The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Just Short of Sexy

Lost in Translation

So there I was, lying on my bed, just watching YouTube, with my best friend John sitting at the edge of the bed. I don’t know what he was doing on his computer, but sometimes it’s nice to just hang out and do your own thing, but together; does that make sense? It’s weird how quickly John and I became such good friends. He showed up in my English class one day, a foreign exchange student, and asked if I could help him learn our language. I think he comes from, like... Turkoslov... something-ia. I don’t remember exactly. I thought it was weird that someone from such a distant land was named John, but I guess “John” is just a universal name. Or maybe he changed it when he got to the States, to fit in; he never said. I hope that’s not what he did; he should be proud of his heritage! After all, America is all about cultural diversity, a “melting pot”, right?

Anyway, I agreed to help him, but really, it’s not a tough job. His English is really good! Most of the time I don’t even notice any accent. It’s just that occasionally, he says some funny things, like he doesn’t quite understand what some words or idioms mean, and when that happens, I correct him to help him learn.

Take this day, for instance. Like I said, we were hanging out but doing our own thing, and I was watching some music videos on YouTube. Suddenly, John turned to me and said, “Tricia, that music is very loud. Can you please flip me off a little?”

“I think you mean ‘turn it off’ or ‘turn it down’?” I suggested. “Flipping you off would be like this.” I pointed my middle finger up facing him, as a demonstration. I’ve found he learns much better with an example rather than me trying to explain what things mean, so I tend to just demonstrate things instead of babbling on too much.

“Oh,” he said, “yes, then, can you please turn it down?”

“Sure,” I answered, and I lowered the volume on my computer. He smiled, I returned the smile, and we went back to doing our own thing.

About ten minutes later, John spoke again. “It’s getting a little warm in here. Tricia, can you please open your fly?”

I giggled. “It’s called a window, John,” I corrected. “Opening my fly would be like this.” I unzipped my jeans and wiggled a finger inside so he could see what I meant.

“Oh, right, I knew that one,” he said. “The window.”

“Sure,” I answered, and I got up to open the window a crack. The slight breeze that came through felt good through my open fly for a moment before I lay back down on my bed with my laptop. “Thank you,” he said.

A few songs later, John interrupted again. “Hey, I like this song, but I’ve never seen the video. Can you pull your jeans down?”

I rolled my eyes. I didn’t mean to be rude, but some of the mistakes he makes are just silly to a fluent English speaker like me. Besides, we were good enough friends that I’m sure he didn’t mind. “You mean can I ‘turn my screen around’? Pulling my jeans down would be like this.” I unbuttoned my pants and wiggled out of them, lowering them until they were around my ankles and stopped. I didn’t want him to confuse “pulling jeans down” with “taking jeans off”; it’s subtleties like that which can really confuse someone in a new language. If I didn’t already know John saw me as just his best friend, I could have sworn he eyed my crotch, just where the thong covered my genitals, but then he looked up at my face again. I guess he was processing the example. “Oh, yes, can you turn your screen around?”

I turned my laptop so we both could see, wiggling to move closer to him with my pants around my ankles, and we watched the latest One Way Jose video. I didn’t even know he was into boy bands like that.

After the video, we went back to doing our own things for a bit. Then he asked, “Hey, Tricia, I’m telling my friend about where you work, but I can’t remember what you call your job title. Can I see your vag?”

I burst out laughing for a few seconds, leading to a confused expression from him. “You mean my ‘badge’, John. My vag is this.” I pulled down my thong and revealed my vulva to him, but I quickly spread my pussy lips so he could see inside. Even some English speakers don’t know the difference between a vulva and vagina, so I wanted to be sure he understood that the vag was inside, not outside. I pointed inside myself.

“Oh, yes, your badge. From... your work. Can I see it?”

“Sure,” I said, and I stood up to get it from my dresser drawer. It was difficult to walk with my pants and thong around my ankles, so I just took them both off completely, reached my dresser, and brought my badge back over to him before laying down again. I don’t know why he’d want to tell anyone about my shitty job as a cashier, but if he was talking about me to his other friends, I appreciated that.

He looked at my badge, typed some stuff to whoever, and then tossed my badge aside when he was done. And so we returned to doing our own thing.

After a few minutes, he turned his laptop to face me, and I saw he was doing an online jigsaw puzzle. Man, he must have been bored. “Tricia, can you help?” he asked, pointing to a gap in the puzzle. “I don’t know which penis to use here.”

Yep, I burst out laughing again. I mean, how could I not with that flub? “You mean ‘pieces’, John! That is your penis.” I pointed at his crotch.

He looked confused. “But I thought that was my jeans?”

“No, not that,” I sighed. I unzipped his pants and pulled his dick out, holding it in my hand so he knew exactly what I was indicating. “This is your penis.”

“Oh!” he said, enlightened. “Thank you! You know, your help learning English is very handjob sometimes!”

I giggled. “You mean it’s ‘handy’! A handjob is this!” Luckily, I already had his dick in my hand, so the demonstration was quite easy. I stroked him for a minute or so, until I saw from his blissed expression that he understood the concept. Then I let go of his member.

“Ah,” he said, seeming almost sad that I’d stopped. Hmph, men. “I get it now, ‘handy’. Sorry.”

“No worries,” I said, and I pointed to the puzzle piece on his computer screen that fit the gap he’d mentioned earlier. “And it’s that piece, by the way.”

We went back to doing our own things, except John kept stroking his own dick. I guess he was really trying hard to remember what “handjob” meant. Good for him; it’s always great when people put in the work it takes to learn new things!

“Hey, Tricia?” John said a few minutes later. “Sorry, but it’s getting chilly in here. Can you please close the window? The wind is blowjob.”

At this point, I was getting so used to his mistakes that I didn’t even laugh, just rolled my eyes again. Today must have been an off day for his English comprehension. “You mean the wind is blowing. A blowjob is this.” I turned around so my head was next to his crotch, then took his dick out of his hand and into mine. I bent my head down to take his dick into my mouth and started bobbing. I didn’t want him to get confused thinking there was only one kind of blowjob, so I alternated styles: at first I just bobbed, then I added some sucking, then I began stroking my tongue over his cock head. He got very hard, of course; I don’t think his body would have let him do otherwise. Then, to make sure he didn’t think all blowjobs were only straight into the mouth, I ran my lips down his shaft, up and down a few times, and licked him there, too. Once I couldn’t think of any more styles to demonstrate, I pulled his dick out of my mouth and wiped my lips with my sleeve. “That’s a blowjob, John.”

His eyes were closed, and I don’t think he heard me at first. Then he opened them and said, “Oh, right. Sorry. The... the wind is blowing.”

“I’ll close the window,” I said, smiling. Weirdly, I didn’t feel any wind, but it must have been where he was sitting. I did enjoy the cool air on my naked crotch as I approached the window, but that disappeared when I closed it. Oh, well, I could sacrifice a little comfort for my friend’s sake. I’m not that selfish.

I lay down again and went back to my YouTube time-wasting. John must have finished his puzzle and started doing other things, because when he spoke again, it was an entirely different topic. “Hey, Tricia, next semester, are you taking anal fun?”

Okay, I wasn’t entirely numb to the humor, as I giggled again. “John, that’s just an abbreviation! It’s short for ‘analysis of functions’! You should probably say the whole thing.”

“Oh. But why?” he asked.

“Well, because if it was actually anal fun, that would be more like this...” He had been memorizing “handjob” enough that he was still hard, so I straddled him, guided his dick into my asshole, and sat down on it. I had never done anal before, and we didn’t have any lube, so it hurt a bit, but I really didn’t want him to go around telling people he was having “anal fun with Mr. Gordon” next semester, so I needed to make sure he understood what that meant. I winced a little as I pushed myself down onto him until my ass cheeks met his thighs, then pulled myself up from his shoulders; then I lowered myself again. I didn’t know how long to continue bouncing on his dick before he’d understand, so I just kept going. This one was important.

“Wow!” he gasped, seeming out of breath. “I really... appreciate... your language tits...”

“’Tips’! It’s... ‘tips’... John...” I gasped in response. I pulled off my shirt, then my bra, so he could see what tits were without confusing them for the clothing over mine. I continued bouncing, his cock pounding inside my ass each time, as I lifted my breasts in his face. “These... are tits...”

“Oh! I need... to learn... my squeeze words...”

“’KEYWORDS’!” I moaned loudly. “This is squeezing!” I pulled his hands onto my tits and squeezed his fingers over them. I’ll admit, it felt good, but I just wanted him to learn, so I kept squeezing for him until he started squeezing me on his own, proving he finally understood.

“Oh! So it’s when you... close your... fuckers?”

“’FINGERS’! This is what ‘fuck’... means!” I lifted myself off his dick just long enough to aim it at my pussy, then pushed myself back down on him. I was sure he understood “anal fun” by now, but now he had to learn what just “fuck” meant. I resumed my bouncing at a slightly different angle.

“Oh! If you... keep teaching me... English... I know I’ll... make out...”

“’MAKE IT’, JOHN! This is make out!” I grabbed his head and smashed my mouth against his. He had to know the difference between just a kiss and a make-out, and I wasn’t sure he fully understood “fuck” yet, so with every thrust of my riding him, I shoved my tongue down his throat at a different angle. I felt his tongue wrestle with mine; of course he understood the concept of making out, he was still human, he just had to learn to associate the words with the actions. Like with ‘“squeeze”, which he was still learning by example with my breasts.

He pulled his mouth off mine and said, “Oh, cum in! I’m so... stupid... not to know...”

“You’re not... stupid... John...” I moaned between thrusts; and I felt like he was thrusting back now, so maybe he was finally starting to understand. “And it’s... ‘come on’... not ‘cum in’... ‘cum in’... means... it means... OH GOD, JUST CUM SO I CAN EXPLAIN IT!” I’ll admit, I have a bit of an attraction to intelligence. It’s called “sapiosexual” or something. So all this teaching was getting me close to an orgasm, which I of course didn’t want to tell him. That would be so embarrassing! Luckily, either John understood what I’d said from context, or it was a coincidence, but he came inside me just then. I collapsed on top of him, exhausted from all the education, and sighed. “That’s ‘cum in’, John.”

“Oh,” he said. “I get it now.”

Ten minutes later, we were back to doing our own things again, except I didn’t bother to get dressed or clean up. No point pretending we didn’t just have an entire class’s worth of education going on, right? “Hey, Tricia?” John asked. “This was exquisite. I very much enjoyed our time together today. We should really hang out more often.”

Huh. Sometimes, he could be so eloquent that you couldn’t even tell he was foreign, like just then. But other times, he misspoke in almost every sentence, like almost all of our conversation earlier that day. I guess that’s just how it goes when you’re learning a new language: some parts come easy, others come hard. But that’s what America’s all about, right? Blending diverse cultures. And I’m glad I could be a part of that process for my best friend, even if he says weird things sometimes.