Chapter #4Yes, waking in Saudi Arabia. by: Mr. George   Taking an evening stroll, on the boardwalk. You enjoy the setting sun, as it dips beyond the horizon. The view of the honeys is incredible, with your gaze hidden behind the mirror shades, you adjust them, as a particular cutie passes, slowly your head follows her passing. Keeping an eye on her magnficent rump. Both jiggling delightfully, as she jogs past, her outfit designed to tease more than constrain that joyous movement. Stumbling, as though you've stubbed a toe, you feel yourself falling forward.
- - - - -
Catching yourself before you hit the ground, a whole rush of sensations crash over you. As you straighten up, your exhaustion evaporates as you feel refreshed in body in a way you didn't just moments ago. But there's something worse too. The boardwalk seems to have vanished entirely, leaving you in a darkened bedroom. There's an oppressive heat in the air, and you see shutters on the windows, rather than glass in the frame. Heading towards the window, you feel a curiosity to see where you are.
As you get closer, you start to hear a chorus of screams, rapidly rising in number with every step you take. It's deeply unsettling, and you feel your own confusion mounting too. Despite the darkness of the room, you can't help but feel like you're in the wrong body. It just feels wrong, and different. There's more of a bounce in your step, and an answering ripple from your own rump, and a weight to your chest too. Almost as if you were a woman, and had your own butt and bust to match.
Frowning, you try to settle those doubtless guilty thoughts. Maybe you hadn't caught yourself, and this is some nightmare you've summoned to teach you respect. It's working very well, as you don't feel disconnected from your body, or drowsy as such.
The voices and cries become clearer as you get nearer the window. It's certainly a disturbing sensation, your sense of confusion adding to your new sensations to make you feel vulnerable and beyond afraid. Opening the blinds, the voices are crystal clear, a cacophony of screams. None of them you recognise, even though the majority sound like there's meaning, like there's words in the mix.
As the night air enters, and the moonlight sneaks into the room, your shadow is cast on the bedroom wall. It just adds to the illusion of femininity. But, the light reveals beyond doubt that you are every inch a woman.
Your cries join the others, as you scream out your horror. High, shrill and impossibly girly in volume and intensity. As the cry continues until you feel faint. You draw a deep breath, as you steady yourself on the window ledge. The thought of chucking yourself out the window sings with a certain siren glee. A sure way to prove this is an illusion, but you frown, feeling the fabric wrapped around your head, covering your body, giving you a modicum of modesty. It's oddly soothing to have this protection. But, just as disturbing to need it. The swell of your bust is just wrong, so full, and from this angle it just looks too massive. Hell! Any bust would look too much from this angle.
A painting catches and holds your attention. It's both familiar and alien, the design and colours you know. How could you not recognise them! But, the words are incomprehensible.
https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2f/9c/e9/2f9ce...
It's a wall painted to sell cola! You shudder with fear, guessing the writing is Arabic. As if you couldn't feel any more vulnerable and alone, you have to guess that you're a woman! And in an Arabic country! The two just don't make any sense to you. With a shudder, you recognise in the screams that this is far from only your nightmare. There's a whole world waking to this nightmare...
A snatch of familiar words reach you on the breeze. Well, not entirely familiar, but you think they're French, German, Japanese?... The majority are arabic. Speaking slowly, in a quiet whisper you confirm it's still English you speak. Even as the voice is unfamiliar, you know it's yourself who's speaking.
It sinks in that, whatever has happened you're effectively illiterate here and now. You swallow the squeak of fear rising in your throat.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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