RuKsaK

I sat and thought about her words, but it was the way she said them filled my mind, and body. She held these plump vowels in her mouth for as long as she could and then popped them with quick, cracking consonants. With the word ‘got’ she introduced the ‘g’ after all trace of the previous word was finished, not a hint remaining, and flicked her tongue to her palette forcing a moist ‘g’ to open out to the breathy ‘o’. It was her ‘o’ which made me stumble at first. Even on the phone I could feel her precision in forming a tube of air with her mouth. I could literally hear the shape of her mouth. And then, like a ridiculously juicy grape, she burst the ‘o’ with her swift, incisory ‘t’. I was sure that the act of speaking gave her sexual and sadistic pleasure in equal turns. It wasn’t even like she spoke slower than anyone else, she just had a highly conscious sense of where her mouth was moving for each sound of language, and she was clearly enjoying it – bouncing her words around her tongue. That was her accent - not created by place or people, but by sheer pleasure of speaking.

By the time I’d thought about six or seven of her vowels, and how she exposed and then exterminated them, I felt my penis thickening. I’d only managed a sentence of our phone conversation, but the way she spoke was so distracting from what she said. I moved my increased cock in my trousers and had to move my hands to the sides of my head to prevent myself from masturbating. I pressed my temple and concentrated a slow shrink towards my underwear. I felt that wanking to her vowels would be giving in, that she’d have me in some way if I did so. It was wrong, more so because transcribing a phone call, a phone call which terrified me should not be turning me on. It was doing just that though.

I left the pen and paper on the sofa and paced the room. I looked down at the cockroaches punctuating the plastic dustpan, all belly up, but still so menacing. I went from one empty photo frame to the next staring at each for a regimented five seconds, telling myself that doing so would yield answers. It didn’t, but my mind overtook my body at least, and so I set myself back to transcribing. I knew I had to focus on written words – eke out her sounds and rattle down the words only, rip the sentences out of her pronunciation and whack them on the page. I did it in no more than five minutes. The transcription lay in front of me and my cock was as active as my earlobes, thankfully. Holding it up I realised that I’d hardly said a word – it was all her talking, in fact, instructing me. The end of the call showed me I misremembered one thing. She wasn’t going to call again. She was coming to my place to explain everything – in the morning. She’d said:
‘You've got to be prepared.’

I thought about the word ‘prepared’ over and over and its two vowels – the first lithe and naked and the second astoundingly voluptuous. They began brewing the blood in my testicles and I knew I’d have to give in.
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Who? – part 5 is here.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Who? - part 4