A/N: So, I wanted to make this fanfic M rated, but I know it's not quite there yet. However, I don't really know how explicit I can make it so I'm going to bump it down for a while . . . until it gets to that point. Which it might never. Who knows?

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

What is this?

Are you some kind of hypnotist??

Waving your powers around

the sun eclipse behind the cloud...

~Are You A Hypnotist?, The Flaming Lips

London, June. 1965

"Ready? Okay. A-one, a-two, a-one, two, th– "

"Wait, wait, wait! Stop, stop it," cried Benjamin Barker, waving his hands frantically over his head, letting his guitar swing loosely from his body. Eleanor Yorke watched the instrument for a couple of seconds, concerned for its safety, before turning her eyes to Ben.

"What?" she huffed.

"I just don't think this is our best song," said Ben. He had put his hands back on his guitar, which settled some of Nellie's nerves.

"Yes, that's why we're practicing it." She turned back to her keyboard and fiddled with the volume, giving Benjamin a view of her back. He stared at her bright yellow mod skirt, dangerously short, the orange and green circles giving him a headache. Nellie looked over her shoulder, and a couple of brown, curly tresses moved lazily across her back.

"What are you looking at?" she snapped accusingly. Ben blushed a deep red, but retorted sardonically, "Not your fat ass, if that's what you're thinking."

"Good," said Nellie, turning back around.

Ben was aware that if he had said that to any other girl, it would have earned him a slap. Or a knee in the crotch. But he had known Nellie for half his life, and this was not the first nor the last of those types of comments. Nellie rarely got offended, and the only way Ben could tell if he hurt her feelings was if she started twisting her clothing. Sleeves, hems of shirts, hems of ridiculously short skirts . . .

He shook his head. Today had been odd. First, he had gotten up and his mother started talking to him about going to college and whatnot. College! That word hadn't even existed in his vocabulary until that morning.

"Mum," he had said groggily to her. "I'm pretty sure it's a bit late to apply. Graduation's in a week."

"You could still enter in next fall!" she had replied. He had grunted a noncommital reply and had fallen back into his sheets.

When he went to school that morning, everyone was staring at him. Everyone. This was not an exaggeration . . . maybe. Everyone's eyes seemed to be accusing him of something, or asking him questions to which he did not know the answer. What are you going to do with the rest of your life? some cried out. What's the point of living if you're not going to make yourself worthwhile? another questioned. He did not have an answer for any of them.

He'd asked Nellie during lunch what she was going to do once she got out of highschool, but her reply had been less than helpful.

"I'm going to be a rock star, of course." As if it were obvious.

"But what if you don't become one?" he'd asked.

She'd given him such a incredulous look that it was as if he'd just told her she was born a man. "I'm going to be a rock star," she'd repeated. "And become famous, even in America! Like the Beatles."

She'd seemed so sure that Ben hadn't dared refute her. But what am I to do? he'd asked himself dejectedly. Work some boring job, like some boring stiff? He did not think he could play music forever. He was not so exceptionally talented.

And suddenly, for no apparent reason, he was looking at Nellie in such a way! Nellie, for whom he never felt anything towards. Maybe it was just hormones. Yes, hormones. He'll feel normal again in a day or two.

"Are ready or not?" snapped Nellie impatiently, bringing him back from his reverie.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Nellie's face fell, and she felt bad for being short with him. "Ah, I'm sorry, love," she said apologetically. "Just impatient, is all. Hey, do you think we could book a gig somewhere?"

That was no surprise. Nellie was always impatient for things. And as for a gig, Ben felt like grumbling, What sort of shit place would want us to play a gig for them? Instead he said, "Where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere. Wouldn't that just be outta sight? I mean, think about it, if we were to play somewhere public, we'd be huge! Everywhere!" She grinned hugely, but her enthusiasm did not reach Ben. He could feel her chatty nature coming up, and before she could say another word, he interrupted.

"Yes," he grunted. "Quite a lot of out of sightness will take place, I'm sure."

Nellie pouted and was about to say something before they heard a knock at the door.

"Come in," called Ben. It was most likely his mother, telling them to keep quiet. They had tried to soundproof the room with egg cartons, but it wasn't having as much as the desired effect.

Sure enough, Mrs. Barker poked her head around the door and into the small guest room. Her long brown hair was pulled back with a bandanna, leaving her face, for once, free of flyaway hairs.

"Hello, loves," she said, grinning broadly. "How goes the practicing? You sound totally boss!" Ben rolled his eyes. He hated when his mother used slang. "Anyway, I was just popping in to tell you that it's getting quite late. I'm sure your mother will be wanting you home soon, dear."

"Yes, Mrs. Barker," said Nellie. She and Ben shared a glance. They both knew Nellie's mother didn't care one bit where she was, or what she was doing. "Thank you."

His mother smiled once more, then ducked her head back into the living room of their apartment.

Nellie began packing up her things. "I guess it is getting late . . ." She sounded dejected, and Ben wasn't sure whether it was because she was sad to leave him, or because she wanted to keep practicing and pave her way to stardom. Either way, Ben nodded, reflecting her dejectedness.

"Oh, and Ben," she said, turning around. She had already started walking out the door and was now facing back towards him. "Don't think I was kidding about that gig. I'll find one." She offered him a wink, and she was out the door.



The next day at school, Ben was sitting with Nellie at the lunch table, each poking their own lunches warily with their forks. They usually sat alone, though sometimes their sometimes-friends would come and sit with them to discuss classes and the like. But they mostly sat alone.

"What do you think it tastes like?" asked Nellie, giving her plastic-looking macaroni and cheese and rather rough fork. The fork punctured the sticky mess, and when she lifted it, the entire clump of macaroni and cheese rose with it. She scrunched up her nose and dropped the mess back onto the plate. Ben noticed that her hair was up in a messy bun, a bright blue headband pushed across the top of her head. Her green plastic hoop earrings swung excitedly each time her head moved the slightest bit.

"I don't know," said Ben, staring at her earrings. They were hypnotizing, making him think unwanted thoughts. He looked away quickly. "Toxic waste, maybe." Nellie snorted in agreement.

"Hello, beautiful," came a voice from in front of them. They looked up at the same time to see standing before him, in all his disturbing and disgusting glory, James Turpin. Behind him was trailing his beloved follower, Riley Bamford. Ben noticed that he was looking a bit more mouse-ish than normal today, and made a mental note to tell Nellie about it. It would probably make her laugh. "How would you like to take a ride in my new car?" Turpin wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously, obviously not caring that Ben was sitting right next to her.

"Go fuck yourself, Turpin," replied Nellie nonchalantly as she took a sip out of her juice carton. "Or find some other whore to shag." Ben's first instinct, after gaping wide-mouthed at her reply, was to point out that by saying 'other whore' implied that she, herself, was also a whore. He decided not to think to much on it.

Obviously affronted, Turpin spluttered some incoherent reply, then stalked off, Bamford tottering obediently behind him.

"That was beautiful, Nellie."

"Yes well, I do try. Are you going to finish that?" She pointed at the bread roll that was sitting on his plate. Without waiting for a reply, she snatched it and stuffed it into her mouth without another word. Sometimes he wondered if she knew how to be a lady, or even a polite human being, for that matter.

"You're welcome," he mumbled. "So why is that slimy bastard so obsessed with you? That was, what, the seventh time he's come onto you?"

"He's not obsessed with me. He's obsessed with sex. And girls. But predominately sex. Honestly, I don't think he'd object much to a man as long as it came with sex. Or inanimate objects, for that matter . . ." She looked thoughtfully out the window, not seeing Ben's disgusted expression.

"Thank you, for that lovely mental image."

"No problem. I suppose he's running out of girls to deflower, though." She stabbed her fork into her macaroni and cheese and was now attempting to cut it in half with a knife. It did not seem to be working. Ben wondered, unintentionally, about Nellie's . . . deflower-ization. Was she still completely innocent? They usually shared everything with each other, but this was the sort of thing you usually kept to yourself. And he was pretty sure girls were pretty sensitive on that subject, and did not like to share it. Or brag about it, as most boys seemed to do . . .

Now that his mind was on that subject, he pondered his own virginity. Was he incredibly lame, being a senior in highschool and still yet to be laid? He looked around at his male counterparts. Most did not seem like him. They seemed confident and sure of themselves. Surely that was a product of sleeping with a girl, wasn't it? Unlike him, scrawny and self-conscious. He put a hand to his cheek. But he wasn't bad-looking, was he? No, he was sure he had some sort of boyish charm. He could only hope that when he grew up he would develop more manly features. Like a beard . . .

"Hey," said Nellie, waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention. "Exams start in a couple of days, you know."

"Yes," replied Ben. He hadn't really been thinking about exams. They seemed like another trivial highschool thing that would not matter at all once he was out on his own, with no life direction, and no manly confidence to get him places.

"Right, so, we should study sometime for them. Like we did for midterms."

Ben nodded. "Sounds good."

"Excellent," said Nellie, beaming at him. "I'll come by 'round five."

As if she needed to tell him. She already practically lived at his house. She only left when Ben's mother kicked her out.

Ben reached down for his bread roll, then, realizing Nellie had just previously stuffed it into her house, groaned simultaneously with his stomach.