TBP Behind Every Man
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TBP: Trying To Make His Way Home free porn video
Trying to Make His Way Home
By Radioactive Loner [email protected]
Copyright 1998-1999
I was cradling a Kahlua and cream at the bar. It was one of those
really frigid, icy nights where the wind would just rip through
you, but you didn't have the comfort of snow to adorn the
landscape around you. Most of the Blind Pig patrons were coming
in this night rubbing their hands (hooves, paws, or other such
upper appendages) together to generate warmth, while quickly
slamming the door behind them.
Suddenly, a norm came in. At least, I assumed he was a norm. You
really can't tell with SCABS... he could be a gendermorph, like I
am, but perhaps one that was a woman, now morphlocked as a man...
sort of the reverse of my situation or perhaps a gendermorph
who's free to morph back and forth... like I hope to be,
eventually. I hated being in this body so much that I tried to
kill myself... but that's another story that I've told before,
and to only a few people. The road back from that sort of thing's
hard, and I'm still journeying. But at least I've not abandoned
the journey altogether, like I had tried to beforehand.
The norm was interesting. He had on an overcoat that was a near
duplicate of mine, and an air around him that just seemed a bit
strange. And the way he was looking around the bar wasn't getting
him much appreciation from the gang. He was doing one of those
glances where he's gaping, but trying not to show that's he's
gaping, and not being that successful, and everyone knows that
but him.
I suppose, to a first-time norm who wandered in here by mistake,
the gang at the Blind Pig would be a bit strange. We have Jack, a
mule morph, who's master of the ivories... both the ivory keys of
the piano in the corner, and the ivory balls of our pool table.
[Both faux ivory, much to the relief of the few elephant morphs
who occasionally frequent the bar.] We have Wanderer and the
Lupine Boys, the standard Gang of Rowdy Bar Regulars (tm) led by
a master thespian who I owe more than the world to. We have
Donnie, the bartender, a huge bull of a man (literally), whose
fearsome presence is tempered only by his incredible gentleness.
We have plushies, lizard morphs, deers, racoons... an incredible
vastness of diversity that make the Blind Pig a startling sight
for first-timers.
Still, that doesn't mean that gaping is really appreciated. After
all, it's OUR bar, not theirs. And if Normie over there kept
looking around, the mood might get a bit ugly, especially since a
few of the bar's patrons were well into their cups. I caught the
norm's attention, and motioned for him to come over.
Imagine my surprise when, upon noticing my gesture, the norm got
incredibly excited, and rushed on over.
"Tara?" he asked. "Is that you?"
Well, let's put it this way... ever since I grew breasts and lost
a lot more, I've not been too... welcoming. Especially when
perfect strangers spout my name out of thin air. My eyes narrowed
a bit, my mental shields dropped right into place, and I looked
at him.
I ran through a few responses in my mind, then chose the most
formal in the most icy tone I could manage... "I'm afraid you've
got the better of me, Mr..."
He smiled. "I'm afraid my name's not really appropriate here, nor
is my nom de plume. But, I've got a real interest in visiting
here, and in meeting you for the first time."
This was getting decidedly weird, and I thought about calling
Donnie over and asking him to evict this decidedly weird
character.
"Tara, when you looked out onto the sea a few days before your
suicide attempt, your thought was that, for an actor, it would be
an appropriate way to commit suicide by re-enacting Ophelia."
My eyes widened as his words sunk in. As far as I knew, SCABS had
no way of giving anyone any sort of telepathy... so how the hell
could this person know my very own thoughts?
He grinned. "Interested now, eh?"
I merely nodded.
"Just follow me to a booth. I promise I'm not a sicko."
We found a secluded booth in the back of the Pig, where few could
overhear our conversation.
"Tara, I know this is going to sound very odd. But... let's see.
How to approach this? Do you remember an old song... it would be
back around the '90s? There was this sort of neo-folk singer
named Joan Osbourne, and she sang a song, 'One of Us'? One of the
lyrics was 'What if God was one of us?'"
My alarm stepped up a notch, and I looked at him cynically.
"Yes?"
"Tara, I'm... well, I'm not going to claim to be God. But I
created you."
My instincts began to step up a notch, and I tensed to leap out
of the booth.
He closed his eyes, and spoke very quietly under his breath,
"But, then I thought to myself, what the hell -- crazier things
have happened over the past few years. Why wouldn't my creator
turn out to be a portly 24-year-old? And even if the guy was a
nutjob, he didn't look to be the psycho type. I decided to
indulge him and listen more. If nothing else, it was good for a
weird laugh."
But, then I thought to myself, what the hell -- crazier things
have happened over the past few years. Why wouldn't my creator
turn out to be a portly 24-year-old? And even if the guy was a
nutjob, he didn't look to be the psycho type. I decided to
indulge him and listen more. If nothing else, it was good for a
weird laugh.
I sat back down in the booth. "Okay. I'll listen. But please
don't forget that you have a very tight-knit community of SCABS
surrounding you. All I have to do is begin yelling, and you're
going to get yourself evicted and firmly trounced upon, not
necessarily in that order."
He grinned. "Somehow, I didn't think you'd be this wary. I
just... wanted to meet you. Somehow, you've been my female
counterpart. When I've been walking around in life, thinking
about how life might've been different, it's been you I've
visualized."
I tried to play him out a bit. "Where did you see me for the
first time? Have you been following me?"
He thought a bit. "No... this is the first time I've ever met you
in person, Tara. Your personality sort evolved... I stole your
appearance in this form from a Calvin Klein underwear ad." He
chuckled. "I suppose you have me to blame for being a bit of a
bombshell. But don't I look like you a bit before you became a
woman? I never described your appearance as a male, but I had
myself in mind."
I looked at him... and he did look a lot like I used to. Not
exactly... there was quite a number of differences. But he could
be family. Possibly. I wasn't totally willing to entertain this
idea, but I have to admit, it was a sort of a strange concept to
wrap my mind around. And I always did enjoy science fiction... so
it was a bit fun to indulge his lunacy.
I rose a finger. "Not that I'm actually entertaining this even
for a minute... but, let's say for the sake of conversation, you
are my creator. Who created all of this... the universe? You?"
He shook his head. "Many, many people... although your universe
was birthed by one man. But the individuals... many have real-
life counterparts in my universe. Wanderer has a real-life
counterpart somewhere in the South... so does Jack, Brian, and
almost everyone in this bar. In a sense, all of you are
representatives of us... we all meet using the Internet on a
mailing list via computer. We e-mail back and forth on a mailing
list, posting stories. Can you guess what some of those stories
involve, Tara?" He grinned.
I had a sinking feeling I did. To claim all of reality was merely
someone's story... that in itself was a rather scary thought. And
one of a psychotic's. But... he just didn't seem dangerous. And I
wanted to hear more. "So, if you're my creator, why did you
choose this to happen to me?" I had a bit of anguish invested in
that particular question. I caught myself before I slid into his
reality.
He frowned, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. "I've wondered
about that, myself, Tara. I mean, I'm not transsexual, nor do I
really want to follow your transformation in my own life. But
I've always wondered, I suppose, about the benefits of what
having attractive sexuality must give someone. You're an escape
of sorts, I suppose -- it's no accident you morphed from a stout
man into a bombshell. I look at beautiful women on the train, and
wonder what it must like to have such confidence in your
sexuality... to express that part of you with such ease. I
suppose in that sense you're my alter ego."
I looked at him dumbly. "Are you *kidding* me? Confidence in my
sexuality? Since the transformation, I'm probably one of the most
frigid women in this town! Thanks to SCABS, I've totally rejected
who I am and what I look like, because I can't deal with how
different I am and my resulting place in society."
His eyes deepened in sudden, surprised pain. He took a deep
breath. "I hadn't realized," he said, his voice suddenly a bit
rough. "You're *not* an *alter* ego, Tara... you're a facet of
your creator. Perhaps one he never realized before."
He closed his eyes, and began saying some more words underneath
his breath. This time, I couldn't quite make the words out. I
reached for my empty glass, ready to jump away from the booth,
and leave this weirdness behind me.
Blink.
Donnie reached out a hoof and gently steadied me as the room
settled back in my eye sockets from its sudden spin. I let a
slight smile grace my lips. "Thanks, Donnie, I nearly fell off my
barstool." He looked at me in concern, and then pointed at my
glass.
"No, I've only drunk about a quarter of it... I doubt it's hit me
that quick. But, nevertheless, maybe I better lay off... "
I pushed the glass back towards him. All of a sudden, I felt a
huge gust of wind blow through the fabric of my blouse.
"Jumping Jenny's Mule, someone close the dang door!" A rousing
chorus echoed Jack's cry as Brian leapt up and shut away the icy
wind behind the Pig's stately oak door.
As Brian closed the door, I looked at it in puzzlement. I hadn't
*heard* anybody come in...
Stevie
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