The Telemachus Story Archive

Spelling Trouble
By Hooder

Spelling Trouble

- with thanks to TDG -

“I know a boy with a very strange story." Leather creaked as two glasses of single malt were placed on the coffee table.

Jeff and I had been friends since our university days – long before he’d started the Mansion with his pervy friend James – and I can’t remember his ever wearing anything other than black leather, even back then. It was good to see him again after all these years.

“Oh yes? A strange story?” I probably didn’t sound too convinced; for as long as I’d known him Jeff had been famous for his tall stories. But they were usually good ones, and the log fire was roaring away, so I sat back and prepared to be entertained.

“Yes. I’ll call him Adam. He’d been working in his Uni’s anthropology department and was doing research on a tribe in Africa. Tanzania, I believe. The tribe was called the Hadzabe. They’re hunter-gatherers – one of the few nomadic tribes left, apparently. They were friendly, and all was going well – until one day.

“Adam had expressed interest in their hunting techniques, and so they’d taken him out to demonstrate how they did it. It was a bit of an occasion for them – showing the strange white man how it was done – and all the males from the village had gone along too. They spotted a baboon, and there was silence as the tribe’s best hunter – a rather beautiful boy, apparently - raised his bow slowly and silently. He was about to impress everyone with his specialty: a single-shot kill.

“Adam was crouching quite near to him, and just as the hunter was on the point of releasing the arrow, Adam sneezed. He hadn’t felt it coming – it just happened. The startled baboon fled, the arrow went wide, and the hunter looked at him daggers. He shouted something untranslatable and stormed off.

The head Mambo – that’s the witch doctor – came up to Adam. His face was a mask of loathing. He raised a couple of small bones, shook them at the boy, and said something under his breath. Adam had no idea what it was. Then he stomped off and they all headed home. When Adam got back to the village he apologised to the hunter, via their translator, but the boy just walked away. Adam got the feeling everyone thought he’d done it on purpose.”

We took an appreciative sip of the Laphroaig. I had no idea where this was going. There was a distant scream from somewhere in the Mansion, but Jeff paid no attention, so neither did I.

“Well,” He continued, “it seems that the witch doctor must have put some kind of spell on him.”

I frowned disbelievingly. “A spell? Does he believe in that sort of thing?”

“Not at all. Adam is a scientist. He doesn’t believe in that mumbo-jumbo in the slightest. But whatever it was, it appears that it had a real, measurable effect on the boy. A bloody big one.”

“What kind of effect?”

Jeff smiled. “Well there’s the thing. Every time he had an orgasm, he sneezed.”

“Sneezed?” I chuckled. “O-kay…”

“It actually wasn’t a laughing matter; the feeling would come out of nowhere - when he was already very close - build up in less than a second, and then, at the very point when he started to cum, he’d have this gigantic sneeze. It was so intense and sudden that it forced enough of the boy’s attention away from the orgasm that it ruined it completely - he got no enjoyment whatsoever from cumming. From that day on, it happened every time he came.”

“Ah. I can see that wouldn’t be good.”

Jeff cradled the glass of amber liquid in his hands. “No, it wasn’t.”

“So what did he do? Did he go to a doctor?”

“He did. The doctor sent him for an MRI scan. The scan had to be carried out while he was masturbating. That was done, but it didn’t help much. It happened too quickly for the scanner to provide much in the way of info. So, the doctor there arranged to have the boy edged while in the scanner.”

“Edged? In an MRI scanner?”

“Indeed. To slow things down so that the MRI could record more data and they could study it in more detail, find out what was going on in this boy’s head. But it gets better: because he had to be kept very still during the scan, he’d have to be restrained.”

“You’re making this up.”

Jeff chuckled. “Not at all. Edging was beyond the clinic doctor’s expertise so he called in a colleague who he knew was into that sort of thing and who had a lot of experience of edging guys. They closed off the MRI wing one evening for the tests.

“Now you must realise that because of this boy’s condition, not only was the guy edging his need to cum – but also his need to sneeze. Can you imagine what that would be like? You know how bad it is, how compelling the build-up to a sneeze can be – it’s very similar to a male orgasm in some ways – well this poor boy was having both of these edged at the same time.”

“What happened?” I was agog.

“He screamed. He thrashed about, tore at the restraints, begged the guy to stop or to let him cum slash let him sneeze.”

“That’s a common response when someone’s being edged – well, except for the let-me-sneeze bit.”

“It is. Except that this boy struggled so much that he actually broke one of the wrist restraints, and the guys doing the test were worried he’d damage the scanner. Those things are expensive. And even though that wing of the clinic had been cleared, Adam was making so much noise that something had to be done.

“The boy was given the choice: they could either admit defeat or, if he wanted the tests to go on, he was going to have to be restrained a lot more – and gagged as well.

“Mmm. What did he decide?”

“Well, if it was either that or be orgasm-free for the remainder of your life, what would you do? He decided to go on with it. He was mummified in the scanner so he couldn’t move a muscle, and gagged. Then the edging resumed. Of course, if an edger is good, he can get his subject closer every time. And make it much slower every time too - both of these would be excellent for the data they were trying to collect – and the edger was very, very good.

“Adam almost went insane. By the time they took him out he was a blubbering mess. Took him ages to recover. He was so desperate after all the edging, of course, that the first thing he did was have a wank – but of course the sneeze kicked in and it was no good. Again. Another scotch?”

“Hm? Oh – yes please. This is excellent stuff.”

“Indeed it is. So – where was I? Oh yes. The tests showed nothing wrong at all. They tried assorted drugs for a while, but none of them made the slightest difference. The doctors finally held up their hands and said sorry, they couldn’t help.”

“That is a very strange tale.”

“Oh it’s not quite finished yet. Adam had to do something – he was desperate. So he took his savings out, went back to Tanzania, tracked down the translator and then pleaded with the witch doctor to reverse the spell he’d put on him. I believe the Mambo demanded a price and that an arrangement in American dollars was agreed. It was done.

“The first thing, of course, was to have a wank. And success! No sneezing! Adam was over the moon – he was cured. He returned to the UK – considerably less well-off, but happy.”

Jeff poured more scotch and stared reflectively into the fire.

“So that was it.” I said. “He got it sorted in the end.”

Jeff smiled. “Well, yes and no. A couple of weeks later he came down with a slight cold. The delights of being back in England. Nothing much, just a sore throat, a cough, that sort of thing. And the strange thing is, that every time he sneezed, he came. Just like that. Not even time to get an erection. Spunk everywhere. And it happens every single time he sneezes.”

“Good grief. Any idea why?”

“Adam thinks the translator was a little too literal with the phrase ‘please reverse the spell’.”

“Ah.” I nodded, seeing the problem. “Well that’s not good.”

I stared into the scotch. “Interesting story. Where is he now?”

“He’s back in Africa – he got a new job and moved to Kenya. Nairobi.”

“Yeah? What’s he do?”

“He’s working for an exporter of ground black pepper.”