, armed with nothing but my golden voice, flits briefly through Her mind and brings the trace of a smile to Her lips.  Her intuition tells Her that now is the time to lay the groundwork for Her client’s defense, so She intends Her next words as much for the ears of the jury as for those of the judge.  Oozing confidence, She projects Her full aura on the judge and stares him directly in the eye.  “My clients, My friends, and many others as well, find Me…highly motivating and…persuasive.” To this brief introduction, intended to intrigue and, thus, arrest the attention of listeners, She follows with a pacing question, “How so, you wonder?”  She goes on, deliberately mimicking an infomercial huckster,  “I have perfected a unique, multi-modal model of interpersonal communication through which I am able to motivate clients to achieve more, often far more, than they think they can.  My methods are organic and holistic. They focus on achieving an energy balance along the symmetrical meridians of the body that extend from the toes clear up into the mind, aligning and integrating the physical and mental with the spiritual.  My method incorporates classical and operant conditioning, neuro-musculoskeletal adjustment and energy aura alignment, all integrated into behaviorally-based therapies that I not only developed but constantly improve and perfect. During the therapeutic process, My clients become inexorably aligned — perfectly aligned — within their minds and bodies but also with Me, their therapist. Moreover, My clients’ objectives also become perfectly aligned with the therapeutic goals I set for them.  Once this dual alignment — within the body-mind system of the client and between client and therapist — once this dual alignment occurs, I am then able to motivate and persuade My clients to attain, accomplish and achieve. As a result of what I have helped them achieve, My clients naturally all come to look forward to My therapeutic sessions, and, of course, they all find Me extremely persuasive.”  Marquesa notes the judge’s eyes glazing over from the jargon She is throwing at him.  Veerry Goood!  I have him where I want him!

“Extremely and on occasion, irresistibly persuasive and powerfully compelling,” She continues, Her voice easing naturally into that sonorous, sultry, assertive tone, honed to perfection through years and years of practice, a tone one writer long ago likened to oily swells, so soporific that listeners mindlessly descend into a receptive, submissive daze and so narcotic that upon hearing it, Her repeat call-in clients start frenziedly unzipping their pants as they exchange greetings with their Goddess. Together with Her aura and Her stare, She exudes raw power and total command. “Through My persuasive power, My clients — and others — have been able to accomplish, have been able to achieve…far more than they first thought themselves capable, even though at first they often may have been dead set against carrying out — or even undertaking — the therapeutic tasks I assigned.  My powers have helped, have on occasion overwhelmingly compelled…My clients and My friends to overcome inertia, non-compliance, even unwillingness.” 

With Her back to the courtroom so that only the judge, and no one else present, can see what She is doing, Marquesa brings Her hands up to Her chest, as though She were going to use them to punctuate Her speech, and, with seeming absentmindedness, She oh so slowly, sensually, delicately begins to stroke the middle finger of one hand with the fingertips of the other, as though pantomiming an act that doesn’t commonly occur in courtrooms.  She wants this visual stimulus subtle, beneath his conscious awareness yet still sending a powerful subliminal message to His Honor.  To preclude him from interrupting Her summation, She wants him under her thumb.  While She talks, the last place She wants his active engagement is in this case; instead, She wants his mind fixed firmly on sex, on his own pleasure.

                     “My irresistibly persuasive and motivational powers,” She continues, “have enabled My clients to control the strongest, most stubborn, deep rooted defiance;  have moved, motivated, compelled clients to overcome their most deep seated fears and conscious resistance, have enabled Me to overcome and control and, ultimately, to master themselves — their apprehensions and fears and, most gratifying and pleasing to me, to unconsciously yet instantly respond to and obey my instructions in carrying out the challenging, difficult therapeutic tasks and in achieving the challenging goals I assign them. That’s right, My goals become their goals.  And, eventually, My clients want to please Me, because they come to learn that My pleasure becomes their pleasure, so by pleasing Me, they please themselves.  I take the utmost pleasure in cases when in the end, all clients who initially resist Me  yield completely; when they see Me, they all submit to My voice, succumb to My will, they all come around to My way of thinking, come around to My way of doing things.  Often, just the mere sight of Me makes them come around again and again to carry out My difficult, challenging   assignments.  And afterwards, when they have achieved My goals, deep down inside they feeel…veery differently about themselves — and about Me.”

As Marquesa’s words take hold, the judge suddenly experiences an inexplicable, powerful stirring in his loins.  Could this feeling arise from Her proximity?  From Her compelling aura?  Given Her carefully modulated, sultry, narcoleptic voice, perhaps She should call herself Narq-uesa.  Anyway, looking the judge intently in the eye, She goes on, “If Your Honor would think about what I’ve just said, then I think you may understand and appreciate my motivational and persuasive power and that you will agree with Me that I will represent the defendant most capably.  Tell Me now, Your Honor, you would agree?”

“Yes, yes…that makes sense,” the judge replies.  His initial skepticism seems somehow to have faded away.  And as he regards Her standing before him, subconsciously, as though it had a mind of its own, his right hand — his gavel hand — drops to his crotch and, through the folds of his robe, his fingers begin to massage the tip of his cock.  By fixing his mind (and his hand) firmly on his cock, Marquesa has effectively blunted any unwanted interruption from him that could disturb Her forthcoming address to the jury.

“Of course, I thought Your Honor might agree,” says Marquesa, the trace of a complicit smile on Her face.

Her carefully chosen remark returns his attention to the courtroom.  Remembering where he is, a sudden thought crosses the judge’s mind.  He looks over to the prosecutor, “Are the People willing to accept this change in counsel for the defense?”

Inwardly thinking, No way this bimbo can deliver a workable summation, much less get this loser off the hook. After She fails miserably, I can hang another scalp from my prosecutorial belt, the district attorney half-rises from his seat and responds, “The People have no objection.”

Didn’t think you would, thinks the judge, nodding at the prosecutor, “Very well.”  He turns to Marquesa, “Madam, you’re now counsel for the defense.  Do you require time to prepare?” [Please, oh please, give me a few minutes so I can obtain release.]

“Give me a few minutes to confer with the defendant, Your Honor. Then we’ll be ready to proceed.”

“Will fifteen minutes be enough, Madam?”  he asks, hopefully [Translation:  Please, PLEASE say Yes!].  From the tone of his voice, Marquesa knows he’s asking Her permission in how he is to proceed, which means She has effectively taken control of the trial.  Goood!  Veeery goood!

“Thank you, yes, Your Honor, more than enough.”

“Very well.  Court is temporarily adjourned.  These proceedings will reconvene in fifteen minutes.”  His cock dripping with pre-come and feeling a growing, uncontrollable need to jerk off, he rises and leaves the court for a quick break.  Whether fortunately or not, the bench and his judicial robe hide an enormous erection…

 

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What’s happening?  And how did Marquesa, of all people, end up channeling Perry Mason, here, in this courtroom?

The defendant, whom we’ll call Armand, has been a boy-toy of Marquesa’s for a long, long time.  She liked him from their first session, and over the lengthy course of their relationship, he’s been an obedient, loyal, and respectful subject, adoring of his Goddess.  She has found him kind and considerate, a man without a mean bone in his body.  He possesses a great sense of humor; also, he’s generous, if anything, generous to a fault, as we will soon see, and this is a side of his character She appreciates greatly.  Plus, he’s an excellent hypnotic subject, willing and receptive.  She has had great fun with him, and he has given Her much enjoyment and even more pleasure; so much, in fact, that he has become one of Her very favorite playthings.  She refers to him with real affection as her Zom-Boy.  Lastly, She has found him scrupulously honest.  For Her, both as a subject and a human being, he embodies the best of all worlds, and so when She hears that he and another man had been indicted for narcotic trafficking and money laundering, both felonies, She simply cannot believe Armand could have committed them.

By way of background, an old friend of Armand’s had incurred heavy gambling debts, and his creditors, wanting their rightful payoff, vigorously demand that he pay up — or else.  Knowing these boys play for keeps, he desperately seeks to extricate himself from his self-inflicted financial extremis by applying for a hefty loan.  With the borrowed funds, he will venture abroad, purchase and resell DEA-disapproved substances to street buyers, raking in enough cash to pay off his creditors and extricate himself from hot water.  Alas, our borrower’s scheme, risky in the extreme, falls through, and he joins a long, ignominious list of get-rich-quick wannabees (e.g., John DeLorean) who proceeded him down this same road in seeking instant richesse.  The borrower gets arrested, the cops seize his entire narcotics stash, and he has already been tried, found guilty and sentenced (with an appeal pending, of course).  During their investigation, the cops check out the borrower’s finances, which they speedily find to be almost non-existent, and it takes them no time at all to stumble across the loan he used to underwrite his pharmaceutical investment.  And there, at the bottom of the loan application, appears the signature of a co-signer, Armand’s.  With his signature — and it is his signature — decorating the loan application, the cops, not unreasonably, presume Armand complicit in this sordid affair, and so they quickly come knocking on his door, haul him off, and, despite his bleating protests of innocence, indict him as an accomplice, a co-conspirator.  This narrative surfaced in testimony during the trial’s first day.

Because Armand is one of Her favorite subbies, Marquesa canceled Her conflicting appointments and obligations and made it a point to be present at his trial.  A few minutes after the proceedings started, She slipped unobtrusively into court and found an empty seat a couple of rows behind Armand.  He didn’t see Her enter, didn’t even know She was present, until the court adjourned for lunch, when he turned around and spied Her as he was being led away.  His look told Her that he was scared, and Her intuition told Her he was not guilty.  His fears seem well founded.  As though to confirm them, the unspoken sense among courtroom attendees seemed to suggest him guilty as charged, and during a brief break, Marquesa even overhears a pair of spectators wondering how long a holiday Armand can expect to spend up the river.  Yet to Marquesa, the prosecution’s case seems fishy because the crimes with which Armand has been charged seem so far out of character for him.  And She knows him extremely well, both at the conscious and sub-conscious level.  No, She thinks, this doesn’t add up, and I fear Armand is being railroaded on a bum rap.

By mid-morning of the second day, all evidence has been presented, the prosecutor has delivered his summary (which, Marquesa grudgingly conceded, was pretty good), and the defense counsel was set to proceed with his summary.  Marquesa doesn’t think much of his efforts so far, because he did a poor job both in questioning the witnesses and in poking holes in testimony unfavorable to Armand.  Poor Armand seemed to think so, too.  He would turn to look back at Marquesa, a piteous, stricken look on his face.  None of this passed Her notice.

As the trial progressed, Marquesa studied the jurors closely.  Most seemed absorbed in the proceedings, but being human, their gaze occasionally wandered around the courtroom.  One middle aged woman, a real pickle-puss, clearly thought Armand guilty.  She saw Marquesa, their gazes met briefly, and She frowned disapprovingly.  Others noted Marquesa in passing, and then their attention casually moved on around the courtroom or back to the proceedings.  However, two jurors, a man and a woman, took more than passing notice of Her, even though She had dressed conservatively, even austerely, showing up in a black pantsuit, opened just enough to reveal a hint of decolletage, and black leather ankle length boots with two-inch heels. With Her long, flowing blond hair done up in a severe bun, in no way did She seem the slightest bit out of place; in fact, She could easily have passed for a lawyer. Still, after he noticed Marquesa, the male juror seemed almost congenitally unable to take his eyes off Her.  She knows well that wherever his mind is, it certainly isn’t on the trial.  At one point, while he ogles Her, She casually raises Her hand and, delicately, almost suggestively, brushes Her fingers across Her top, which, despite its conservative cut, does little to hide what lies underneath, and watches with amused approval his eyes following Her hand movement, then returning back to Her face.  She stares intently at him with the barest hint of smile and nodding ever so imperceptibly and synchronizing Her breathing to match his.  She bets a swelling is beginning to occur down in his pantaloons, and She loves it, loves the effect She has on men. The woman seemed equally interested in Her, and although Marquesa naturally gravitates toward men, She finds the lady’s attention most amusing and pleasing, and notices that the lady’s breathing had also matched Hers.  Hmmm. Very interesting. Wonder if she’s becoming moist between her legs?  They both might make excellent subjects, She idly thinks.  And so, while the trial drones on, Marquesa alternately gives it full attention and amuses Herself by playing psychological footsie with the two jurors.

 

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As she leads Her ‘client’ over to the defense table, Marquesa realizes that getting him acquitted will be a delicate and ticklish task.  Naturally, She knows how She will proceed, but She wants the court neither to know what She is doing nor how She will be doing it, so it will behoove Her to approach his defense with great skill — subtly and covertly.  A frown of concentration on Her face, She sits Her client down, takes a seat beside him, leans over close to him, throws Her arm around his shoulder, and, softly but intently, commands him, “SLEEP!  Sleep quickly and deeply…deeper and deeper...”  To others present, it appears that client and attorney are quietly huddling, an action perfectly normal and fully expected in such circumstances.  Because Armand has been well conditioned by numerous previous encounters with his Goddess, he responds instantly to Her command, just as She expects.  His eyes close and his head slumps down.  “That’s right….veery goood…Now, my ZomBoyToy, I am going to ask you a question, and you will answer my question truthfully and without hesitation, won’t you?”  Marquesa addresses Armand by his pet name deliberately; She wants to make it clear at the most intimate level at which they communicate that SHE IS IN CHARGE and that HE WILL DO ALL SHE COMMANDS.  She will allow him no room for ad-libbing.

“Yes, Goddess.”  Yes, he is very well trained.

“Veerry goood.   Are you guilty of any of the charges that you are accused of?  Be Honest!”

“No, Goddess.”   No hesitation in his answer.

“Veerry goood boy.  Your Goddess is pleased, veery pleased…” both because of his innocence and, even more, because Her intuition and judgement regarding his guilt have been spot-on. “Next, I will give you another command, and that is that you will tell me, speaking quietly, and within the next five minutes, you will tell Me exactly what happened.  You will be truthful, completely truthful.  Be brief.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Goddess.”

“Good.  Veery Goood.  Begin,” She commands.  He starts to recount the tale of how he ended up in the courtroom.  In about six minutes, he finishes.  “Veerry Goood,  You did well, Your Goddess is pleased.  In a moment, I will command you to open your eyes and you will open your eyes, but you will remain deep asleep.  You will sit up, sit still and remain still.  You will look straight ahead, and remain completely silent, saying nothing.  And you will continue to do so while I address the jury.  You will hear every I say as I address the jury, and you will remain asleep, deep asleep, until I command you to wake up.  And NOW open your eyes and remain deep, deep asleep….that’s right, and now look straight ahead…Veeery goood…and continue to sleep deeply until I get back to awaken you…”  Marquesa has chosen to keep him as still and quiet as possible; She does not want him fidgeting or otherwise attracting the attention of the jurors.  She wants their attention on Her, not him, and She wants it undivided.

By now, the judge has returned to the courtroom.  Although Marquesa has no way of knowing this, he has masturbated twice in his chambers, and he appears a bit flushed.  He looks at Marquesa and asks, “Is counsel ready to proceed?”

She rises.  “Your Honor, the defense is ready to continue.”

“Very well.  You may proceed.”  And this ought to be interesting, he thinks. 

Leaving Her vegetative client, Marquesa rises and slowly and deliberately walks across the courtroom stage to the jury box, almost as if a spotlight were following her.  All eyes in the courtroom, save those of Armand, follow Her across the floor, almost as if the room were darkened.  She feels this and savors it.  But most of all, She’s the center of the jurors’ attention; She has to be because She has planned it so, having purposely primed them, piqued their interest, their curiosity, through Her earlier remarks to the judge.  Before She begins to speak, She crosses Her arms defensively, mimicking the resistance of some jurors, and pauses to look each one in turn squarely in the eye.  Some look back, a few turn away.  The pickle-puss regards Her defiantly, arms crossed.  The two jurors with whom She previously flirted eye Her intently, expectantly, almost eagerly.

Very well, this is Her moment.

Marquesa begins, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, as My presence here before you represents a new development in this case, I know that, of course, you must be curious about what I will say and that you are interested [as She talks, She uncrosses Her arms with deliberate slowness and looks directly into the eyes of the man She flirted with],  that’s right, extremely interested [now looking at her woman flirting partner], in what I have to say, in everything I have to say, because I am here to show you and convince you of My client’s innocence.  Now it may take Me awhile to complete My remarks, so I invite you all to just sit back…[She refolds Her arms on the edge of the jury box and looks directly at the pickle-puss]...and relax [She unfolds her arms]…and listen carefully…[turning now to the man]…that’s right [looking at other jurors], just be comfortable [now looking into the woman’s eyes] and listen to all I have to say…”

Marquesa looks around the jury box to survey all the jurors before She continues, “As jurors, of course you know your charge, your job is to listen closely to Me, and hear Me out and, after I have completed my remarks, just obey your conscience.  In the name of fairness, I think that, as jurors, all of you will AGREE with Me, that, as I would…SUBMIT to you and you all will SUBMIT TO ME, you would all agree with the idea that the defendant, My client, deserves a fair hearing.  Of course you would.  And so all I ask is that as you listen to My explanation of what took place, I believe you will all come to agree with Me on this issue.  Moreover, after I have completed My summation, I firmly believe you will find My reasons to acquit My client most compelling and so YOU MUST and YOU WILL VOTE TO ACQUIT; that’s right, when I’m finished with My summation, you will vote to acquit.”

Knowing She has their undivided attention, She pauses a second or two, then continues.  “Now I’d like to begin by asking you, first, please, to look closely at the defendant.  That’s right, just look at him, and as you look at the defendant…(Armand sits motionless, apparently oblivious to what she is saying.  She wants to focus their visual attention, and, more important, She wants to condition them to obey Her requests, which will lead to later suggestions and commands)…As you look at him, I respectfully ask each of you to imagine [to the woman], just imagine [to the man] yourself in his position.”  While Marquesa speaks, She looks in turn at each member of the panel, but when She says certain key words and phrases, She pauses ever so slightly and looks directly and intently into the eyes of individual jurors, most often at the man or the woman.  At one point, She again places herself directly in front of the pickle-puss, leaning, arms crossed, over the barrier separating the jury box from the rest of the courtroom, in the best manner of Clarence Darrow.  Masterfully, and with the most exquisite skill, She weaves commands and suggestions into Her ‘summation,’ communicating with all the jurors yet with laser precision with Her chosen two, covertly, indirectly, bypassing their conscious minds but directly accessing their inner minds.  None of the jurors, nor, for that matter, nobody else in the courtroom has the foggiest idea what She is doing.

She goes on, “That’s right, just close your eyes and imagine for a moment you are in My client’s position.  That’s right, it’s as though you are taking his place for a moment.  See yourself in his seat, feeel yourself in his shoes.  And as you do so, I’d like to take you back in time, that’s right, just go back in time to My client’s house — to your house — just go back to the evening the loan papers were signed, to the evening you signed the loan papers.  That’s right.  And as you go back…just imagine…it’s a Friday, the end of a long week, a long, stressful, tiring week, and not only have you had a long, tiring week, you’ve also just spent a long, tiring day at work, you’ve just come home, and you feel worn out and tired and all you want to do is to relax, just relax, and to just kick back and take it easy for a little while.  You pour yourself a drink, maybe another, and then sit back in your most comfortable chair to enable yourself to just relax and release the tensions of the day, and as the drink takes effect, you begin to wind down…feeling much more mellow…the concerns and hassles of the workday start fading away…”  That’s right!  Go deeeper and deeeper…   As Marquesa pauses an instant to survey Her charges, inspiration for a powerful command suddenly seizes Her.  “As you see yourself just sitting, feeling yourself becoming more and more mellow..now, after you’ve had a drink or two, feeling completely relaxed and at ease…perhaps you even look forward to retiring early, to getting some much needed..SLEEP!  Get My DRIFT!?  Of course you do…”  

Here, She alters the tone of Her voice for the next chapter in Her narrative.  “But now, suddenly, the doorbell rings.  Of course, you now see yourself wearily rising up to answer it…see yourself walking to the front door…reaching for the doorknob…opening it, and now see there…standing before you…an old friend…a friend of many, many years…a friend whom you know well…a friend with whom you have gone places and shared many fun and enjoyable things together.  A friend whom you love like a brother.  A friend you trust implicitly.  Get my drift?  Of course you do…and you invite him in, naturally, and you offer him a drink and then you both sit down and relax together. What could be a more natural thing to so?  Of course it is.  So the two of you sit back and go over old times, new developments. And when your friend needs a refill, you offer him a fresh drink, and of course, you join him.  After all, you’re old friends, friends who’ve had many earlier drinks together over the years.  Then as you are just sitting together, just mellowing out, and after you’ve both polished off a couple of drinks, your friend suddenly turns to you and says, ‘Hey!  I need a big favor.’  ‘Sure,‘ you reply.  After all, you are good friends, friends through thick and thin.  And what are friends for, if not to help each other?  That’s right.  Who wouldn’t want to help a friend, especially when he needs a favor?  We all would.  I would, you would. Of course you would.  Plus, by now, you’ve had a few drinks, so you are feeling even more mellow than usual, and so you readily open yourself up to the words you have heard from him.  Now…just think about that.  Don’t you feel sympathetic, even feel more than happy to help an old friend, to do an old friend a favor?  Of course you do.” 

Marquesa moves a step or two back from the barrier and briefly but clinically examines the juror-subjects.  Some are sitting, eyes closed, listening intently.  The pickle-puss has unfolded her arms and sits in a relaxed, seemingly uncritical and accepting mood, clearly taking in all of Marquesa’s words.  As for the two primary subjects of Her veiled suggestions, both are relaxed and breathing slowly, their eyes unfocused and unblinking.  For all intents and purposes, the entire jury is in trance. They’re out like lights. I have them in the palm of my hand.  Veery Goood!   Marquesa continues, “Your friend asks you for a favor, and so you say, ‘Of course,  Anything at all.  What can I do for you?’  Your friend replies that he’s hit a financial rough spot, he has debts that he badly, desperately needs to repay, and needs to repay soon; that he needs a loan; that to secure his loan, he just needs a couple of loan papers co-signed, and; that these papers, which he just happens to have in his pocket, will allow him access to the funds that he needs to tide him over.  Remember, now, he’s an old friend…a dear friend…a trusted friend…and also remember that you’re tired, remember that you’ve had a few drinks, so when your friend says ‘Trust me,’ naturally you trust him and so naturally, you believe uncritically all you’ve just heard, all he tells you. That’s right!   And so, of course, you sign the papers on the spot, paying little if any attention to what’s in them, only wishing to do a favor for an old friend.  And I’m sure you know the old saying that ‘A friend in need is a friend indeed.’  Don’t you?  Of course you do.  And I know you believe that. Of course you do.  And so would you condemn yourself as a fair weather friend? Of course not.  Rather, wouldn’t you want to acquit yourself as a real friend, a friend who stands up to be counted, a loyal friend, a true friend?  Of course you do.  And later, perhaps after a nightcap, when your friend pockets the papers you’ve just signed and thanks you and walks out your door and into the night, don’t you feeel the sudden rush, the sudden flush of happiness…feeel the unbridled joy we all get from giving freely of ourselves, knowing we are helping an old friend over a rough spot?  Of course you do.  We all do.”

Marquesa pauses a few seconds and again alters Her tone of voice to punctuate a slight change in Her narrative.  “And of course you have no way of knowing your friend’s true intention, that he plans to use these funds, funds for which you’ve just co-signed, to purchase narcotics with the intent to sell or distribute, because otherwise, you never would have signed the papers.  But, from what your friend has told you, you believe your friend is going to pay off a pressing debt — and no more — for which you are co-signing.  You believe the money will be used for lawful purposes.  That’s right.  Naturally you assume he plans to use the funds to pay off his debt, don’t you?  Of course you do.  And would you have the slightest idea that, later, when the investigation begins and the cops come calling, you are going to end up, legally, in very hot water?  No, never, of course not.  How could you?  Now, have you made a mistake?  In judgement, perhaps  [She briefly considered, but quickly rejected, using the phrase, ‘guilty of poor judgement,’ because She realizes She doesn’t even want to use that word — guilty — by itself, not now, not ever, even in the context of not guilty. No, the G-word must remain a seed She leaves unplanted in the mind of any juror, so it will not be voiced here, no longer even thought of].  But did you — a law-abiding person with no criminal, or even misdemeanor, charges previously attached to your name — would you…knowingly…sign the loan papers presented by an old friend if you had known his intent to commit a felony — or any other wrongdoing?   No!  Of course not [stated loudly, emphatically].  Of course you wouldn’t! [a stage whisper].”

Time to summarize.  “By being in My client’s shoes right now, of course you know you are completely innocent of knowingly participating in a felony.  Instead, an old and trusted friend has taken advantage of your friendship, has betrayed your trust in him, and by virtue of your being a defendant is this proceeding, he…has…betrayed…you.  You now know your involvement in this sordid affair, if indeed there is any, is bathed in pure innocence.  Of course you do.  So in a few minutes, when you sequester yourselves to decide this case, I want you to obey your conscience.  In fact, I know you will obey it.  Just hear me, now.  I know you will just continue to imagine yourself…believe yourself standing innocent in the defendant’s shoes, both now and when you sequester yourselves.  So when you cast your vote to acquit in the jury room, just remember that you are judging yourself.  That’s right, you will be…you are  determining innocence, determining your own innocence. That’s right!  And remember, you know the facts of the case and so you know you’ve done nothing wrong, don’t you?  Of course you do.  So you know you’re innocent, don’t you?  Of course you do.  Your conscience knows, in fact, your conscience is clear, isn’t it?  Of course it is.  And you will obey your conscience, won’t you?  Of course you will.   And so as you decide, you will determine not only the innocence of an innocent man, but you will be determining your own innocence, won’t you?   Of course!”

              Her logic seems rigorous and unassailable, but that may not even matter;  Marquesa knows well that under hypnosis, the critical thinking portion of the human mind is suspended, bypassed, so Her words go unquestioned and become ripe seeds to be implanted into the damp, fertile soil of the jurors’ subconscious where they instantly take root and grow.  Even so, She pauses a moment to assess their impact.  Her jurors — they’re Hers now — sit quietly, passively, breathing shallowly, some with eyes closed, others with open eyes and a vacant stare. Veery Goood!  She goes on, “You can just Imagine the relief, the happiness, the sheer joy you will feel when, knowing your own, unquestioned innocence and being freed from the burden of wrongdoing hanging over you, just feel the joy from when you will vote to acquit and when you will produce and receive word of your own verdict of innocence. And as you obey not Me but your conscience, you can and you will vote only to acquit.  Not only that, but in the event the vote gets repeated, with each successive vote, your desire to acquit will grow stronger and stronger, because you will be determining your own innocence, won’t you?  That’s right, of course you will.  And so if the vote gets repeated, you will continue to vote to acquit until a verdict is reached.  And you will cast each vote more strongly than the last.  Because you will be voting for your own acquittal, won’t you?”  Marquesa states this last command in Her most dominating, compelling voice:  loud, firm, authoritarian. This command is meant to be heard.  “Of course you will [a stage whisper].”

Marquesa’s work so far has been nothing short of brilliant.  Covertly, She has hypnotized the jurors and made them Her jurors.  Then, through suggestion, She transported them into Armand’s place and convinced them of ‘their’ own innocence.  She further suggested to Her sleepy subjects that in their forthcoming deliberations, they will be determining their own innocence — even more than the innocence of Armand — and she commanded them to vote to acquit.  Now, Marquesa prepares Her somnolent subjects for their dismissal.  “In a few moments, the judge will address you with his charge to the jury, and you will find his address to be an eye-opening experience.  And when he concludes, you will be alert and ready to retire to the jury room refreshed — and ready to acquit My client.  And as you file out and see My client, just the sight of him will remind you of his innocence.”  By these words, She will let the judge awaken them as he delivers their sendoff, and She gives Her jurors one parting suggestion to acquit Armand.

Marquesa turns to the judge. “Your Honor, the defense rests.”

Several long moments pass before he responds.  “Very well,” he yawns. “Please take your seat while I address the jury.”  As Marquesa crosses the courtroom floor, She realizes that the courtroom seems unusually still and silent.  Her eye falls on the spectators, and looking more closely, She notices several spectators’ eyes either closed or staring vacantly ahead.  Hmmm…  She sits down next to Armand, and the judge, who appears as though he has been resting, bestirs himself and turns to the jury.  As he gives them their charge, jurors and spectators alike slowly seem to come to life, as though they were just waking up.  Marquesa notices them stirring.  My ‘remarks’ were received by more people than I anticipated, She thinks approvingly.  The thought amuses Her, and a broad smile crosses Her face.  The judge dismisses the jury, and as they file out, he announces that the court will adjourn until they reach a verdict.

 

—————————————–

 

Marquesa and Armand wait until most spectators and functionaries have left the courtroom before She places a hand on his shoulder and quietly addresses him.  “On the count of three, My cruciferous Boy-Toy, your eyes will open and you will feel wide awake, refreshed, alert.  One…two…three…wide awake, eyes open and alert,” She commands.

He complies instantly.  “Wow, Goddess,” he gushes, rubbing his eyes, “That was a great summation.”

“I thought so Myself,” She answers.  Modesty is, for Her, a sometime virtue.

His earlier apprehension returns, “Do you think I’m going to get off?”

“One way or another, My Pet.  I have a good feeling about the outcome, but we’ll just have to wait and see…”   Armand seems just partially convinced.

Marquesa asks a courtroom attendant whether She can take Armand to the coffee canteen down the hallway as long as She stays with him, and She receives his approval. Of course She does!  She leads Her nervous client down the corridor and they enter the canteen. She orders a cup of coffee for each of them, and then they sit down.

“Goddess, do you really think I’m going to get off?” Armand asks, forgetting in his apprehension that he’d asked her the same question five minutes earlier.

“I think so, but I cannot guarantee so.  My dear Zomboy,” She explains professorially, dropping momentarily — and for Her, very rarely — Her customary role as domina and addressing Her subject as an equal, “The human mind is a strange and wonderful swamp, a spongy morass of blood vessels and nerve fibers.  It does not function mechanically like your car; its function is both ordered yet random, and, thus, no two minds are completely alike — no two swamps respond to My suggestions in precisely the same manner.  And so, I am occasionally mistaken about the timing and impact of My suggestions but NEVER about their general outcome.  Now,” She says, no longer wishing to deal with his nervousness, and allowing Her naturally dominant persona to reassert itself, “I want you to be a goood pet and just relax…That’s right.  No need to worry.  Let your worries and tension just fade away.  That’s right.  Just relax with your Goddess and enjoy your coffee.”

An hour passes, and then word comes down the hallway that the jury has reached a decision,  The court will reconvene in ten minutes.  Marquesa and her charge hastily visit the restrooms (separately), and then return to their seats in court. The room fills up, the jurors file in, some sneaking a quick look at Armand and his counsel, some simply staring at them, as they take their seats.  Momentarily, the bailiff calls all present to rise for the entrance of the judge into the court.  His Honor takes his seat at the bench, announces that the court is in back in session and turns to the jury, “Would the foreman of the jury please rise?”   All eyes turn to the jury.  To Marquesa’s surprise, it is the pickle-puss who stands up. “Have the jury reached a verdict in the matter of People vs. Armand?” asks the judge.

“Yes, we have, Your Honor.”

“Please tell the court your verdict.”

“We, the jury, find the defendant Not Guilty of all charges.”  A loud uproar fills the courtroom.  Armand jumps up, grabs and hugs his Goddess with unrestrained joy while a black cloud of anger and disappointment crosses the face of the district attorney.

Bang!  Bang!  “Order!  Order in this courtroom.”  As the jabbering dies down, the judge’s gaze returns to the jury foreman.  “So say you one, so say you all?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Very well.  The Not Guilty verdict will be entered in the record.  Case dismissed.  The defendant is released from custody.  Sir,” to Armand, “You are free to go.”  Bang!  “Court is adjourned.”  The judge rises and retires to his chambers.

Amid intense conversation, the courtroom slowly begins to empty, and a vastly relieved and joyful Armand and a serenely smug and satisfied Marquesa gather up their things and prepare to leave.  Marquesa says, with fondness, “Well, My dear Zom-Boy, you are going to owe your Goddess big time for this.”  The sudden twin realizations of how She ‘persuaded’ the entire jury to acquit Armand and of the subsequent result of Her formidable power produces a sudden, uncontrollable surge of dampness between Her legs.  This, in turn, focuses Her thoughts on how She might begin to extract payment from Armand for Her legal services, and a wicked smile comes to Her face.  As if by instinct, She reaches down to give his ‘package’ a surreptitious squeeze — after all, She wants to remind him whom he belongs to — when Her reverie is interrupted by the approach of three jurors:  the man, the woman, and the pickle-puss.  Marquesa turns toward them.  The pickle-puss, whose sour expression has been replaced by a look of respect and interest, asks Marquesa, “Madam, the three of us find ourselves intrigued by your therapy clinic, and we’d like to learn more.  Do you have a business card?”

As Marquesa pauses for a moment, inspiration seizes Her.  “I have a much better idea.  Join Armand and Me for cocktails and dinner.  Armand will be most happy to spring for the occasion, won’t you, My Pet?”

“Of course, Goddess,”  he replies, mimicking the tone of voice she used with phrase with the jurors.  Armand has a saucy sense of humor.

              My Pet?? Goddess!??  The three newcomers exchange quizzical looks.

“Veeeery goood,”  Marquesa loves his sense of humor. “And then we will discuss my clinical and therapeutic offerings at our leisure.”

 

 

Postscript.  In the week following the trial, Marquesa receives three telephone calls from other jurors requesting information on her clinic and therapy.  She also receives a call from the judge.