Chapter 25: A Flair For Languages, And Karen Reconnects

In my room, I got undressed and thought about tonight. Not just the sex, which was spectacular, but the new things I had learned, about the ability to delay orgasm in partners, the conditioned responses such as giving a little pleasure pulse when Katy tried to push my cock a little further down her throat, and channeling relaxation of the throat muscles.

I thought most important was the discovery that I could modify one reaction by replacing it with another. In Katy’s case I suppressed the gag reflex by triggering a sense of sexual pleasure when the gag reflex activates.

It seems that the body craves the pleasure more and is willing to overlook the natural tendency to gag in order to achieve it. I wondered what other substitutions could be made, and in what situations might I need or want to.

The other question, which I had not followed through on after all this time, to my embarrassment, was whether these channeled or linkcast sensations and emotional responses, lasted. For how long? Did they fade away when I left? Did they return if I returned? Were they programmed in forever unless I removed them?

Would Katy, for example, still get a little burst of pleasure when she deep-throated me? How about someone else? I should have thought about this before, if only from a moral standpoint. Put it on the mental to-do list.

And one more thing came to mind, and I gasped when I suddenly realized it. When I was checking in to someone’s epicenter, and overhearing their current thoughts and feelings, they were not expressed in English, or French, or whatever their native language was.

It was a more fundamental language, one that I didn’t think existed in any spoken or written form, a more concise, compact form of expression used internally, a language of symbols, colors, smells, emotions and sensations. A kind of machine language for the mind, independent of the language you wrote in and spoke aloud, independent of where you lived. I understood it because I was human and I spoke the same language to myself. Scientists would have a field day with that if they knew about it.

It kind of made sense, now that I thought about it, because humans are pretty much the same everywhere, same desires, same urges, same fears. Our country of birth is an accident and we must have a form of understanding and expressing these desires and needs to ourselves even before we acquire spoken language.

The exception to the use of this internal mode of expression was when, for example, you were preparing a statement to be spoken aloud or written, then the internal language was translated by the mind into the person’s native language, or the one they intended to speak, such as when Mme. Connolly prepared to speak French to us in class.

That meant, I think, that this thing I have would work on anyone. I could travel to Bulgaria, for example, in the event I ever got an overwhelming urge to visit Bulgaria, and eat borscht in the local cafe and get a blowjob from the non-English-speaking waitress. If I wanted. Good to know that the possibility existed. I’m sure Bulgaria has some beautiful women.

I couldn’t think anymore, my body and my mind were exhausted, and I drifted back to a memory of my dick sliding down Katy’s throat and starting to cum. I fell asleep smiling. I had some very pleasant dreams.

Getting up on Sunday was a struggle. I dragged myself into the shower and felt a little better afterwards. After a second cup of coffee the world was looking like even if I couldn’t conquer it, I might be able to wrestle it to a draw.

I had some reading to do for English, and some vocabulary to learn for French, plus some math homework, nothing terribly difficult. I thought that, while I liked the idea of being able to ace everything in my classes, maybe I wasn’t being challenged enough.

I wondered whether I ought to be thinking about some advanced placement classes as one of my teachers had suggested, or maybe look into getting myself into some upper level classes. Nothing to do about it now, we were too close to the end of the school year. But this is a question I would have to address before the start of the fall term, when I would be a junior.

My reverie was interrupted by Jeffy knocking on the back door and my mother calling, “Tom, Jeffy’s here.”

“Send him up, Mom.” I heard him come rushing up the stairs like he was being chased by angry bees. He ran into my room and said, “Dude...”, then caught himself and turned around and closed the door.

He approached the bed and said in a stage whisper, “Dude, you are not going to believe what happened at O’Riley’s party last night!”

I didn’t know that O’Riley was having a party, not that we were that close, but he was a sophomore. Never mind. I said, “So? Speak to me, what’s got you so excited?”

“I was at O’Riley’s party at his house, and I got to dancing with Marla Considine, and she kept giving me the eye, and after we danced we were in the corner talking, and pretty soon we started necking. Carter, there was tongue!” He paused to catch his breath, then went on, “And then I kinda let my hand drift up and I got to touch her boob. It was beautiful, and you know what? She liked it.

“And before I knew it, she was reaching down and grabbing my dick! Well, not really grabbing, she kinda brushed her fingers over it a couple of times, but it was epic! If there weren’t so many people around I was sure I could’ve got my hand under her dress. Carter! You shoulda been there, man!”

“Jeffy, I am very happy for you, and I anticipate that exciting things will be happening between you and Marla very soon.”

“Boy, I hope so. She’s hot. What about you, Where’d you go last night? I thought you were going to O’Rileys.”

“I didn’t know about it. I went to Bill Whaley’s I-got-into-college party. It was fun.”

“Well, you should’ve been at O’Riley’s. Beth O’Brien was there and I think she’s got the hots for you.”

“My loss. You want to do anything?”

We tossed some ideas back and forth, and wound up going to the mall, pretty much the same as we always do. We hung out for awhile, came home and went our separate ways.

I like Jeffy, we’ve been friends forever, but I think something is out of whack in our emotional or social or intellectual development. I think some of those seniors are right, I feel more at home with them in some ways.

Part of Jeffy’s still in middle school mindset, and he’ll carry that thought of cupping Marla’s boob around with him for a long time as a badge of honor, until he gets to the next milestone, maybe getting his hand up between her legs, or talking her into giving him a handjob.

And the sad thing is that I think that, had I not had all that weird stuff happen to me, I would be in Jeffy’s shoes also, and I would be both happy for him getting her to touch his dick and really jealous, too.

If you look at kids our age as a segment of society, he and everyone else are the normal ones in term of social and sexual development, and I’m an outlier.

Monday, and back to school. I was still a little groggy, despite more than the usual amount of sleep. Better get some extra protein at lunch.

In French class, we went over our homework, and started on the new words that we were to learn, putting them into sentences and trying to speak like French people rather than American high-school students. I was trying to imagine the level of frustration Mme. Connolly must feel as she struggled to get the cadence and rhythm of the French language through our heads.

I kind of got the sentence structure now and the use of the correct verb forms, and I could remember nouns and adjectives without too much hesitation, and I even had a few idioms in my pocket.

Not like her. She’d been doing this for so long, it really was a second language for her, she could flip back and forth from English to French without hesitation, and she even thought in French sometimes. I was listening to her now, with one ear listening to the voice in her epicenter.

And suddenly I realized that I understood everything that she was thinking. In French. As if I had been speaking it myself in France. I snapped back to the classroom, where she was reading from a book, a travelogue it seems, to give us a sense of the spoken language. And I understood it all. There was an occasional word I didn’t know, but I could figure it out from the context.

She stopped reading, and said -- in French -- that we would now practice simple conversations, back-and-forths to get us used to thinking on our feet. Simple stuff, how are you, what are you up to, going anyplace special for dinner, and so on.

As you might expect it was awkward for everyone as they tried to recall vocabulary, syntax, accent, proper verb forms, while trying to maintain the rhythm of a conversation.

She did four or five other students, who sank lower and lower in their seats as they stumbled and stuttered through the conversation. Then she called on me and asked -- again, in French -- if I had plans for dinner.

With almost no hesitation I answered that I would likely be having dinner at home with my family, and that my mother was cooking a pot roast in the slow cooker.

She looked like someone had hit her with a 2x4. It took her a moment, but she wanted to see if this was a fluke, so she asked me if I cooked as well. I said, no, but I’m an expert at ordering take-out at any number of fine establishments.

She sat down in her chair, glanced at the clock, and announced that she was ending class a few minutes early.

Everyone was excited at the early parole, and made for the door. “Mr. Carter, would you stay for a moment?”

I remained in my seat until there were just the two of us left. “You caught me by surprise, Mr. Carter. I didn’t know you could converse so fluently,” she said in English.

“Neither did I, Mme. Connolly. It came together in the middle of class all of a sudden, and I saw, or thought I saw, how it all worked. I stopped trying to sort through all the lists of vocabulary, and verb forms, and whether it’s masculine or feminine, and just let my mind create the conversation.

“I still don’t have it all correct, and there’s a bunch of words I don’t yet know, but I think I understood the travelogue you were reading from.”

“M. Carter, I’m going to give this some more thought, but I don’t think you belong at this class level. You should be working at a higher grade level. I may need to test you, and it’s too late to do anything this term, but let’s see what we can do for the fall. Thank you. You can go to your next class now.”

Well, that was interesting. I’ll have to give this some more thought, as she said. How is it that I suddenly understood how to converse in French. Doesn’t that take a lot longer to get to that point? Was I inadvertently picking up some of her knowledge of French -- she was the only French speaker I knew in my life here, so who else would it be? Every time I think I’m starting to figure this gift out, more questions pop up.

Next class was American History, as exciting as it sounds, and Mr. O’Donnell was at his riveting best, which is to say not very riveting at all. But at least I could glance into his epicenter and get a sense of the order of the historical matrix which he seemed unable to articulate. So I understood what he was trying to impart without having to divine it from the monotonic droning which characterized his lectures.

This looking into his head allowed me to grasp -- and remember -- the details and meaning of what we’d be tested on. So I had a leg up on this subject, and most of the others. Except for P.E.

But lunch, lunch was a subject I could get my mind around. And that was next, so I kept one eye on the clock and two minutes before the bell started collecting my papers and books to be ready. At the first sound of the bell I was halfway out of my seat, and was almost the first one out the door.

Sure enough, my planning allowed me to get to the lunchroom before there was much of a crowd, and find that my rush to get here was almost not worth the effort. Today the special was Tuna Surprise. The surprise was if you were able to find any tuna hidden under the noodles and the gravy.

So I settled for a ham and Swiss sandwich and chips -- I wanted extra protein, so two more cookies -- and found an empty table.

The other surprise was who plopped down at my table.

“Karen, this is a pleasant surprise. It improves my outlook on lunch considerably .”

“Carter. Haven’t seen you in Math Club recently.”

“Has LaRocca got you scouting likely candidates to try out for the team now?”

Mr. LaRocca was the team coach, the faculty representative who ran the club. He was very competitive, and to him proving that you were worthy meant winning competitions and to win competitions you had to cram, which they did in Math Club. LaRocca was the reason I didn’t go to Math Club anymore.

“No, but it would be nice to have someone who thinks about things and doesn’t just memorize facts in the club.”

“LaRocca bends me the wrong way, Karen. I don’t like his style of math. And I don’t have much patience for drill sergeants like him.”

“You’re not wrong, but I do like competing, so I can put up with him if I have to. How come you’re not in any other clubs?”

“You’ve touched on a sore subject, Karen. My parents are all over me to join this club or that one. Their idea is that the more organizations you have on your transcript, the better your chances of getting into the ‘right’ college. And they’re not entirely wrong. But I haven’t found a club that rings my chimes. Got any ideas?”

“How about the Handbell Club?”

“Amusing, Sunderland, very droll, that.”

“Always happy to brighten your day. Tom, you remember the last conversation we had? Here.”

“Like it was yesterday. Would you like me to repeat it verbatim?”

“No, I’m good. I wanted to say that I think things are stabilizing now, I’m feeling more confident about school work and how much time I need to devote to it. Which is to say that my free time is opening up some, and if your schedule allows I’d really like to spend some time together, maybe go to a concert or the movies or something.”

“Karen, if my schedule did not allow, I would find a new schedule and fire the old one. I would like that very much. Have you any thoughts of something particular you’d like to do? I could look around, see what’s in the papers for upcoming events.”

“I’m open to almost anything. Come up with some ideas and give me a call, or catch me in the hall sometime.”

“I never see you in the halls anymore. You must dart off to your secret laboratory between classes. Give me your phone number, and we’ll talk.”

She did, then took her tray to go sit with her girlfriends. The day was looking up. Hell, the month was looking up. I’ll check the paper as soon as I get home.

I finished my sandwich and collected my things. As I started to get up, I felt a hand squeeze my shoulder. When I looked up I saw Katy passing by with one of her girlfriends. She looked back over her shoulder, gave me a secret smile, and said, “Carter.”

I watched her walk away and had to sit for a few moments more, because I was remembering her gorgeous boobs swaying under her as she bobbed up and down on my cock, and it would have made the long walk to the tray station a little awkward trying to hide my stiffy.

I got through the day with a number of mental excursions involving Karen. At home I found the daily paper, and went through it with a fine tooth comb. My problem was that I didn’t have a sense of what Karen liked besides math and computers. We’d never talked about music or art or poetry or literature, and that was most of the stuff in the Events section of the paper.

I circled a few possibilities, but I’d have to check with her. I could take her out for a meal, but that was expensive, so probably a no-go.

Well, I had something to start with. It was around five-ish now, so I took a chance and called her number. I got her mother, and re-introduced myself and fortunately she remembered me. “Karen got so wrapped up in school that she hasn’t had the chance to invite friends over. Perhaps we’ll see you again.”

I said I hoped so, and asked if she was free to come to the phone. She was called and talking to me in short order.

“That was fast, Tom, we only talked about this today.”