Chudayi Ke Din Chdayi Ki Raaten 8211 Part I
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Chalyss's Day As A Bloke free porn video
Chalyss's Day as a Bloke
Rachel Scotland
One of my neighbours from my childhood knew that I was writing short
stories of all kinds, and that while most were publishable in the
mainstream, some had gone into online places, including a selection of
things with a TG theme into Fictionmania. So she couldn't wait to tell me
her life story - well part of it - and so she came over to my house one
evening. I had the tape recorder running. Tape recorder? It doesn't have a
tape, but I think it's clear what I mean. I sometimes call it a
Dictaphone.
"Hey Boss, can I use your Dictaphone?" asks the secretary.
"No, use the end of your pencil like the other girls."
Ha, my favourite joke of the genre, but old-fashioned and incomprehensible
for someone who has never seen a dial phone, nor lived in the era when the
boss was certainly a man.
Afterwards, I played it all back, and using audio headphones, typed it up
in Word. Speech doesn't have good punctuation, and it's full of umms and
errs, and 'noises off', together with our shared mirth. Eventually, I got
it into the present form, and so here it is, more or less as she told me,
the story of Chalyss 's 'Day as a bloke'.
In my business, working as a stunt double, being a woman isn't a great
disadvantage. I'm medium height, so I can stand in for most men AND women,
and the fact that my tits aren't much bigger than fried eggs is a
considerable advantage - it is easier to add than to subtract. I think of
it like the old metaphor: it is better to give than to receive. This
metaphor stands me in good stead throughout my life, especially in bed
with Debbie, my partner. Yep, we're lezzers, dykes, furry cup drinkers and
rug munchers (although neither of us has a very furry rug for long!), and
I ALWAYS wield the strap-on, because Debbie, bless her, is a bit Bi. That
means that whenever we go to a 'do', I have to keep a careful eye on her,
watch how much she drinks, and politely manoeuvre her away from any guy
who shows too much interest. And why shouldn't they? Debbie is HOT. Debbie
is like Cheryl Cole, only better looking, far more sexy, incredibly juicy
- and her arse isn't ruined by a huge tattoo or by her former husband
(allegedly).
Debbie and I work together a lot (yes, I know what your dirty bastards
will think) because she's a very talented make-up artist. Guys like it
when she holds their head in her tits to keep it still, and both actors
and actresses relish her skill. Sometimes she works with paints, but she's
great with those rubber prosthetics too, and she's no mean hairdresser.
Debbie also does massage. OK, she wouldn't be good dealing with a sporting
injury, but she does it to help actors get in the mood. Often, in naked
love scenes, we use mild drugs to stop blokes getting a stiffie, or to
make the girls misty-eyed and seductive, but it is frowned on, and too
much gives a guy impotence or a girl goes so dreamy that she forgets her
lines, and afterward gets fucked by most of the film crew! Not by most of
the actors, sadly, because they tend to be more interested in each other,
or more specifically in - well, I'm not going there, but uphill gardening,
and fudge packing, come readily to mind! Sadly, also, because they are
mostly good looking or ripped - if you like that kind of thing - but
happily, because it keeps them from pestering Debbie. Especially because
Debbie doesn't mind giving a hand job, a suck off, or even playing 'hide
the sausage'.
They never pester me, mind, because I look hard. Harder than Sigourney
when she deals with the Alien. I've never been pestered, as I don't much
like the idea of anything up me, not even a tampon, I reckon I've got the
tightest little vajjie ever to present itself in a film studio. (OK,
discounting some of the younger players, or maybe not!)
Once, Debbie had to get a noted lez actress in the mood. The bitch refused
the pill offered, and wouldn't take the drink either. Debbie had to use
her massage skills there, and not to put too fine a point on it, the
actress simply reprised the orgasm Debbie gave her. It wasn't that
difficult either, as Debbie had put a little Japanese vibrating gizmo in
the appropriate orifice, and the dyke wasn't acting much! It was then that
I decided that I'd have what she was having!
So that's me today, Rachel, and as you can imagine, I met Debbie through
the business. We just shared a flat at first, and actually, it was quite a
time before we shared a bed, and even longer before we worked out exactly
what each of us wanted from the other. Dirty minded guys often think that
lezzers are at it all the time, but mostly, we kiss affectionately and
cuddle like friends. We get down to the other stuff only occasionally,
normally when Debbie has had too much to drink, or takes one of those
relaxing pills, or I do it to take her mind off a bloke.
I came into the business by a funny route. I was always skinny, but
athletic. I did all manner of sports, and I wasn't very old before Mum got
a fright that I was too much of a tomboy, so she put me in for girls'
gymnastics and ballet. That's where I picked up the flexibility and
various other skills that stand me in good stead now. It also introduced
me to the drugs scene. One of them suppresses your periods. After all, a
young teenage girl can't writhe around on a wooden bar and come off with a
red crotch, can she? And as for a troupe of sixteen girls in a corps de
ballet, at any one time four of them ought to be having a red tide, and
you can't exactly have a bunch of swans showing off their pantied pussies
with one or more of them red instead of white. I think that's where the
smallness of my tits came from too, but then tits are two bags of fat on
your chest, and I don't have that much fat anywhere.
Well, the girls' gymnastics came to an end when I reached the age at which
the fat, balding, paedophiles with witches' tits who run the business stop
wanking at the thought of underdeveloped, underage, pussy meat, and I was
down to ballet. Not that many blokes are likely to have wanked at the
thought of me, but I'd like to think that some did, just for my self-
esteem and the thought 'been there, done that, got the leotard'. I just
got called less and less, and I realised that it was over when I hadn't
even been to a team practice for a year.
The ballet was a different. OK, Rachel, never a prima ballerina, but a
valued member of the corps. What with the drugs and the perpetual
exercises and warm-ups, mostly the girls don't think about sex at all, and
the boys are thinking too much about each others' arseholes. I'd shared
beds with most of the girls at one time or another, and when on tour I'd
got round to a little bit of digital exploration with most of them. Most?
It was the fucking lot! Finally, I got an invitation to service the prima
ballerina, Lydia Arkadianova (or Annabel Hoare as she had been before
taking a stage name. A. Hoare - what a joke). She was in her late twenties
and I was younger. It wasn't enough for her to do the finger and mouth
routine, and she'd produced a leather strap-on system with a huge black
rubber cock. I didn't fancy it the other way round, I can tell you.
Anyway, it was a bit of a struggle to get in the harness of the damn
thing, and she'd gone off the boil a bit, so I held her down and got the
cock tip in her, which livened her up a bit, and before long we were hard
at it. She had a twat like a Wizard's Sleeve, but even so, this bloody
great thing, the like of which I've never seen before or since, was very
obviously filling her to the extreme. Not only did she have a twat of
significant proportions, she had a voice with all the penetrating powers
of the foghorn on an ocean liner, and when she began to come, it echoed
down the corridors bringing half the troupe management out, along with a
clutch of dancers, all hastily fastening their silk dressing gowns, with
both boys and girls wearing dabs of facecream and mincing like they still
had ballet shoes on.
The manager called from outside "Lydia, are you OK," meaning, I suppose,
'Are you being raped, dear?' or 'Have you fallen down and painfully broken
a leg in three places, luvvie, so we are all now completely fucked?'
"Don't stop," breathed Lydia in my ear, so I didn't, and when the Manager
tried the door, the big error of the evening was revealed, as the bloody
thing wasn't locked, and he burst in to see my harnessed arse bouncing up
and down, and this huge black cock sliding in and out of Lydia's bucket.
Anyway, after the obligatory screams had died down, Lydia changed her
mind, and accused me of forcing myself on her (I had, but just that tiny,
tiny, bit). She also had a week-long fit of the vapours, refusing to come
out of her room. I was stripped of the harness and its weapon, and sent
off elsewhere. In the morning, several of the lying bitches in the chorus
line had also decided that they would join in the scratch-fest, and I was
rudely told to 'Fuck Off'. Anyway, it's an ill-wind. Anastasia (really she
was called Margot Fontaine - but she was told in no uncertain terms that
she couldn't use that as it was disrespectful) got the stand-in role, and
promised me unlimited lesbo activity in a whispered goodbye. Bitch, I'm
still waiting. As for the harness with the huge black cock - it fell into
the hands of the manager and the boys, and what they did with it, and to
each other with it, is better imagined than articulated.
So, I slunk off home to my parents' house, confessed to my tearful mother
what I'd done and made the mistake of letting Dad listen. He's not in the
first flush of youth, mind, but he got the serious horn over it, and the
end result was that Mum got a serious going over with a pink flesh cock
several times in the night until he'd exhausted himself, and up to a
point, her. I discovered that his prostate ached afterwards - serve him
right - and as it was a weekend and the family doctor was taking a break
we carted him off to the Accident and Emergency Hospital for a prostate
exam the following morning. I'll bet that brightened his day!
Anyway, I had to sleep somewhere, it was not a large house, and my sister
had taken over my old bedroom, and hers was filled to the ceiling with
boxes of clothes Mum had acquired for the Charity Shop where she worked.
They didn't have a stockroom, or that was already filled. So, I went in
with my younger sister Melanie. She was wearing a long nightie, and I had
borrowed some of Dad's pyjamas (well, he wasn't going to wear them, now
was he?), and cuddled up to my sister. No, you filthy perverts, she's my
sister! We lay facing each other, and she told me in great and sordid
detail about being fucked by her super-endowed stud boyfriend. At the end
of it I knew more about semen, its taste, smell and texture, and where it
can go, than is decent to repeat. OK, for the guys with a kink ... No,
bollocks to that. Imagine it yourself. But apparently, best of all are the
throbbing pulses of a come inside you, with the hot wet feeling
immediately afterwards. It's also an acquired taste, apparently (Melanie
had acquired it already). I fell asleep thinking how great it would be to
be a guy fucking a hot bitch like Melanie, or even Anastasia (who was
skinny) or even Lydia's bottomless pit, the latters' legs bent back more
than 180 degrees, making their red turkey-wattle genitalia stand out, and
with their toes curling in ecstasy inside their pink ballet shoes.
So, after taking Dad to A & E, hanging around for some hours, paying the
extortionate fee for the hospital car park, and getting back home, I had
some now-futile exercises to do, and the job of looking for a job. Wasn't
it around then that we last talked, Rachel? I might have got one quicker
if I'd let myself be fucked, but that would have brought its own
difficulties, because once they'd seen me stripped off, most guys would
have had a bad case of droop syndrome. But, I did suck a lot of cocks, and
licked the corresponding sensitive areas of some todger dodgers like
myself. Unlike Melanie, I can't get too enthused at the idea of a mouthful
of knob-snot (or any other orifice full, for that matter). Eventually,
however, I landed a job with a stunts outfit, imaginatively called
'Cunning Stunts Inc', the Inc bit slightly spoiling the Spoonerism. The
name was a nod in the direction of a long-gone foul comedian disc jockey
called Kenny Everett, and it had been arrived at by mutual agreement
between the two founder stuntmen Kenny Kinnell and Toby Everett. In the
game, Kenny was usually known as 'Fur', and Toby as Hamlet. It took me a
further five seconds to work that one out, as in 'To-by or not To-by', Fur
came instantly. God, there are some comedians about, aren't there?
I had to think about a stage name, I'd been Titania Kieva in the ballet,
but that didn't seem to work as a stunt girl. I toyed with returning to my
real name, Mary Hough (that's pronounced 'Huff', by the way), but I'd had
enough of 'Hairy Muff' at school. Poor old Mum: Dad had met her when he
was working up in Shetland, and he'd courted her despite (or maybe because
of) the fact that she was a Twatt, and lived in the village of Twatt, but
I couldn't see myself as 'Hairy Twatt-Muff' as a tag line forever.
Memorable it might be, but potentially cringeworthy. I knew about such
things, as I'd seen the reactions when Mum had to fill in a form with her
maiden name or place of birth, ranging from offence taken, through
incredulity, to hysterical laughter. So Mum, you old cow, that's why you
and Dad cursed me with Hairy Muff, was it? Revenge on a cruel world via
your eldest daughter? Fur Kinnell!
I might be lesbian, and by some standards aggressively so, but I don't
hate men. I have lots of them as friends, and none more so now than Fur
and Hamlet. One of our schoolfriends, Rachel, you'll remember him, is Nick
Dawson. I bumped into him in the street, but it was cold, so we went into
Costa for a coffee. He's a nice guy, and he was looking at me as I took my
coat and scarf off in the way that says 'I hope I'm going to like what I
see. I may turn on the charm, and then, if you are lucky, I'll fuck the
arse off you', but unfortunately I was wearing classic lesbo dungarees,
and the absence of tit was a grave disappointment to the poor man. Anyway,
I told him selected parts of the above, and winded up asking him if he had
any suggestions for a stage name. He was back in a flash.
"Hey, what about continuing the Russian theme with 'Ivana Suknikoff'?"
That got him a friendly punch on the arm, and a mock expression of pain
from him in return. He tried several other ribaldries, along with some
that were simply androgynous like 'Storm Tempest', before we eventually
found one I'd like that contained a certain smut and some charm: Chalyss
Fox-Pelt. Hah. I liked the idea of the double-barrelled surname, and the
hint of furry cup! From then on, I was Chalyss, the stunt woman, and I owe
that to him.
In the seven years that I've been doing it, from age 25 until now, I've
done all sorts of jobs, and never been out of work - finish one thing and
start another. Trust me, Rachel, I worked with all manner of actors and
actresses. Yep. I know that we aren't supposed to use the feminine because
we have to be gender-free and politically-correct, but I fuck women and
not men, so there! Mind you, I'd be even busier if only the government
would support the Arts and Cinema properly. We never got a decent grant
for the ballet, so we were scratching round for money all the time, and
the UK film industry is on its knees because the government won't cough
up. And look at the stupid things they spend money on! The last I heard
they were cutting money for Trade Union activists as well. The Bastards!
Anyway, I got to know lots of British luvvies, and plenty of Americans. A
lot of the guys are tiny enough to be jockeys, you know, and many of the
women are tall - it's what makes them look slim, and the small guys find
it easier to look ripped. So, I was in much more demand than Fur and
Hamlet, although they didn't mind, as we're all in it for the money as
well as the Art, and they manage the business about which I can't be
arsed. What I hate most are those macho dicks who want to do their own
stunts. It's my living, fuckwits! And if you get injured, the whole film
disappears up a financial arsehole! So, when it came to a certain actor,
who isn't very tall, but is very famous, who had hurt his bollocks in a
bad landing doing one of his own stunts, I got the job. He probably owes
Debbie a lot, as she was there with ice packs and painkillers, and later
proved to his satisfaction that the ensemble still worked, although I
might add not much to her satisfaction, as he has a small dick, comes too
soon, and it's only a tiny thin dribble - she says. I had haircuts, wigs,
padding, prosthetics, and once again, I was in men's clothes, looking
rather like the guy himself.
Eventually, and all too soon because I was having fun, it was time to
close down the operation while the CGI artists took over. We had a party,
and during it, the actor came over to me and Debbie, where I was fending
off the attentions of both men and women - directed to her, that is. He
knew that she is Bi, and I am Lez, but the film industry is part of the
Standard-Bearer Team for LGBT rights, and anyone who doesn't like it just
fucks off of their own volition. "Hey, Chalyss," he began, "I really owe
you two on this set. What can I do for you?" He looked as if he was
getting out his wallet, as getting his dick out wouldn't even excite
Debbie's juices any more, even though she'd been a big fan. It was Debbie
who made the request.
"Well was on the neighbouring table, also naked. He
turned his head and smiled. I had a good look, and sure enough, Debs had
got it right, the bollocks swelling had gone down, and what was on display
wasn't huge. That's an understatement: it was tiny. Debbie's assistant got
there even earlier than we did, and had depilated the man all over, and
they were bleaching his skin and recolouring it. I've got a shaved fanny,
but it had got stubbly, and while they were working on .
The nurse then slipped the lubricated catheter inside me, and I felt it
weird, but not uncomfortable. "It has to inflate to seal it in place
without leaks," she said, and I sensed rather than felt the end balloon
inside me. I felt and watched as they dried around my quim, and glued up
my vagina but with a little drain tube. "We wanted to get your secretions
out like pre-come. We know it works with pee, but this is experimental."
The penis and testicles prosthetic was brought out, and I was amazed. It
looked huge, and heavy. The two tubes were inserted in in, past the little
valve that controlled the catheter, all built inside. "You press here to
let pee out. But there's always some left in the tube, so you must milk it
out or shake. Guys' underpants don't have a comfy absorbent gusset, and if
you are careless it will look like you peed yourself!" she said. I reached
down to try the valve. "Don't," she yelled hastily. "The bulb takes up
some bladder space so you'll want to pee more often, but if you release it
now you'll upset the glueing." I could see the point of that, and waited
patiently, all the time feeling more and more like a pee.
It was another hour before all was pronounced functional, and I was
allowed to stand up, and a bowl was brought. I was getting desperate. I
felt for the valve and pressed it, and an instant later, piss spurted from
the end of the monster, and I held it to point it in the right place.
Amazing! I chased a bubble round the bowl just like guys do! It was
definitely a show-er, and not a grow-er, as they only had a small erectile
capability which was more to stiffen it than to enlarge it. It might not
have been the black dildo, but it was a far more formidable tube steak
than came back with us to the house. We took turns
filming each other on a small digicam, as we undressed. I don't know who
was more pissed, him or us. He filmed us as I mounted Debs, having pumped
up the member. I kept it pumped up most of the night, and once again in
the morning, before the fluid expired and it wouldn't stay up any more.
Now I know how a man feels, but he'd have to be a helluva man to match
that! By the following day, Debs was slightly out of it, as some
substances she'd consumed left her exhausted - or maybe it was coming so
much.
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