The Promising Student.
by Daniel Guy.
'Lament to Plastic.
Envelop me, embalm me
Cocoon me oh my dearest one
And let me feel the soft warm smoothness of your skin on mine
Wrap your sheets of shiny and transparent film
So tight around my naked flesh that I can barely move
Encase me and entrap me
Suffocate me my dearest one
Arouse me by your heavenly touch of soft warm skin against my face
Seal my head airtight inside of you
Block out the air so that I shall never breathe again
I am immersed in you, in awe of you
In love with you, my dearest
And if I swear I'll never damage you or tear your precious skin again
Promise me you'll envelop me completely, Sweet Asphyxia
And be my shroud, my death, my everlasting mask. '
As dusk fell on the empty University campus, Martin McCleavy was once again the
only lecturer left in the building. He sat at his large paper strewn desk in his
tiny office on the first floor of the modern red bricked English Department
building, rolled another joint and waited nervously. When he heard three gentle
taps on his door, he knew it was Emma.
'Come in.'
She sat down in a chair in front of Martin's desk. Strands of her long fair hair
fell over her pale blue eyes and delicate face. She kept her hands in the
pockets of her long grey coat, her eyes away from his. Martin studied her for a
moment, aroused by her indifference to him as much as her youth and beauty.
He cleared his throat and picked up the sheet of lined paper on which these
three verses had been neatly written out in black pen, pressed hard into the
paper.
'I wanted to talk to you about this poem you handed in. It's...well, it's
remarkable.
I found it strangely........sensual. Of all the creative writing you've done for
me, this is the most.......exciting. But it leaves me wanting more. I want you
to write a story and this time, go into more detail about the kind of passion
that you have expressed in this poem. One other thing. You could be onto
something very good. I sense that the theme is precious to you. My advice is
don't share it with anyone else. And I promise not to let anyone else see what
you write. In order for a writer to be really creative, she must take risks,
free up her imagination and not be afraid of the risk of offending others...'
Emma hardly looked up at him as he spoke, and when he had finished, she nodded
once, heaved her heavy bag of books onto her shoulder and left the room. As he
closed the door behind him, he caught the faint smell of lavender.
A week later, Martin walked hurriedly back up to his office with folder of
essays which had just been handed in. He locked the door behind him and pushed
back the piles of books and paper on his desk to make space. Impatiently he
flicked through the handful of essays until he found four double-sided pages
thick with Emma's unique handwriting This time her pen seemed blacker, thicker
and the lines of writing packed to the edges of the page. Dropping the rest of
the essays on the floor beside him, he sat back in his chair, loosened his belt
and started reading.
'When I Was Raped.
I was raped in my first week of starting at college. I was so pleased to be
living away from home that I got pissed in the student bar every night and on
about the fifth night this guy walks in by himself and just looks at me as if he
knew me and I don't know why but I didn't look away. In the end I went up to get
more beer and I talked to him and after a while he persuaded me to go back to
his place, which I did because I was basically very pissed. He was older than
me, about six foot with a shaved head and tattoos, said he was studying
psychology and all I wanted to do was just get to know him more and maybe a
snog, but I wasn't ready to have sex. But of course he got straight down to it
and before long we were both of us lying on the bed getting very horny. I told
him I didn't want sex but he just kept caressing and undressing me, his hands
were everywhere. I told him I had to go for a piss and he got really excited and
managed to get my top off. Then before I knew it he'd got my wrist in a kind of
noose made out of rope which was tied to the corner of his bed. He grabbed the
other one and was trying to tie it to the other bedpost and I got frightened
then and told him I had to go home, but by then he wasn't messing about and I
could see wasn't going to say no. He got both wrists tied and then pulled my
jeans and knickers off. I started crying and pleading with him to let me go. He
threatened me and said if I started shouting he'd hurt me. He went over to a
shelf. He turned up the music on his stereo and got hold of a red scarf and a
handful of plastic bags. He climbed on top of me and I was so frightened I just
froze. I was so terrified that he was going to kill me I promised him I wouldn't
make a noise. He unzipped his fly and started playing with himself. He opened up
a clear plastic food bag and slipped it over his head. He was getting off on
what it felt like, holding the bag tight around his neck so the air couldn't
escape, breathing out so the bag expanded. All the time he was feeling my
breasts and caressing my neck. Then he picked up another bag and told me that it
was just a bit of fun and it wasn't dangerous and he wouldn't hurt me unless I
screamed. He slipped the other bag over my head and tied it round my neck with
the scarf. And so I just lay there, terrified, with this plastic bag tied over
my head, trying not to move or deny him in case he got angry with me, but in my
mind I knew all he wanted was to fuck me like this and then that would be it. I
felt the warm plastic sticking to my face and hoped that I would have enough air
to last me till he fucked me. I felt him moving down and start groping between
my legs. I saw him through the bag, kneeling astride me, grinning, breathing
heavily. I felt his cock being pushed inside me and felt him start to thrust,
saw his plastic covered face move near to mine, his fingers squeezing my breast,
I heard him through the plastic groaning, I let him fuck me, I waited for him to
finish. He came quickly and as he came he gave out this loud deep groan which
sounded something like 'NOOOOOOOOOO!'
I started to panic then, pleading with him, pulling at the rope round my wrists,
because there was no air left and my lungs were heaving and I was starting to
feel very faint and then suddenly I felt his fingers in my mouth and tearing the
bag off my head. Then he pulled the bag off his own head and collapsed beside me
breathing so fast that I though he was having some kind of asthma attack. I was
crying but I didn't know why. Maybe it was relief that he didn't want to kill
me. Then he got up and said he was sorry, like in a half-grin, naughty boy kind
of way and untied me. I didn't say anything. I just got dressed as soon as I
could and got out of there. I've seen him since around college but kept away.
He's ignored me. He's not around very often. I haven't seen him in the last
month. Maybe he's left.'
Martin sat back. He leant back and stared around the room, not really looking at
the shelves of books and bric-a-brac, but imagining instead the rape scene for
himself. For a moment he sat perfectly still, lost in a timeless trance of
fantasy.
When the moment eventually passed, he stood up and picked up the sheets of
paper, buckled by Emma's heavy black lines of words. He walked over to the
window and gazed out onto a courtyard of grass and concrete pathways lined with
benches. Outside it was getting dark. He glanced out, and noticed a solitary
figure seated on the bench at the far side of the square. She was looking up at
his window. It was too dark to see her face but he knew it was Emma. Then, as if
all she needed was for him to see her, she got up picked up her bag and walked
out of the square and away.
The following day Martin found Emma reading in a quiet nook at the back of the
library. He pulled up a chair and talked to her in a whisper.
'I thought it was very good work, Emma. I was gripped by every word of it. Was
it you who was raped? No, don't tell me. What interests me are not the facts,
but the truth that you tell me through your own imagination. I want you to go
further with this. Get deeper. What is this plastic obsession you have? Write
me more. Don't be inhibited by anything. I want to be shocked. I want to read
what comes from the darkest and deepest parts of you, for that it is what makes
a writer original, and original work can change the world.'
She turned and for the first time looked straight at him. She looked into his
eyes for a moment until she thought she knew what it was he wanted, and then she
got up and left.
Two days later Martin arrived at his office one morning to find a small brown
parcel by his office door, on which was written 'To Mr McCleavy. Urgent.'
He recognized the black and jagged handwriting. He picked up the package and
entered his office, closing the door behind him. Inside the package was a pair
of her black stockings, a pair of cheap metal handcuffs and a note.
'Dear Mr McCleavy.
I have written a poem and I want to read it out to you tonight. It is important
to me that you do not look at me when I am reading it. It is also vital that you
do not move while I am reading it, or speak to me afterwards. If you want me to
come and read to you, then you must be in your office alone at 8.00pm, with the
lights off and the door unlocked. If you do this then it will be proof that you
are interested in my writing. When I arrive, I want you to be sitting at your
desk, gagged and blindfolded with your hands cuffed behind your back. If you do
this then it will be proof that you trust me and that you really want to know
the truth about me. You'll hear me knock three times. Until tonight.
Sweet Asphyxia.'
That evening at seven thirty, Martin was alone again in his office, sitting in
the shadows at his desk. He picked up the black stockings. He wrapped them
around his eyes and tied them tight at the back of his head. He fumbled for the
handcuffs and after several minutes finally managed to secure his hands behind
his back. Then he waited.
His mouth was dry and his heartbeat was fast. As he waited nervously in the tiny
room, lit only by a faint shimmer of light which spilled from the floodlights
outside, he began to imagine what she might do to him when she arrived. The
minutes passed very slowly and as he waited he listened to the sound of his
watch ticking for the first time in years.
He heard the three taps at the door. He held his breath. His toes curled and his
fists clenched. He heard the door open and someone enter. He heard the closing
again and then footsteps. Convinced that she was now behind him, he held his
breath for a moment. He heard the soft 'zzzip' of a holdall being opened. He
heard what sounded like thick duct tape being pulled from a roll. He felt
himself being gently lifted to his feet and led to the centre of the room. He
felt the tape being wrapped around his body, strapping his arms tight to his
sides, and his legs tight together. He didn't resist at all because all he
wanted to do was to give himself up to her. Standing there, tied, blindfolded an
slightly unsteady on his feet, he waited. He listened. Suddenly he could smell
lavender again. He felt the knot being gently untied at the back of his head.
The thick strand of stockings was then placed tight over his mouth and then
knotted again tight behind his head. He blinked. He didn't move his head. Behind
him he heard shoes and then clothes dropping to the floor. He heard the rustle
of plastic.
He watched a figure in the shadow move round to the light switch. Just at the
point when he realized that the figure was not Emma, the light went on and
Martin recoiled at the sight of a thin, naked young male stranger appearing in
front of him, holding out a large clear plastic garbage bag. The youth had a
shaved head and tattoos on his pale hairless chest and arms and as he grinned a
gold tooth was revealed. Martin gave out a muffled 'Mmmmmmmph!' as the huge
clear plastic sack was pulled down over his body. He writhed and wriggled as
thick black duct tape was strapped tight around his waist and chest to keep the
sack in place. He was pushed till he fell heavily onto the rug in front of his
desk. He was rolled onto his side and though he kicked and twisted, it wasn't
long before the stranger opened up a second clear plastic sack and slipped
Martin's legs and lower body inside. The two bags overlapped around Martin's
waist and soon more tape was wrapped around, to ensure he was completely sealed
inside. The naked figure darted around as if in a frenzy, grinning as he worked.
When he had finished, he stood up and smiled at Martin lying on the floor
parceled up like a roll of carpet. Martin looked up through the shiny plastic
film and saw the stranger begin to play with his dick. Martin felt the warm
plastic against his face and twisted his head in order to breathe in the pockets
of air trapped inside the sack. He didn't want this. He was starting to panic.
Then the young man stood with his legs apart, rubbing his cock and said,
'Watch the tart inside the bag.
Watch the suffocating slag
Plastic wrapped, fresh and tight
A shame she has to die tonight.'
Martin kicked and wriggled like a worm, hot and breathless inside the plastic
cocoon.
He rolled over onto his belly and then over again till his head hit the leg of
the desk.
As he sucked in air from his nostrils the shiny warm plastic film stuck tight to
the contours of his face. He pulled hard at the steel clamps around his wrists
and tried desperately to push out his arms and break the many strips of tape
that had been wound around his torso. But he could not break out, or tear any
kind of hole that might let in the air he now so desperately needed. Panic
struck, he rocked and wriggled wildly, managing eventually to get up onto his
knees but then crashing once again into the side of the desk, causing a pile of
unmarked essays to fall and scatter on top of him. His head was spinning his
chest heaving and though he tried to plead with the stranger to let him out, the
only sound he could make was an unintelligible 'UMMMMMMMPH! UMMMMMMPH!'
The young man dragged him back into the centre of the room and then sat on his
belly. He reached for a smaller plastic bag and after taking a very long deep
sniff from a bottle of amyl nitrate, he slipped the bag over his own head and
secured it tight around his neck with more tape. Martin looked out terrified at
the sight of a naked, gold-toothed madman on top of him, lost in his own world
of uncontrollable arousal, his eyes closed, his face the picture of ecstasy. The
youth reached down and gripped his fingers tight around Martin's neck, pinning
his head to the floor and clamping the plastic tight over his face so that when
Martin breathed out, the plastic filled out like a smooth shiny mask. He bucked
and kicked but was now too weak to have any chance of dislodging his attacker.
Martin's vision was gradually becoming more misted as moisture began to form
inside the plastic and as he began to slip from consciousness. The naked man was
now riding him like a horse, rubbing Martin's cock with his arse, one hand still
gripped tight around Martin's neck, the other around his own cock.
'Not long to go now...' said the shiny masked youth.
Martin began to slip slowly away, unable to find the strength to resist. His
movements became weaker and less violent and all he could do was give in to it.
The young man crouched over and began to kiss Martin's smooth shiny cheeks.
Then he released his grip from Martin's neck and moved his body forward.
Martin lifted his head till his plastic sealed lips touched the cock's tip and
within seconds hot spunk splashed, splattered and then dribbled over his wrapped
face. By then all tension was slipping from his body and the dull throbbing
pounding in his head became the only thing he was conscious of. The man rolled
off the warm still log of plastic wrapped flesh, tore the bag from his own face
and lay collapsed and gasping beside the lecturer. Seconds later he turned his
head and saw Martin's face close up. He was sucking in one final breath and the
clear shiny film clung tight to his head. The exhausted naked youth reached
over, pushed his fingers into Martin's mouth and tore the plastic from his face
so that at last Martin had air again.
While Martin slowly returned to consciousness and to a regular breathing pattern
once again, the man got dressed. Lying exhausted and covered in sweat, Martin
watched him slip on his leather jacket and pick up his black canvass holder. He
walked over to the desk, picked up a pair of scissors from a jam jar, dropped
them on the floor beside Martin and then left, switching off the light and
closing the door quietly behind him.
Outside, Emma sat alone on the wooden bench on the other side of the courtyard,
looking up at the office window until she saw the light go out again. She picked
up her bag and made her way home.
Daniel Guy.
