Natasha
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Natasha Part 1 free porn video
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"Thank you for taking the Soviet train Lines"
He hesitated for a second,then looked upward and stamped my passport.
"...Sir."
It was rare that I slipped back into my true voice, I quickly
recomposed myself and wished the young lad a great day.
On the train, I found out I shared a cabin with a woman. She was pretty,
and young. Judging from her clothing, she came from a peasant family.
"Aren't you hot? Surely you can take off the gloves and your big cap. It
is summer after all"
I didn't say anything. She must have wondered whether or not I was a
mute. She smiled and continued: "I love your suit, it fits your broad
frame, but you should take it off really, it's too hot and even if you
have boyish good looks, with that, you look like a stuffy old man".
She laughed a girly little laugh.
I excused myself, took a small briefcase with me and went to the
bathroom.
I took off my gloves which revealed my long and dainty fingers. I took
off the coat as the padding in the shoulders made it made me sweat like
a pig.
I prepared myself for my weekly ritual.The shaving cream felt chilly
against my skin.The blade of the razor felt liberating.
It was funny. I wondered if men who had a real stubble felt any
discomfort while shaving? I imagined myself having a coarse stubble and
the joy of having to shave it. For me, it was the epitome of manhood.
I spoke a few words forcing myself to speak a few octaves lower then I
usually do when I am stressed so that my gender became unambiguous.
As I went through the ritual, I couldn't help but to think about the
young lady's breasts and her apparent naievete. I wanted her. Bad.
Boyish good looks? That's right. My jawline was round rather then
square, my lips were full, my nose small was and dainty. My eyes were
bigger and my eyebrows naturally narrow. We were the perfect couple.
My lust gave way to fright as I remember that faithful night where I met
a childhood friend in a Moscow cabaret.
During dinner, we talked about the civil war in Columbia and then being
schooled away from our parent's country. The discussion quickly turned
to our former classmates.
Did you remember Marco? Killed in a shootout with an american mercenary
in Nicaragua.Or so the rumor went. How about Stella? She did well for
herself, she was now an attache at the Soviet embassy in Sweden. Or
Raul? Now An adviser to Fidel Castro's army. Did you hear about Enrique?
No. He simply disappeared. And so on and so forth.
When it was over, I offered to give Sabrina a ride home. She rushed into
an alley, apparently to vomit the copious amount of vodka. I naturally
followed her into the darkness when two hands grabbed me by my shoulders
and pinned me to the wall.
She was surprisingly strong and her fierce kisses demonstrated a hunger
I had seldom encountered. Hot tears streamed down her face as she
complained of being abused by her handlers. I should have pushed her
away, but when the male mind sees a young woman crying and begging for
love, well --- she started unbuttoning my shirt. While she did so, her
hands slowly went from my abdominals toward the sides of my ribcage and
then toward my hips.
When she met with all-too familiar curves in unfamiliar places, she
stopped. Her eyes locked into mine for a second.They were looking for
something which wasn't there, something she knew was at odd with the
idealized image she had of myself.
When she found those strange bandages on my chest, her pretty face
contorted into an ugly grimace. When she dared touch "them", her hand
automatically recoiled from the unnatural softness of my flesh.
When she ran,I knew I had to run as well.
I should have stayed and tried to explain yet how could I have explained
the concept of being a man literally trapped in a woman's body?
To have to carefully bind your budding breasts as to make sure none of
the other male students in your dormitory noticed the "assets" you had?
To realize that your genitals were slowly turning into female ones?
To be in command of a body that was in open mutiny against the mind? To
see your hips expand beyond what nature intended or your chest commit
treason by swelling into fleshy mounds?
I looked upon myself in the mirror and started wiping off the sweat off
my finely chiseled muscles. I reflected upon the vast amount of time I
had spent in the gymnasium trying to put on weight.
I flashed a pose,flexing my biceps.I had a body that was powerful and
made for performance but I would never weight much more then 120 lbs. I
reflected upon how all my muscle mass seemed to have been concentrated
in my legs, abodomen and thighs. If it weren't for the tape binding my
chest, my flaring hips and my bubble butt, an impartial observer might
have mistaken me for Billy Jean or any of the western female athletes.
Sad really.
Under the socialist state, what I was becoming was not so bad. We had
women snipers, scientists ,pilots... everything except women prime
ministers and generals.
However,there were no lesbians in the Soviet Union and it was easy for a
male party official to make unsolicited advances. The thought made me
shudder with revulsion as I myself was not privy being treated the same
way I treated women.
Karma, as they say, is a bitch.
I looked down at Mr.Happy. My dick was still there, but it had shrunk
from a rather normal 6 inches to a 2 inches in size. The hood had
retracted so it looked like a very large clitoris.My balls had largely
retracted into my body and a dry slit running from the middle of my
testes and creeping upward toward the tip of my former dick had formed.
That I hid my condition for so long was problematic. At best, I would be
studied under a microscope like a radioactive cockroach or a delicate
poisonous flower.
Charges of Identity theft could lead directly to prison or blackmail by
more senior party officials.
What I truly feared was much worse:
Sabrina was not really Sabrina, she was a "Natasha", someone with no
real identity that robbed western big wigs of their honor in exchange
for her dignity. There was no other way for orphans of the revolution
without proper skills to repay the debt we had toward the state.
No. It was too late to go back.
I peeked outside. The train stopped at a station and I saw two men that
were waiting by the docks.They wore no uniforms but they stood erect,
and their eyes revealed a hardness about them that could only be forged
by war and conflict. They boarded the train.
It was time. With some regret, I took out my pocket knife and started
undoing the bandages that tightly bound my breasts. They bounced free. I
let out a sigh of relief. I could at least now breath normally. They
were an eyesore on this young man's chest but when I saw my own
reflection in the mirror, Mr.Happy couldn't help but try to stand at
attention. It was a valient effort.
I took off my cap which revealed a mane of luxurious brown hairs. I
opened a janitor's closet which contained whichw as supposed to contain
my disguise. Sure enough, I took out a black bra (with a "D"
label),panties,a female KGB uniform and got dressed. I took out the
lipstick and applied it to my lips to complete the disguise.
When I went back to fetch my belongings in the compartment. The two
plainsclothes policemen were there.
There was a fat one and a thin, almost stick-like figure.
The stick spoke first and in the rudest tone inimaginable:
"Excuse me miss, but we are here to apprehend a dangerous fugitive, will
you please come with us to the office of the militsya?"
I spoke the first name that came to my mind.
"Natasha Kourniva," I responded indignantly, "I have important business
to take care of in Berlin, now if you will excuse me gentlemen."
He protested for a second,but I snidely ignored him. When he protested
more loudly, I screamed accordingly. I am certain they could not have
understood everything I said in my hysteria, but they certainly
understood the word "Gulag".
I walked off the train and into the city before the young woman could
testify against me.
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