I knew why, of course. I was being controlled. Right thismoment, I was being controlled by some guy in the next room.I knew that intellectually, but I...certainly didn't feel like it. Ilooked down and stared at my chest, reaching my hands up to grope myboobs. I felt every bit like I was the one the one doing it. This wasso damn weird! I knew I was being controlled, I knew that somebody elsewas fondling my chest without a care in the world, but I didn't feellike it. I felt like I was just standing. One interesting observation they were able to make was that it was never the chief of security or even the janitor who was the first one in and the last one out every day. No, those honors always seemed to go to a man named Jules Harker, an account executive whose office was on the third floor. The small, balding Mr. Harker spent inordinate amounts of time at his desk each day with his eyes closed and the fingers of his left hand on the bridge of his nose, as if to soothe the spot where his. More

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