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ESP and the Sex Mystique


Certainly. I'll talk about Al. Why not? He is the most amazing thing to ever happen to me... I'd marry Al, just for the sex. Shall we be frank? About sex? I won't shock you? I believe in being frank about sex. Sex is a woman's preoccupation, and don't pay my attention to the moralists... I'm not crazy in love with humanly. But I don't like to be alone. I like to be where the action is... I know how to make a buck, and I know how to keep it. You know something? I'd give every buck I've ever made to Al, if he'd have it, I would. How's that for female preoccupation?”


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ESP and the Sex Mystique

Dr. Walter P. Clayton

This page copyright © 2014 Olympia Press.


Fifth in the sensational hypnotic sex-therapy series by Dr. Walter P. Clayton, with Stephan Gregory

“He says, 'My name is Al.' I tell him my name, and already he's unbuttoning my dress. It's one of those front-button styles, and he opens it all the way down. I realize I have my hand resting on that big bulge in his pants, and I wonder again if I'm suddenly going nuts. I mean, look, I'm an honest broad, but I've never been that easy a lay in my life, not ever. It's like there's two of me, one just quivering there and waiting for him to get on with it while the other me stands to one side and observes in horrified silence. That's the way it was.”







To those who have followed the psycho-sexual adventures of Walt Clayton through the first four volumes of this series, there no doubt remains little to be said of the man himself, of his depth of thought, his range of interests, of the compassion and dedication with which he addresses himself to his work and to the problems of his clients. For the benefit of our newcomers, Dr. Clayton is a psychologist, a hypnotherapist, and his specialty is the human sex expression. Young, handsome, charming—he is the matinee-idol image of the successful practitioner. His spring-trap mind is ever open, ever questioning, yet ever ready to share the deep emotional wounds of those he serves. He is Ben Casey with a smile, Kildare with a trial lawyer's instincts, Perry Mason with a Ph.D. in human behavior. Yet, with all this, he is even more.

Those readers who followed Clayton through Sex and the Religious Life will have recognized something of the mystic in the man. Society and the Sexual Life revealed the deeply concerned sociologist; Sex and the Supernatural showed us a scientist with an appreciation of the occult. In this volume you will find the methodical scientist hot on the trail of the most elusive of human essences, the sexual mystique.

“Sex may well be the long-suspected 'sixth-sense' of the human organism,” he declares thoughtfully. And when you've finished this book, you may well agree with this clinical interpretation of the great phenomena of human sexuality.

So, if you smoke, run out and get yourself a good supply of cigarettes, check your lighting system, make sure your candy or your coffee or beer or whatever you take with your reading is within easy access before you go any further—because, believe me, here's one book you're going to have a tough time putting down. Welcome, one and all, to the extrasensory sex perceptions of the World of Clayton—and bring your own sixth-sense in with you.


—Stephan Gregory




Human sex awareness, though forever castigated as “lusts of the flesh” and with other such moralistic indictments, actually cannot be accounted for realistically in biological terms alone. Yet, by and large, modern sex education appears to cling doggedly, and almost neurotically, to the biological aspects of sexual expression. Even those educators and counselors who have made the break from moralistic ties and guidelines seem to confine sex to the physical realms and almost fearfully avoid any connections of extrasensory or spiritual involvement. Much is being said today about erogenous zones of the body, coital techniques, foreplay, afterplay, and so forth, as though the sex act is entirely a thing of the flesh. This, simply, is not the truth of the matter. Every human sex act begins in the mind. And it is entirely possible, and actually quite common, for a sex act to occur wholly within the mind.

Were it not true that sex is largely a mental matter, there would be no need whatever for sex education, there would be no value to sex exploitation through advertising media, and there would be no possibility of romanticizing sex expression on stage, screen, and in literature. Were sex expression strictly a matter of the flesh, then it should logically follow that actual body contact would be a prerequisite to any sex ideas—and if that be true, why all the hue and cry about the effects of pornography and other art forms upon the morals of our nation? Every human sex act begins in the mind.

Parapsychology is a relatively new branch of science. Indeed, much of the scientific community still would exclude the parapsychologist from the club, despite the tremendous work being done in this field by men such as J. B. Rhine of Duke, to name only the most outstanding. It seems that most scientists, like the average sexologist, prefer to deal in the tangible world of the physics laboratory. Even the universally respected Albert Einstein, however, discerned the shadowy essence of our substantive world as a non-physical factor, and the most advanced physicists of this age have begun to see where their investigations are leading them as they pursue the elusive heart of matter: they are fast arriving at the point where they must conclude either that matter springs from nothing, or that it springs from something not measurable in the physics laboratory. Since the latter assumption can be the only valid one, the physicist will then find himself in an eyeball-to-eyeball stare-down with the parapsychologist. Here is one who is looking forward to that day and it is going to be marked as the truly great revolution of scientific thought in the world of men.

What has all this to do with sex? We have stated that every human sex act begins in the mind. Well, so does every other human act. A person reacts to his or her work-a-day world in direct relation to the way this person thinks of himself and of his role in that world. Because of this direct relationship between mind and thing, a person is considered bright, charming, lovely, magnetic, a fink, wonderful—or, sexy. This is the subject under discussion: what makes a man or woman sexy?

In speaking of human sexuality, the term mystique must necessarily come into play. Sexuality itself is mere essence, one of those shadowy hearts of matter which never reveals itself to the microscope. Notable examples of those possessing a strong sex mystique are persons who are built up in the public image as sex symbols—Brigitte Bardot, Marilyn Monroe, and so on. But any person reading this certainly is acquainted with at least one individual who has the turn-on capability— the phenomena is not confined to noted personalities. Every office, every factory, virtually every place of human social endeavor has its very own sex symbol, male and female alike, who brightens the days and daydreams of fellow workers.

The question is repeated: what makes a person sexy? Comeliness seems to be a factor, but not a necessary one. In a large factory I visited one day, there was one girl who was a particularly striking beauty. She was exquisite of face and figure, beautifully proportioned, very carefully groomed and gowned. She walked across the entire factory floor twice during my visit, delivering in-plant mail. Few workers looked up from their machines as she passed by. Those who did gave her a casual appraisal then returned to their work in obvious disinterest in this girl's beauty. Another girl turned the entire factory upside down each time she made an appearance on the floor. Male workers ceased, all labor, some even to the point of shutting down their machines, to watch this girl walk past, then engaged in spirited gutter conversations with their fellows when she was out of sight. Not one man, young or old, could resist giving this girl his full attention. And even the women had to look, if only in envy or wonderment. That second girl couldn't even get into the competition in a beauty contest with the first. Her hair was a mess, and she was rather carelessly attired. Her legs, while pleasant enough in quick inspection, showed up deficiencies under prolonged scrutiny. The breastwork, while noticeable, was rather small. The angles and planes of her face could have stood some adjustment. But you couldn't help looking at her, and you couldn't help getting the ideas that surged into your head as you looked at her. When she passed by and out of sight, you felt as though something special had just happened in your life. You had the feeling that you had just seen sex personified.

Now, how is this? How can we see sex? We do, though, don't we, all of us, at some time or other? We see a thing, or a situation, or a person—and we get the feeling that we are looking at sheer sex. This is what I call the sex mystique. All of us possess it, to some degree. It is an extrasensory thing, a thing of the inner world of mind, and it is one of those essences which set us apart from the animal world. I believe that it deserves a place with those other extrasensory perceptions: clairvoyance, clairaudience, etc.

I am not going to state my case here for the sex mystique's place in ESP. It is preferable that the reader be the judge in this matter, and we present for your inspection a number of case histories which I believe advance the proposition rather well. In the concluding section of this volume, however, we will address the jury with a closing argument. For now, let's look at some strong cases of the sex mystique. Perhaps, somewhere in here, is a clue to your own.

—Walter P. Clayton, Ph.D.




There is nothing mysterious or unnatural about hypnosis. The trance is one of the natural states of being, or attitudes, of the human mind. It is thought that each person passes quickly through this state in every movement into natural sleep, and perhaps this occurs also during the awakening process from natural sleep.

The hypnotic trance is produced as a result of a certain balance achieved between the two basic mental states: consciousness and unconsciousness. In speaking of hypnosis, it is better to think of each individual as possessing two minds, the conscious and the subconscious. The conscious mind is the realm of the thinker; it is helpful to regard it as the captain of your ship, or as the commanding officer of your garrison force. The subconscious mind is the crew, or the garrison force itself. So, the conscious commands, the subconscious performs.

In natural sleep, the conscious relinquishes command. It goes under, and the subconscious pivots up to the fore. During this changing of the guard, the human mechanism passes through a momentary trance state. The hypnotic technique merely avails itself of this natural condition, with the hypnotist leading the conscious mind down the trail toward natural sleep, then arresting the process and grabbing the mind while consciousness is all but departed and before the state of actual sleep is attained. All that is left for the skilled hypnotist is to strengthen his hold and impose his own consciousness (or conscious mind) upon the performers of the subject's subconscious. Sounds simple. It is not. One reason that the land is not crawling with professional hypnotists is that it is a very difficult, laborious, and artistic practice of natural science. Even after the hypnotist has gained control of a subject, it's a deep dark world in there with the subconscious. Each excursion into another mind is an exploration into unknown lands—uncharted, more or less disorganized, and largely uncivilized. Amazing things often happen in there—it is a land of magic, and the hypnotist often gets the feeling that he is the magician. But it simply is not so. The magic is all in the mind of the individual subjects—the hypnotist is merely a stage hand, setting up the props, holding cue cards, and ringing down the curtain when the act is ended.

Any person truly interested in the techniques and application of hypnosis will find a wealth of material at the corner library. The volumes of this series are not concerned with instruction or explanation of the technique; we present the meat of the thing, the magic itself. So, in the following case histories, the repetitive and often boring processes of trance induction are passed over as we transcribe from the recorder tape. All elements of pertinent dialogue are retained faithfully, however, and supplementary remarks and observations are added where required.

One final comment: the language of sex is filled with clouded meanings and uncertain interpretations. The language of the gutter, however, is usually quite explicit. My subjects are always encouraged to employ direct-meaning words in their testimony, and this honesty is passed on to the readers; we do not recloud the testimony with social phrases in this presentation. So do not be shocked by some of the language found in this volume; it is merely the language of the subconscious, including your very own.


The Clair voyeur

He had his first psychic experience at the age of twenty-three. He is now twenty-five, graduate of a Western university, currently employed by an advertising agency, his name is Marvin.

Marvin is single, stands just over six feet, weighs near 200, has a nice smile and handsome features.

“I don't want to see a psychiatrist,” he states quietly. “I really can't believe I'm unbalanced. I've thought of running down to Duke University and seeing if they might be interested, but—well, hell, it's kind of embarrassing, you know. I mean, these experiences are always related to sex. I'm not sure I want to spill my guts to a research team.

“I've never been a Peeping Tom. I want you to understand that. I guess I can't take any credit for the fact, though. The only reason I've never peeped into windows is simple gutlessness. I've always had strong desires to do that but I was always too scared.

“Well—see—I don't need to any more, anyhow. That's just the point. If what I think is happening is really happening, then I can just lay right in my own bed and see anything I want to see. It's as easy as that. I just close my eyes, and I feel this thing taking hold of me, of my mind, and then it's just like watching a movie. It all unfolds, the whole thing, right there in my mind, and I just know it's actually happening. I mean, it isn't like a dream. It's really happening, and I'm really seeing it. I see it so vividly that sometimes, afterward, I can go find the place, I mean really find the actual place, and I know I've never been there before.”

It has long been a theory that many psychic experiences are produced in an atmosphere of high emotion or deep longing. The strange life of Edgar Cayce is a case in point, where a combination of emotion and longing seems to have precipitated Cayce's entry into the land of mental magic. There is a River, a biography of Cayce by Thomas Sugrue, relates how “the miracle man of Virginia Beach” experienced his initial “magic” as a boy, following an emotional ordeal with his father over schoolwork, and in line with certain deep religious convictions of the boy. A new work on Cayce (The Sleeping Prophet, by Jess Stearns) will provide the layman with some dramatically interesting accounts of Cayce's magic.

Marvin seemed to fit the pattern. A strong, though bent, sex drive, a natural timidity, a deep longing and mental preoccupation with sex, then the “magic”—- clairvoyant visions of living people in bedroom exercises. I gladly took Marvin's case. It had a high promise of the unusual—a promise which was not disappointed.


Marvin—10 a.m.—March 14


“Are you quite comfortable, Marv?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let's not be formal. Why don't you call me Clayton? Is your trance very deep now?”

“Yes, it's very deep.”

“Have you ever had a sex relationship with a girl, Marv?”

“You mean the normal kind?”

“Yes, that's what I mean. Boy and girl, in the flesh.”

“No, I never have.”

“Would you like to have a normal sex relationship with a girl, Marv?”

(pause) “I—I guess not.”

“Why not?”

“It—just doesn't interest me.”

“I see. Well—tell me about your first psychic experience.”

“What do you want to know about it?”

“Everything. Just start at the beginning. Tell me how you felt just before it happened, and how the thing developed.”

(pause) “I—had gone to bed—and I couldn't get to sleep. I just laid there in bed, trying to go to sleep. I had a hard-on. It wouldn't go down. I was all charged up, I guess. Anyhow, I couldn't get to sleep. I was laying there, thinking about this gal down at the agency, the place I work. I was fighting the urge, but I couldn't get this girl out of my mind. I—.”

“Just a moment, Marvin. You said you were fighting the urge. What urge?”

“To—uh—play with myself, you know.”

“I see. You were fighting this urge. The vision of a girl was strong in your mind. Go on from there.”

“Well—then this eerie feeling came over me. I can't describe it. The spine-tingling stuff, you know. Scary— but, at the same time, sort of wonderful and exciting. It was like I knew something tremendous, something really tremendous, was going to happen, but I didn't know what. Then it happened. I felt myself losing control, like I was being sucked into a whirlpool or something. I lost control of my body. I just laid there, paralyzed, scared half to death, and then I knew I was somewhere else. I wasn't in my bedroom any more. I was in another bedroom.”


“Uh—let's see if I understand this, Marv. You were actually moved—sort of teleported—from one physical location to another?”

“I don't know about the teleportation business. I don't think my body actually went anywhere. I think my mind left my body. Actually left it. And went somewhere else.”

“All right, go on. And give me the most minute details.”

(pause) “At first everything was hazy and—uh— sort of distorted. There was the sense of paralysis of my own body, and I was really scared, then there was this feeling of weightlessness and—and complete freedom—like I was soaring on the wings of a big bird, you know. At first I didn't seem to be any place. It was dark. Then gradually it started getting light, and I could see things, but they were all distorted. First thing I saw was an open doorway. Then, just inside the doorway, a bathroom sink, only it was wobbly and out of focus, and then—”

“Just a second, Marv. We aren't getting the details good enough. I'm going to send you back there, back into that experience you've been trying to describe to me. I want you to relive the experience, and I want you to relive it for me. As you are reliving, narrate everything just as it happens. All right? Then get set, get ready to drift back through time, back to the occasion of that first psychic experience. I will count down from five to one. As I count, you will drift gently back in time, and when I reach the end of the count, you will be right where you were in your memory of a moment ago. Get ready, here we go—five—four—three —two—one—you have returned through time, Marvin. You are back in that strange bedroom now, and you are reliving the experience for me. Tell me about it.”

“I—I'm scared—I shouldn't be here—I'll get caught, and it will be in all the papers. Did I take some drugs? I can't remember—did I take some drugs? This is like —like—they talk about—a trip—a trip—did I take some drugs? Weird—weird—that door is waving and leaning toward me—oh!—bathroom—bathroom door. It's a tile floor. The tiles are waving, no, they're straightening out now. God, I shouldn't be here. I can't —I can't move—paralyzed—how do I get out?— Oh! Oh God! It's Terry—is this Terry's pad? I'm in Terry's bedroom! Good God! Good God! Terry, good God, you're the wildest thing I've ever seen.

“You're incoherent, Mary. I don't understand what's happening. I need a better narration than this.”

“Terry was in the shower. She stepped out, and she's naked, and she's toweling herself down. She's naked. Good God, look at those tits! Good God, I knew they were big, but good God! Shake 'em. Shake 'em some more. Oh God, oh my God look at them swing. Oh, oh, oh—wipe it good and dry honey, that's it, shake that wild thing against the towel and get it good and dry— God what an ass! Hair pie! That's why they call it hair pie! Oh shit! She's seen me. She's looking right at me. Huh? Huh? She can't see me. What the hell? She can't see me. What's going on? What goes on here? My God, she walked right past me! Oh, oh. I'm gonna come.”

“Tell me what's happening, Marv.”

“She's sitting on the edge of the bed. She's drying her feet. Her legs are spread out and she's got a foot crossed up on one knee and she's drying it, and I can see her pussy. I can see the pink in through the hair— it spreads open as she moves her legs—Je-sus! Je-sus!”

“Easy—take it easy, Marv. What're you so excited about?”

“God she's got that towel and... (momentarily incoherent)... up inside the crack and God she likes that, she likes it. I—I'm gonna get my gun—I feel it coming—I'm coming—oh oh, oh my God, my God!”





“I—I guess I had a wet dream. I guess I'll have to get up and take a shower. God, it was real. So real. Tired—I'm tired.”

“Come out of the memory now, Marv. Come back with Clayton. You're back in Clayton's office now. Tell me how you feel.”

“I feel okay.”

“Did you have a wet dream, Marv?”

“I thought I did. I thought so that first time. But it was the only explanation, see. There was no other way to explain it.”

“When did you begin to decide that these were actually psychic experiences?”

“The next day, the very next day. I'd made a note of the time, when I got up to shower. It was just exactly ten minutes past eleven. When I saw Terry the next day, I asked her if she remembered what she was doing a little after eleven the night before. She told me then she always took a shower during the eleven o'clock news. She goes to bed and watches some show that comes on just after the news.”

“I see. She'd never confided this to you before?”

“I'm sure she didn't. We weren't real chummy. I sort of kept my distance from the girls at the office, you know. I asked Terry if she had a white shower cap with little red roses on it. She gave me a funny look and wanted to know how I knew that. I tried to pass it off as a joke but she was real cold to me after that, and a couple weeks later she went to work for another agency.”

“And you've never visited Terry's bedroom after that time?”

“No. Not Terry's. But I've sure been in a lot of strange places these last two years.”

“Tell me about a recent experience.”

“Well, let's see—just last week. There's this real crazy doll has an apartment just down the hall from mine. She's young, must be twenty or so, strictly a bedsprings personality, and a body to match, you know. You know the type, she even looks sexy dumping the garbage. She's been putting the heat on me for about the last three months, ever since she moved in there. But I can't—uh—I don't want to get involved in anything like that, you know. And I—”

“Why not?”


“You seem to have a strong appreciation of the opposite sex. Why don't you want to get involved with them?”

“I—I don't know. I've never figured that out. I just don't want to.”

“All right, Marv. Go on with the story.”

“Well, it's a Sunday morning, see. I'd gone out to get a paper and some cigarettes, and as I'm coming back into the building, I bump into hotpants Hillary. That's her last name, I never knew her first. She has a sack of groceries, and we ride the elevator together. She's one of these dolls who always stand right up against you, no matter how much open space there is around, and there she is leaning into me while we small-talk up the elevator, and when we get up to our floor she gives me a wistful look and says she'd invite me in for some coffee 'n conversation, but she already has company. Well, company or no, I wouldn't have gone into her apartment, even though I was starting to get that restless feeling.

“I went on into my place and tried to read the newspaper, but I kept seeing hotpants Hillary. Let me tell you something about this babe. She's only about five-four or five-five, soft and hot-looking, all eager fire and sweet smells and cute as a cuddle-bear on top of it all. Wears her hair in one of those soft cutbacks away from the ears. She has real pretty hands, sculptured-looking, you know—and the bluest eyes you ever saw. But the real thing, I mean the real important thing is that ass of hers. It's like something with a mind of its own, know what I mean? The only word I've ever been able to come up with to describe that ass is to say it's swooped. She has a swooped ass. It's big and hard and heavy, but it's curvy, too, and streamlined. Just looking at her fully dressed, you can almost know that ass is dimpled in the right places and you can just picture the clean planes of the overhang, you can just see the directions of the little creases where it joins to her legs, and you can picture it jerking and squeezing and trembling when she's getting her rocks. That's the kind of ass it is.”

(Please note the typically voyeuristic attention to fine details in Marvin's descriptions of this girl.)

“Her skin is like an Avon lady commercial, all soft and gleaming, and you get the feeling there'd be an electric shock if you touched it. I told you about her hands. The idea of those hands, those delicate fingers, twined around your rod is enough to blow your skull, that's how pretty they are. The fingernails are absolutely oval, absolutely, and they're not false, you can tell that. They're very delicately tipped with just a hint of a point, and you know without even wondering how it'd feel to have those little tips raking down your back.

“Her face is—well, it's exceptional. She's not skinny, but you're always aware of that jawline—not hard, you know, not a blunt jawline, a very delicate and feminine one, but it's such a nice angle you always notice it. Strong little chin with a hint of a dimple, soft lips, nice nose with just enough bridge so you know she has a nose. The eyes are wide apart and always sort of sparkly glowing, like she's just bursting with some...


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