Since U Been Gone

I sppose yo're a bit crios abot the way I type. To be brtally honest, I'm a bit crios abot it myself. I know that something's nsal abot it, bt I can never qite seem to figre ot what it is. It's not that I'm confsed, yo nderstand. Well, not as yo wold se the word 'confsed', at least. Bt I jst...well, it's a bit of a long story, bt if yo don't mind a bit of atobiography, I cold tell it to yo. Yo see, it all started when I was in a chatroom one evening, and--

No, that's not qite tre. It actally started a long time before that. I sed to play on a hge assortment of online MDS, MSHes, and similar text-based games, and we sed to get qite serios abot spelling and grammar. Good spelling was sally considered to be a sign of intelligence; large nmbers of typos were eqivalent to talking like yo were developmentally disabled. (Sorry, I'm a high school English teacher. Yo get sed to sing the "politically correct" terms for mental deficiencies. And I've never liked sing the word "retarded". Bt I digress.)

Actally, I don't digress all that mch. Being an English teacher, I boght right into the whole idea that good spelling and good grammar were not jst polite to se on the Internet, they were rles that everyone shold adhere to. The abbreviations of modern texting tterly appalled me, and as for "leetspeak"...well, let's jst say that I cold be qite rde to anyone sing it in my presence. I was a self-appointed crsader for proper se of the English langage on the Internet, and woe betide anyone who sed "" when they meant "yo", or pt nmbers where letters shold be arond me.

Bt all that changed one evening when I was in a chatroom. We were talking abot the sal chatroom topics, things like movies and television and so forth, and one of the people in the room had terrible spelling. The absolte worst I'd ever seen. Clmsy typos, mistakes in grammar, repeated and random placement of apostrophes...it was driving me fcking nts, to be vlgar. And so I began to make fn of him for it. I'm not prod of my behavior, yo nderstand. Looking back, it was a downright crel thing to do to another hman being. Bt I'd done it plenty of times by then, and I'm afraid I didn't think too mch abot it. I jst did it. And within a few mintes, the person logged off. I smiled smgly and chalked p another minor victory to the great case of proper English sage everywhere.

As it trned ot, the person I was making fn of had a few friends in the chatroom already. They absoltely flamed me for what I'd done (and again, looking back, they were entirely right to do so. I make no excses for my behavior that night.) They told me that the friend who'd jst logged off had a genine learning disability, a form of dsylexia that made it difficlt for them to learn spelling and grammar.

Inside, of corse, I felt horrible for the crel thing I'd done. I cold feel it deep in the pit of my stomach, a sort of bbbling ache that made me feel terribly gilty. Bt like a lot of stpid people when they make a mistake, I started trying to jstify my bad behavior. I told them that if this friend of theirs had sch terrible problems expressing their opinions in text, then maybe they sholdn't come into pblic chatrooms where others had to pt p with their mistakes. I told them that I was a teacher, and I'd taght plenty of kids with learning disabilities to se proper English, and that maybe their friend shold pt jst a bit more effort into his langage skills. I said all sorts of stpid, crel things that night.

Of corse, they called me on all the stpid bllshit I was spoting, bt the more they pointed ot how wrong I was, the more defensive I got. I dg myself deeper and deeper into the hole I'd made, and stck my foot into my moth so far I think I kicked my own btt. Instead of being contrite, I was bond and determined to hold my grond.

And eventally, one of the friends of the yong man who I'd offended with my rde otbrsts told me that if I didn't send ot an apology via email immediately, he was going to make sre I never criticized anyone's spelling ever again. Of corse, I laghed off his words. Physical threats over the Internet are last refge of the pitifl, and I said as mch to him.

He told me he wasn't making a physical threat. He said that he was a professional hypnotist, and that he cold hypnotize me over text...and that he wold do it, if I didn't apologize to his yong friend.

Natrally, this sonded like one of the stpidest things I'd ever heard. Even if hypnosis was real, which I deeply dobted at the time, I refsed to believe that yo cold hypnotize someone jst with a bnch of words on a compter screen. I told him to do his worst. In retrospect, that cold have been the dmbest thing I ever said in my whole life.

He started sending me private tells. I sppose I cold have blocked them, bt that wold have been conceding that he cold really do the things he was telling me he cold, and I was too stbborn to back down by that point. I jst let him send his tells, determined to ignore them by sheer force of will.

At first, that actally worked. I jst let my eyes skim past each message he sent me, moving past them to the pblic exchanges in the chatroom. Bt I'm a very fast reader, always have been, and even with people typing at near-sperhman speeds, I freqently fond myself waiting for responses. And dring those times, I'd find my eyes drifting back p to the messages he was sending me.

Something abot the wording of them made them strangely compelling. I fond myself captivated by the mental pictre he was painting with each new word and each new sentence, as he told me all abot how I'd spent so mch energy getting angry with him that I was beginning to feel sleepy. And nsally enogh, it began to feel tre to me. Even thogh it wasn't that late at night, I was starting to feel thoroghly exhasted. My heavy eyelids cold barely stay open to read one message after another, and soon it became easier to ignore the pblic messages and jst focs on his tells as they came relentlessly, one after the next.

As the tells kept coming, my eyes kept sliding down from one line to the next. Down and down, always a little lower as my head started to droop and my thoghts started to get hazy. It felt like the screen was sliding pwards, bt really it was jst my head slowly sinking down onto my chest. My eyelids kept flttering, bt I knew I had to keep reading his words.

When he started asking me for responses, it felt like my fingers jst floated p to the keyboard and began to type. My hands moved so slowly, as if they were nderwater, and it was so difficlt to think that I jst agreed with whatever he told me. And that felt so wonderfl. I felt like I was floating on a beatifl sea of pleasre, reading his words and absorbing each of them deep into my sbconscios mind.

I know yo've probably heard that yo can't hypnotize someone against their will, bt it's actally qite easy, as it trns ot. He jst fond all sorts of little ways of convincing my sbconscios mind that I wold feel so good when I was nder hypnosis, and my conscios mind didn't stand a chance against the relentless assalt of wave after wave of deep, sleepy pleasre. My egotistical boasts abot my vanted "indomitable will" trned ot to be tterly laghable, and while I wasn't really aware of the time, I think he managed to pt me nder in less than ten mintes. I was deeply hypnotized, and it felt too good to even think abot resisting.

And then he did...something to me. I'm still not sre what, even after all this time. I know the general thrst of his command, of corse; he told me to forget something. He told me that it wold be difficlt to forget at first, bt that every time my sbconscios mind helped convince my conscios mind to forget it, I wold feel a srge of pleasre. And that the pleasre wold get stronger and stronger, every time I forgot whatever it was I was spposed to forget, ntil my conscios mind woldn't even try to remember anymore. The pleasre wold jst overwhelm my conscios mind ntil I wanted to forget it, ntil I actally enjoyed forgetting it, ntil I looked for excses to try to remember it so that I cold remember to forget it.

And then he woke me p. I tried to pretend that he hadn't managed to pt me nder, of corse. I tried to lagh it off and insist that I was jst playing along with his little "hypnosis" game, and that I was flly awake the entire time and jst pretending to follow his sggestions. Bt then he asked me what he'd made me forget, and I...

I tried to remember. I really did. There were a few moments, right after he asked me, when I really thoght I cold remember. It was right on the tip of my tonge. Bt it felt so warm and good to chase that elsive thoght, and soon the pleasre became stronger and stronger, jst like he said it wold. It almost felt sexal, like I was becoming arosed at the thoght of forgetting.

And he knew it, too. He kept teasing me, asking if I'd remembered yet, and I tried to tell him that of corse I remembered, bt somehow he knew I wasn't telling the trth. And every time I tried to remember, I kept getting hotter and hotter ntil my pssy was tingling with a deep, sexal heat. My plse qickened, my heart ponded...I was getting so horny that soon I coldn't stop myself from fingering my wet cnt right there in or compter room. I don't know what my hsband wold have thoght if he'd fond me there like that!

And the pleasre jst kept getting more and more intense, ntil I knew I was going to cm. I coldn't stop myself. Jst the thoght of forgetting what I was commanded to forget left me panting with arosal, driving my fingers to new heights of pleasre ntil I came and came and came. My pssy was practically gshing.

And then he logged off. Needless to say, I got something of a comeppance that night. I don't know what it is I forgot, bt I know that it makes my typing look qite nsal to the otsider. I can't see it, of corse; every time I look at my own words, they look perfectly natral to me. Even if someone does tell me what's wrong, I forget it again right away (and have qite a fn time doing so, althogh I've gotten better at not openly mastrbating since that first night.) Bt everyone else cold see it, and they had qite a fn time giving me a taste of my own "grammar Nazi" medicine.

And I've been like that ever since. I sspect he didn't plan to make it qite as permanent as it trned ot to be, bt I never bmped into him on any chatrooms again, so he never had a chance to ndo what he'd done to me. It's actally not that bad, to be honest. I've learned to be a little more relaxed abot spelling and grammar, and not so rde to people who make little mistakes. Let's face it, with my niqe problem with spelling, I can't afford to act sperior. And it has its compensations. Sometimes I cm jst from reading a newspaper.

It has made my life as an English teacher a bit more difficlt, bt my hsband has been very nderstanding abot the whole thing. He helps me proofread my papers, fixing the mistakes I can't find becase of my inability to notice whatever it is I can't notice. And between yo and me, the arosal I feel when I fail to notice whatever it is I can't notice makes grading papers a very enjoyable experience for both of s!

So no, I don't really mind that there's something nsal abot the way I type. Bt I will admit, sometimes I am a bit crios abot exactly what it is that I've forgotten. Bt oh, well. I sppose I broght it on myself by making fn of a hypnotist's friend. If there's anything I've learned, I gess it's that. Never lagh at a hypnotist, becase yo never can be sre how it will come back to hant yo.

Now if yo'll excse me, all this typing has made me really fcking horny. I think I'm going to go jmp my hsband's bones.

THE END