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Suddenly Woman 5 free porn video
Suddenly Woman
Chapter 5
To the passers-by on this fashionable upper East Side sidewalk there was
nothing distinctive about the woman who emerged from the cab, other than
the fact that she was beautiful. But that wasn't necessarily
distinctive here, one block down from the contemporary art museum, in
front of this elegant, old city mansion.
I took out a cigarette before going in, lit it and noticed I had less
than a half of a pack. That wouldn't do. I wasn't ready to go in, not
just yet anyway.
Perhaps I was doing this woman no service by indulging her addiction.
But this body needed to smoke. Each cigarette centered me, they
provided some sense of relaxation and some connection. I took in more
of the smoke and walked off in search of a grocery store.
Thoughts, images, connections were floating in my mind. I knew that I
had, or rather "she" had, helped Lisa to find this place. It was the
sort of city mansion that people rented for catered affairs. Formal,
elegant affairs. Lisa came from some amount of money and this event was
to help her raise funds for a public gallery. I don't think it was
altruism. It was more Lisa's ambition to build some amount of prominence
for herself. I envisioned some of our friends and others who might be
there. These 'connections,' 'images' would be very important tonight.
Besides helping out, my task was to ensure Pierre Satyr would be there.
I didn't know him well. I think Bill, my male self knew him too. At
least I think he did. Pierre Satyr was important to me, in more ways
than one.
Thoughts from her, him, me, whatever, didn't mingle well. I enhaled
another puff. I couldn't let Bill's thoughts overwhelm me, not just now.
I needed to be centered for all this. I needed to be able to confront
Satyr.
How could I possibly function if I stopped and actually realized the
gravity of this situation. God, if I had one day as this woman, it
would be incredible. More than incredible, extraordinary, unbelievable.
But the uncertainty. It was all too much. Where was Bill? What would
become of me? I just needed to get through this night.
I smoked. I walked. It was twilight and I passed others on the
sidewalk. I noticed the women?the females. Two elderly Hispanic ladies
passed. Senoras. Feminine, plural, Spanish was a language which
changed by gender. Large busted, heavy, pleasantly talking to each
other. A young girl tugging at her brother's hand. Her mother in
chinos and a sweater pushing an expensive carriage looking straight
ahead. A couple, arm in arm. The woman glancing at me as they passed.
What did it mean to be a woman? The physical differences were obvious.
This long hair. Why do I have long hair, I mean, why do women wear
their hair longer than men. I'd had long hair once but lately it had
been receding from my forehead. But this moment, my hairline is low,
strong, full. I have thick hair. This barrette, pulling my hair back.
I still sense the oddness of these hips. I feel like my torso is
sitting in this strong, wide pelvis. It conjures the image of an egg
cup. So very different.
I look so different. Yet, they don't know that I don't belong here.
These people see me just as a woman. The Asian lady at the cigarette
counter seems so bored as she takes my money.
Will all those people at the reception see through me? Will they
whisper? Wonder? Its not my fault! I didn't steal her. Or hurt her.
I didn't chose this. I don't even know what 'this' is.
I walked into the lobby. Caterers were still carrying things in. I
stepped up the half-flight of stairs, clutching my bag. Focused.
Someone, putting a white linen cloth on the table outside the ballroom,
looked up and smiled at me.
Moving. Forward. I opened one of the big doors and stepped into the
large, expansive room. I heard Lisa's shriek. "I'm losing it," she
said laughing as she came quickly over to me. She gave me a quick hug,
then still holding my shoulders she asked in mock desperation: "Is it
too early for me to start drinking?"
"This looks great," I said. "I love these high ceilings." Talking
helps. I hear that voice come from me and I think it helps.
"Champagne in exactly one hour," she said, holding up one of her well
manicured fingers. In a flash, I wondered if my nails were done
adequately. "Feeling better, Jen? Good. Thank god. What do you think
of that setting? Is that how you imagined it? Yeah, me too. I think
its perfect. The tables on the balcony seem too small though."
I kept pace with her. Soothing her. Calming her. So very ironic. I
could feel Jen's insights flowing. Lisa, strode the room, stopping,
fidgeting, throwing out her little commands to the caterers.
Two other friends, acquaintances, were there. We exchanged compliments.
Laughed about Lisa's state of frenzy. There was excitement in the
moment, in being dressed up, in the promise of the evening. There was
excitement and energy.
Some of the guests started to arrive. The caterers were only starting
to lay out trays of hors'doevres. Lisa came up behind me, holding my
elbow, whispering loudly near my ear. "Pee time."
She lead me to ladies room, chattering nervously. It was time now for
her to shift from her manager persona to that of the hostess. "Gotta
get my game face on," she said. It wasn't the first time we had
characterized it that way to each other.
Inside, there was a caterer at the sink washing her hands and eyeing
herself in the mirror. She shifted her eyes to us and said hello.
Lisa stopped for a moment in front of the mirror. "Cassie, right?
Cassie, can you make sure everyone has plenty to drink." She laughed,
emphasizing the word "plenty."
Cassie dried her hands assuring Lisa that she would personally give
everyone more than they needed."
Those two women laughed together. I stood there. In front of the
mirror watching both of their images. I saw myself standing there too,
in this room, in this sanctom. Looking at themselves, they both talked,
touched, adjusted. Cassie undid her ponytail, brushed her hair back and
retied it smoothly, effortlessly. She patted, twisted her skirt, smiled
quickly to look at her teeth.
I stood there, unmoving. Cassie walked out. Lisa stepped into a stall,
still talking to me. I heard her sit down and then the spray of her
pee. Still talking.
Talk. I spoke. Talk, talk. I hardly noticed what I was saying. I
pulled down my panties and sat down.
She must be wiping her pussy now. I could tell she was getting up as
she told me about someone who called to say they couldn't come. I know
she could her me peeing now. Her stall door opened and she was walking
up to the mirror, still talking, perhaps lowering her dress.
Undoubtedly inspecting herself.
I leaned slightly forward on the toilet, my forearms on my thighs, and
my pee become less of a spray, more of a stream. I felt the change of
the angle. I could see my panties stretched between my legs. I peered
down into my cleavage. My legs were splayed. I lowered my face into my
hands. How can I wipe? How can I look down and see this vagina. How
can I touch it?
"Excuse me?lose yourself in there??" Lisa was talking to me.
"Sorry," I said. "I think I'm ready for that drink now." I stood up,
quickly brought the toilet paper against me and pulled up my panties.
"Maybe I'm nervous too," I said as I stepped out before the mirror.
Lisa was fixing her lipstick and rolled her eyes toward me. "You have
one goal tonite missy," she said, turning around and pinching my hip
playfully to stress her point. I was her 'in' to Satyr. She had many
potential benefactors she had targeted. Her family name gave her good
advantage. She may not even have been really counting on Satyr, but, if
somehow, she did get his attention, well that would mean so very much to
her.
Satyr was renown in these circles. Highly desirable. Extremely
elusive. There were rumors he'd been a big part of Warhol's early
beginnings, but that might've been more myth than anything. Satyr would
be a lot older than he seemed if it were true. Warhol was a long time
ago. Forty years ago.
Maybe alcohol would help. I knew a cigarette would. I told her where I
was going and she chided me. But then she whirled around and said she
was joining me. Occasionally, in the past, she would have a cigarette
with me.
It took us several minutes to get out to the balcony as Lisa stopped and
greeted the people who were just starting to filter in and get
comfortable. It was a few minutes past eight o'clock but still too
early for the important guests to arrive. She used me as a prop,
holding my arm, laughing, chatting, playing the hostess.
As we spoke with an older couple, the waiter came by with a tray of
drinks. We all graciously took one, as Lisa drove the small talk. I
noticed the gentleman looking over his glass at my breasts as he sipped.
"You'll have to excuse me," I said, touching Lisa's arm as I untangled
myself from her.
"Ok, I'm coming," she said, holding my arm again but still continuing to
talk for another minute with the couple.
Finally. I had opened my purse before we even got out there and offered
her one immediately. She waved cheerily to two men on the other side of
the balcony as I held the lighter out for her. She took one of her
quick puffs. I drew hungrily at it. I don't think she even noticed as
she continued to chatter. I pulled again, feeling better as I felt the
smoke billow from my nostrils. Others came out and joined us. I took
the opportunity to light a second one.
The reception picked up pace and the jazz quartet began playing
something lively. Lisa was in rare form, flirting, laughing, subtlety
making her pitches. I drifted off and bumped into others I knew.
Sometimes I would feel some awareness of the people as we caught eyes.
Sometimes images, remembrances would come as we shook hands, hugged or
exchanged kisses. Being relaxed was important. Forgetting Bill, for
the moment. Being in the moment. Being Jen. Being this woman.
This was an evening of frivolity for some. For most. Lisa wanted
people comfortable. There was a mix of artists, socialites and would-
be's. Young and old. Men and women. It was an adult affair and
everyone was at liberty to compliment and flirt and praise. I could
feel men's attentions. I felt their larger physical presence. I felt
their eyes, their socially acceptable touches. Two glasses of champagne
and I felt a languid easiness. No one knew. I fooled them all.
At ten past ten I went out again to the balcony, alone. A table I'd sat
at earlier was occupied, in fact all the tables were. I consciously
avoided eye contact with anyone and went down to the end, against the
railing, near the large rooftop flower boxes. I opened that second
pack, noticing my hands, my nails as I unwrapped the cellophane. I
clicked the lighter, anticipating that now familiar rush as I looked out
away from the party, across to the buildings on the other side.
"You look elegant my dear."
I froze.
I felt him take my arm and gently, yet commandingly, pivot me around to
face him.
"You knew I'd be here," he said in that deep, resonate voice. The voice
from the answering machine. From my dream. From somewhere before. He
was tall, goateed with a glint in his eyes that made them appear
smiling. Or it was it mocking?
He took my hand and kissed it. I offered it lifelessly. He held my
hand preciously, with both of his, and just looked into my eyes. I
couldn't say a thing. He lead me to a table that was suddenly empty.
I sat down aware of the gravity of this meeting. But I wasn't Jen. Or
Bill. I was just conscious of his presence. He spoke and his voice was
like a syrup, soothing, comforting. The rage, the frustration, the
confusion I had felt was gone.
"Do you know what makes a woman beautiful? Her soul," he purred. He
sat back confidently, telling me of the power of a woman. Of innate
mysticism, of how it had always been that way through the ages. He
spoke with an authority, and an almost sense of timelessness. He spoke
of Jen. And he spoke of Bill.
I sat there mesmerized. Each of us had met him. It was that other
night. He spoke of his philosophies, his visions, perceptions. He
spoke of life and destiny. And he spoke of his lusts, his appetites and
desires. Together, we had both been together with him briefly that
night.
What had happened to me was unworldly. Sitting here, now, I felt his
unworldly presence. He gave no true answers as to who he was but I
sensed he was not of this time. I'd sensed it for a moment that other
evening. That evening when I was still Bill, standing next to him?with
Jen. Like a vortex in time, the three of us had come together in that
certain spot at that certain place, that other night.
"Why?", was all I could say.
His eyes sparkled. "Because I can," he said.
Quietly, sympathetically, soothingly, he explained that shortly after
that evening, Bill had died. His physical body had died. Satyr assured
me he had had no part in that.
"I simply saw it," he said. "Consider it a gift?for you," he said
bowing his head in a way that could have been jeering or sincere.
He explained how he'd seen us there that at that studio that night. How
our random alliance of photographer and model had given him such a
strong portent of possibilities. He explained how he delighted in the
randomness of life, its tragedies and its joys.
His strong left hand covered my hands tenderly on the table as he spoke,
explaining. Underneath the table, his right hand traveled up my dress,
brushing my inner thigh.
"Fate is mischeivous," he said as I felt the warmth of his hand. "I
simply play with fate," he laughed, just as his index finger touched my
clitoris. "I always have my fun," he said in my ear as I felt an
involuntary moan emit from my body, just as his hand pulled away.
"I've given you a new life my dear." Suddenly his laughing eyes became
steely. "I know you'll use it wisely."
He left me sitting there. I'm not sure how long it was. I only
realized where I was when Lisa came running up to me, thanking me,
hugging me.
"Whatever you did, I am eternally grateful!" She was so happy. "Pierre
said he would be part of this Jen! He said that you convinced him. I
love you."
She kissed me on the lips, holding my face in her hands. "Mmmmm?I love
you! We have to tell the others."
She got up excitedly without waiting for me. I stood up, walked into
the ballroom and around the edge of the crowd to the door. As I slipped
outside I felt an incredible lightness of being. My cell phone rang. I
shut it off, placidly walking the twelve blocks home.
The next day I went to my funeral. To Bill's funeral. It was all true,
although I hadn't doubted it. Apparently he had been struck by a bus as
he was leaving the studio that night. I wasn't sure what role Satyr had
played in that, or whether it had just been another twist of fate, as
Satyr had assured me. But it didn't really matter now.
I didn't attend the service but stood outside, wearing a black dress and
heels. I felt no remorse or sadness, but was touched by the emotion I
saw from those as they came out of the church. This wasn't an end. I
was not dead. I wanted to assure them. I was here, alive. Vibrantly
alive. This was only a new beginning.
There, outside the church, I saw my girlfriend. My former girlfriend.
The woman I'd loved, made love to. I walked up to her and now stood
eye-to-eye with her. I looked emphatically into her tear-stained face.
For a long moment we just stood there.
"Please don't be sad," I said. I put my arms around her and pulled her
close. My cheek against hers, I breathed in her familiar scent. My
mind flashed to a time when my arms enveloped her. A time once when
we'd made passionate love and I'd held her up by her ass, my cock
throbbing inside her. I'd stated the obvious that moment and asked her
if she realized that her cunt had consumed me. I had let her consider
my statement for a moment and then felt myself release my hot cum inside
her. She had released her own precious wetness, soaking us both.
And now, here, we hugged. Our breasts pressing. I wondered if some
hint of me she recognized.
Slowly we released our hug. Sniffling, she asked gently: "Who are you?"
"Jennifer," I said.
Epilogue
Pierre had said that in both Jen and Bill he'd seen the answer to the
other. I hadn't understood what he meant at the time but now I think I
do.
I certainly didn't understand at first. For several days I endeavored
to be true to Jen, to her person, to her way of life. It was her
apartment, her clothes, her jobs, her body.
I tried to organize my new life. If this was to be who I am, I needed
to deal with the practical aspects of living. I tallied up her savings,
her debts. I had had far more resources before, but they weren't
available to me now. It appeared that her parents, my parents, were
still providing some financial support. But that only served to humble
Jen and to maintain her parents' dominance and control.
Her consciousness was still only there like files in a massive cabinet.
But I became adept at finding them, knowing where they were almost
instantly. That first night when I'd gone back to the hostess job, I
effortlessly extracted information on who I knew there, how I felt about
them and even wisps of previous conversations, experiences we might've
shared. I was able to do the job adequately. I knew what to do, how to
do it. I think I was reasonably personable. I even perused the role
calls, although I felt no inspiration to go to an audition.
It was still me. My past, my memories, my upbringing, my entire
consciousness that were still the primary lens by which I saw life.
Perhaps through some sense of obligation, I felt that I should subjugate
myself to Jen and her life. I tried to defer myself to her, to let her
dominate.
But as she went about her life, awkwardly at best, I was there.
Observing. No. Experiencing. Living. Feeling. Influencing more and
more, in spite of myself. In spite of my imagined obligation to honor
her existence.
I didn't fully grasp that it was still ME, a man, a former man,
responsible for the direction of this life now. Physically I was Jen.
Physically I was a woman. It was up to me to shape this life.
Only gradually had I come to realize that.
The first night after hostessing I'd come home and had a glass of merlot
and some cigarettes as was often her pattern. At least I told myself it
was. It was late but not by the schedule of her life. Sometimes she'd
go out with others. Sometimes she even dated. I knew that. But I knew
sometimes she just liked coming home and relaxing. I also knew that on
some nights she'd masturbate.
On this night she went to that drawer and underneath those sweaters she
took out her vibrator. She sat at the end of the bed, the vibrator
lying on the bed next her, still dressed. And she just thought. She
thought about how it would be to feel herself cum again. She thought
about her body. How beautiful she was. Her breasts, her hips, her
hair, her face.
She got up and stood before the mirror. Slowly she undressed watching
her image there. She was seducing herself. She could feel a languid
warmth flowing over her. She could feel her arousal starting. She saw
her nipples harden and her large aerolas darken. She stood there naked,
her arms at her sides and she just looked.
She watched herself sip her wine. She watched herself take the
cigarette burning in the ashtray to her lips. She felt its smoke inside
her.
I imagined this was the intensity that Jen could feel at times. But Jen
had never felt this. Not this powerfully.
I thought it was Jen who would now lie down, who would open her legs and
permit herself to touch. And so I did. I brought my hands over my
pubic area. I felt the rush of sensation. I saw those hands move ever
so slowly up and down through the unkempt triangle of hair. I felt the
labia expand, warming. I avoided the clitoris, sensing its hidden
intensity. Gently, I let her pursue the passions of her body. I
justified myself through the illusion that I was only observing.
And I observed that vagina, that pussy. I bent down and watched my long
nails tease and brush those purpley labia. I tugged the mons. I spread
its wetness. I pinched my nipples. I moaned. I moaned in that voice,
that wonderful lilting voice. I lied back. I brought my fingers to the
edge of my hole and up toward my clittie. Again. And again. Quickly,
suddenly that orgasm I remembered came again. I let my hand lightly
cover my vulva as it moved like a wave through my body, making me
shudder. Making me wetter. I pinched the base of my clit and arched
stiffly on the bed as another wave rippled through me.
I struggled up on all fours, intoxicated with utter passion. A blind
passion. My hair fell down about me and I peered underneath at my
hanging breasts. I reached back, massaged my ass, felt its unfamiliar
mass. I imagined how my pussy looked, wet, squeezed there between my
thighs. I grazed it, felt it, entered it with my finger. With another.
And another. I used all four and my thumb to open my vagina and I
imagined how it looked until a thundering orgasm left me lying face down
on the bed, nearly crying.
It was minutes before I got up again and stood before the mirror. My
hair was disheveled, there was smeared mascara around my eyes. My bush
was sticky and tangled. I watched myself light another cigarette. I
saw the lighter illuminate my face for an instant. I saw my cheeks draw
in the smoke. I watched myself blow it out. For the first time, I
picked up that vibrator, which was shaped only abstractly like a penis.
Without turning it on, I rubbed it up and down my slit, sometimes
looking down to watch, to see what I feel. Then, looking into the
mirror, I watched as I pushed it up inside of me. All of it. Six
inches of it were inside me, pressing, pushing at the walls of my
vagina. Standing there, half squatting I furiously brought it up and
down, in and out. And then I watched, and saw myself moan, and struggle
to hold myself up. And I watched as I jerked and spasmed and moaned and
crumpled to the carpet, soaking it, soaking myself.
When I awoke the next morning I was still lying there at the foot of my
mirror. For the first time I was unencumbered with the challenges ahead
of me. I felt relaxed, happy and an utter enthusiasm I hadn't felt in
some time.
Even then I still thought that I was being true to Jen. I found it easy
to ignore the fact it was me who had created all that last night. Even
though I began that morning to fully explore my wardrobe, my lingerie,
my make up, I thought it was just Jen waking up.
But that was a few week's ago. I'm a different person now. Jen's a
different person now. Together we're one. Together we take so much
from life. Perhaps you've seen women like me. Women who understand
their sensuality, who simply embrace the power of their femininity.
Women who charge into the energy of life, who say 'fuck you' to tired
roles, controlling parents, and fate.
Perhaps we've fucked you. You'd know it if we had. We embody the
ineffable, boundless spirit of Pierre Satyr.
Latisha
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