Captivating Catwoman
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Suddenly Woman 1 free porn video
An out of body experience can be utterly disorienting. Yet, to wake in
another body is beyond comprehension.
To say that I felt disoriented that first day is an incredible
understatement. I woke up hardly conscious, somehow made my way to the
bathroom and standing there in front of the toilet sprayed pee over the
floor and down my leg.
Later, and I have no idea how much later it was, I opened my eyes. I
knew I was lying in bed but that's all I registered. My mind was blank,
like waking up too early after drinking too much. Slowly, a hand came
into focus. A woman's slender hand with long tapered nails.
"Who am I with?" I thought absently. I remained motionless. Gradually,
as if it were coming in drips, a self awareness started to form.
Nothing felt right.
I summoned my hand to move, to clear the hair that seemed to be blocking
my eyes. That other hand moved too. It brushed back the tangly mass.
I turned my head to see who was there. But there was no one. I looked
on the other side of me. The hair fell back in my face. No one. I
lied there, trying to think. It occurred to me that I was still
sleeping, only dreaming. I made no further effort to move but began to
focus on the room I was in.
"Where was I?" "What did I do last night?" No answers came. But there
was no panic, only blankness. I was awake. "I think I'm awake." I
looked at that hand again. Clearly it was not mine. But it moved in
response to my mind. The nails were varnished with a clear lacquer.
I'd never seen those rings before. Again the hand brushed the hair from
my face.
I'd slept with all sorts of women. I loved women. Adored them. "What
a hangover," I thought as I struggled to prop myself up. I looked
around the room, not recognizing anything. Everything felt totally
foreign.
I registered the sounds of traffic outside for the first time. "What
time is it?" Nothing in this room was familiar. I looked beyond the
door and saw another room. This was some sort of apartment. I think I
was in the city. I looked for a clock. Next to the bed was a table.
There was an ashtray with cigarette butts, a lamp, a picture of a group
of people. A group of women with cheesy smiles hamming for the camera.
The clock said 3:23. It must be afternoon. "Gotta get up."
I sat up. I didn't feel right. I swung my legs over the bed. They
were smooth, shaven. They weren't mine. I sat on the edge of the bed.
Those hands on those knees. Hair hung down. "What the fuck." There
were breasts. I looked around. There was a mirror on a bureau. This
body stood up and slowly made its way toward the mirror.
"What the fuck," I said again inside my head. There was no connection,
no realization, only total disconnect. "Who is she?" "Why is she
there?"
But that was me. I mean, not me. But it seemed like it was me. I
mean, it seemed like this what I was. Who I was. But it wasn't. I'm a
man. I'm tall. Handsome. Athletic. I don't even know this woman. She
stood there looking at me in her baggy t-shirt, her dark hair all
mussed, eye make up smeared. I could see her breasts pointing out. I
could feel them. They felt real. Full, heavy. I lifted up her t-
shirt. I saw her panties, her hairless legs. Looking down I
tentatively reached out to feel my cock. I watched her hand cup her
cockles area. Under the stretch fabric of the panties I felt a pussy.
Ok. I didn't panic. This was too unbelievable. "Where the fuck was
I??? What's going on??" I know I'm a man. I walked back over to the
night table. Her hand picked up the photo and I recognized her there,
her tied back. She was very pretty. It looked like a group of young
women maybe in the park for a Frisbee game. I didn't recognize any of
them. It might've been a few years ago. This woman here, now, seemed
like, I dunno, maybe in her early thirties. This made absolutely no
sense. I mean, this is clearly a woman. I'm probably in her apartment.
How did I get in her body? Where is mine? Where am I? Where is me?
I sat on the bed. I can figure this out. I know this isn't me. Right?
No. I remember growing up. My parents. I work for a magazine. I have
a girlfriend. This isn't her. I can call her. I think. I looked for
the phone. I saw the answering machine blinking that it had seven
messages. I leaned down to push the button and felt her breasts shift,
that hair flopped in my face again.
Beep. "Hi Jen. Call me." Some woman. Beep. "Ms Moore, this is Joe
Stinson from Arts etc. Loved your stuff. Call us at 212-778-5600 and
lets make arrangements to get together." Beep. "Call me you brat."
That same woman again. "Jen. Mom. Know you're busy, but give us a call
honey." Beep. "Hi. Just checking to make sure we're still on for
tomorrow..."
My god. That was me. "That's my voice," I said it out loud, but in that
woman's voice. For the first time I spoke and it was her voice, coming
from me. This woman's voice. These woman's hands. Her body. But me,
my consciousness, my essence, here, in this body. I didn't even notice
the rest of the messages. I was totally weirded out. Searching.
Trying to concentrate. Think. How? Why?
Beep. "...Ok. Don't answer your phone. I'm coming over." Another
woman. When did she leave that? What do I do? How long have I been
here? I started to call my girlfriend but stopped. What will I say?
How can I talk to her in this voice?
What struck me then was the fact of my hidden secret. It hit me like a
tidal wave. I do love women. So much so that in fact I'd often...oh
god that can't have any bearing on this. Can it??
This body had to pee. I went to the bathroom trying to concentrate,
trying to think. I knew enough to sit down. I knew enough to release
my bladder. The feeling of it releasing was totally alien. Even the
sound of it spraying into the toilet was different. I finished. I
stood up, purposely not looking, and pulled up the panties, not knowing
enough to wipe myself.
This is her bathroom. Turquoise bathmat. Matching towels. A clear
shower curtain. Shelves filled with soaps and shampoos and make up. A
box of tampons on the bottom shelf. Hair clips, bobby pins, scrunchies
and barrettes were in a big white painted wooden bowl. Just unreal. I
felt like a trespasser. I was a trespasser far beyond any sense of
reality. I reached for the flowered kimono robe that hung on the back
of the door.
Suddenly I jumped when I heard knocking at the door. "Jen! You better
be in there."
Now what. Now I panicked. What if they come in? They can't see me
here. Not like this.
They knocked again hard. "Now I'm worried. Open this." There was real
concern in her voice. What if they did call the police. What if I've
done something bad. Something awful. God, I have no idea what's going
on.
I undid the bolt. I fumbled with the lock. I slowly opened the door
and the woman pushed it open impatiently, rushing in. "You bitch. I
was getting very worried. Chris thought you'd eloped. Your mom was
getting antsy. You should call her. I should be at work," she said as
she hugged me. I felt her breasts press mine and it all seemed oddly
familiar, d?j? vu-like.
"Geez, you look like shit. What's up? Are you ok?" she asked,
changing her tone to tenderness. "You smell like shit too...pee yoo,"
she said.
I nodded my head. "Yeah. I'm ok." Then I said, "Actually I'm just
feeling really lousy. Not myself."
"Hmm...you don't have a fever. This had better not be some elaborate
excuse to miss my dinner tomorrow night. Right?" She looked directly
into my eyes and I felt frozen there, waiting for her to shout out when
she saw I wasn't who she thought I was. Her eyes were locked on mine.
"No, you don't look good," she said. "Lie down Jen. Do you want tea?
How about a bath?"
"Tea will be fine." I cinched up the robe and followed her into the
kitchen. Strangely, there was some comfort in her presence. Whoever I
was, I was clearly this woman now. This Jen. I wasn't dreaming.
"So did you get laid or heartbroken that other night?" she asked
laughing. "Didn't you have some hot date or something?"
"Um...no." I didn't know what to say to this. Do I get laid a lot...a
little...do I joke about 'getting laid.' But who did I meet? Was it
me? My normal self. My male self?
I didn't know what to say. I wanted to ask her where I went.
That's when I saw the cigarettes on the end of the counter. There was
that flash of recognition again, like when I'd heard my mom's voice on
the answering machine and when Lisa hugged me. How did I even know her
name. And I saw those cigarettes and knew that's what this body wanted.
It wanted a cigarette, even though I wasn't a smoker. I could tell Jen
wanted one.
Ironically, there with Lisa I became extraordinarily self-aware. I was
careful to not act too odd, to not tip her off. I didn't know how to
operate in this body, but I seemed to be doing reasonably ok. I reached
for the pack and took a cigarette. "Here's where I could look stupid,"
I thought.
"Can you see if I have a lemon, Lisa?" As she opened the fridge, I
held the lit match to the cigarette in my hand, as if I were lighting
firecracker. It occurred to me to put the cigarette in my mouth first
to easier light it. I drew tentatively on it. Yes, I like that now. I
pulled harder. This is why smokers smoke. I took a deeper puff and
held it inside me.
She's a hot woman. I held my cigarette and watched Lisa make my tea.
Early thirties, she had the confidence of a mature woman but still with
a young, full body. I'd love to be with a woman like that. But I was,
intimately. Although it was a different intimacy than I'd ever been
privileged to experience. I was lost.
She stayed for a few minutes and saw that I lied down on the couch.
"Make sure you take that shower...better yet, a nice hot bath. Ok? Get
some rest. I need you tomorrow! For real. I have to get back to work."
She leaned down to kiss me on the forehead. I felt her dirty blonde
hair drape over me and looked into her deep cleavage. She had no issues
with who she was. I wondered how my cleavage compared to hers.
I lied there on the couch after she left. I lit another cigarette. I'd
felt different with her here. It was as though I had this vague
awareness of Jen. Of me I guess. It was a sort of presence, intuition.
I blew a billowy cloud of smoke up into the light shining threw the
window. Did I recognize this room? Sort of. I think. I'm not sure.
Did I recognize this body?
I got up and walked to the wall, which had a series of paneled mirrors.
I stood there in front it, looking at myself again. I did look tired.
I curled my hair behind my ears and swiveled my head some to see my
profile. I pulled on the cigarette, watching myself smoke. I had
beautiful hands.
I wondered how tall I was now. Five-six maybe. Maybe 5'5. I might've
been part Italian. My face had a delicate profile but strong cheekbones
and full lips. My hair was dark and went to my shoulders. I think I
would tan well. What did that man on the phone say my last name was?
Moore. Jen Moore. A licence, that's it. I must have a drivers license
somewhere. I looked around the room. It was just off the kitchen. I
walked back into the bedroom. There, on the bureau, was a purse. I
hadn't even noticed it before. It was a leather bag with a small
shoulder strap. Inside was another pack of cigarettes, different
lighters, make up things, and keys. There was a wallet and when I
picked it up I saw a tampon there underneath. Two of them in fact. I
don't even know how to use these, I thought.
The license said I was 5'6, 116 pounds. I was 31. I lived in
Manhattan. I looked very happy in that picture. Very cute. I saw my
cleavage.
Jennifer Moore. What if this is really who I am and I'm just being
delusional. Could that be it? That would make much more sense really.
I become lost in thought. Confused by all this that was happening, by
the vague whispers of intuition, and by the specific memories I had of
myself as a man, as Bill Denton.
A shower. I needed a shower. But coffee ... and another cigarette
first.
Wynona
- 21.02.2020
- 16
- 0
