Zig. Hugo PhD Yabner

You have a dark tan skin, like you’ve been in the desert for a while. Almost like leather, like my grandma Betty.

      Joe: Do I know your grandma Betty?

      Unknown: No.

      Joe: Then why the fuck would you mention her? Stop doing that with your lips. Keep talking.

      Unknown: Your hands are gruff and rigid. You have soft lips and soft eyes, but you keep them hidden under your beard and your heavy brow. You’re wearing crunchy clothing. It crunches when you move. You’re about fifty. You smell like an attic in the Winter, but I don’t mind it. You tap your foot when you’re about to say something. Your hair is far too long and it doesn’t suit you.

      Joe: You are all over the place. That little bird head of yours is twittering from one spot to the next without fully relaying the proper details. That’s good, though. That means you’ll say what’s important, what’s happening in the now. You just might be good.

      Unknown: I am good. I have the smoothest curves, the roundest-

      Joe: Stop! What the fuck are you doing? Did I ask you to describe yourself? Do you think this is an advertisement that I’m going to broadcast on the radio to help your pussy soar into new business prospects? No. Do not describe yourself. Understood?

      Unknown: Yes.

      Joe: Are you still hungry?

      Unknown: No.

      Joe: Then go lie on the bed while I put this stuff away.

      Unknown: Do you want me in the bed with him?

      Joe: What? No. Ignore him. You lie on the empty bed. My bed.

      Unknown: Is your friend going to join? Cause that costs extra.

      Joe: No. Hopefully he won’t even wake up. Knowing him like I do, he’s probably already awake, grinding his jaw and hoping he can pretend to be asleep for the entire duration of our transaction.

      Unknown: I’m going to take off my shoes.

      Joe: No. Please leave them on. Bear with me.

      (ninety seconds of silence, female humming in background)

      Joe: Now, lie down on your back, fully clothed. Keep your shoes on. Good girl. From here on out it is important that only you speak. You understand? Good. I can’t keep telling you to speak, it will only muddle things. This whole act that is about to transpire, it needs to be told by you as in depth as possible. Concentrate on your word choice. Concentrate on what you immediately think to say, and say it. Describe exactly what I do to you. But do not describe anything about yourself. Do you understand?

      Unknown: Yes.

      Joe: Well, then. Speak. Don’t have me reminding you. I can’t do it. You said you understood. So speak. Describe.

      Unknown: Your slowly taking off my shoes. Your face is near my calves, and I can feel your breath. You are looking at my legs, lightly touching them, running your hands down the stockings. You’re rubbing my feet now. It feels nice, makes the balls of my feet warm. Now you’re kissing me, you’re hunched over my thighs and pulling down my stockings. You’re removing my panties, letting them glide alongside my legs, your fingers trailing my inner thigh. Ow. You bit my thigh. Do you need help with that? I’m taking off my dress. It’s on the floor, piled up together with the stockings. You’re pulling off your clothes. They are in a different pile. You’re squeezing my breasts over the bra. Licking my belly. Your fingers are pressing on my inner thigh, near my cunt but not touching it. Back to my breast. Now one of your hands is on my face, the other behind my neck. You’re nibbling my ear. You bit my neck. We kissed for a while. You slobbered out of the left side of your mouth. You nibble my neck, fast down to my breasts. You unlatch my bra. Throw it in my pile. Sorry. Thanks. Your beard is prickly and it feels like a hairbrush against my skin. You’re pressing your knee against my cunt and moving it up and down. Your hand is still behind my neck, the other is pressing my body against yours. My breasts are against your chest. The room already smells like sex. Your face is buried in my chest, you’re licking up to my neck. You’re putting… You’re inside me. You’re bracing yourself with your hands on my shoulders. Your face is flushed. You put your forehead to my cheek. You’re grinding slow, pressing in deep and straining your weight against my pelvic region. Your pelvic area stimulates my clit, but your pubic hair tickles it and it feels awkward so I can’t get in the mood to cum. Now you’re thrusting quick, up and down quickly, pounding in and out. You’re up on both your arms now. The bed is squeaking, the headboard is banging against the wall. Your body is tense in places and bouncing in others. Sweat is dripping off you onto me. It’s cold. You’ve slowed down. You’re pressing yourself deep inside now. Your pubic hair is irritating my clit. You’re biting my neck. You’re breathing heavy and your voice comes through in your breaths. You don’t say anything, but you seem like you want to. You lightly bite my face. You bury your head in the pillow over my right shoulder and pump fast. You use your hands against my shoulders to bounce me up and down. You’re sighing loud. You pull out and you’re shooting across my belly. You collapse over me. Your body hair tickles my stomach and breasts. The semen on my body is now cold. Some is dry and it makes me soften my breathing so my stomach doesn’t contract so much and feel the cold. Your face is wet, your hair is greasy and wet. You stand up and wipe me off with a t-shirt. You lay down next to me, your arm behind my neck, over my shoulder so your hand can cup my breast.

      Joe: You can stop now. Did you hear that? Did you hear yourself? Talking like a damn robot tour guide on a bumpy road. That was it. That was what it was when I made love. That was when I felt the best in my life, when misery was gone forever in an instant. When beauty, life, glory, sincerity, vice, anxiousness all sent out their best emotional troops to represent an eternal fifteen minutes. Such a silly fucking thing, isn’t it? What was I seeing back then that made it what it was? What a potent masquerade for something so simple. On a chemical level it’s so much more. But this was it. The same act, different context. Listening to you talk was like watching a rabbit get shot in the head on my fifth birthday. Sobering. You can leave now.

      (end recording)