Gorillas in the MistChapter 5
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Gorilla Suit free porn video
Gorilla Suit
A Sunday Morning Dream
By Maryanne Peters
I had a nightmare last night that I was a man again. I had hairy legs
and a bristly face, and I had a penis between my legs. I woke in a cold
sweat.
The first thing I did was reach for my crotch. To my relief it was in
perfect order - smooth right to in the in-between. I could not resist
giving myself a little tickle.
I was doubly relieved to find my man lying beside me. His strong body
rose and fell with his slight snoring. It was like the sound of a big
motorcycle idling. Something that I knew could burst into a full-blown
roar if you knew how to twist the throttle.
I did know how. It was half an hour before waking time, but I reached
over to take in my hand the penis that I now called mine. His penis.
He stirred. He grew. He approved.
A girl like me always keeps some lube in the bedside drawer. I like the
one that has a little heat in it. The surgeon did his best work on me.
I am so grateful for that.
Without saying a word I slipped back the covers and I straddled him.
His eyes were still closed, but deliberately. He was pretending to
still be sleeping but he was smiling as I slid slowly down his pole. He
was filling me up. The way it should be.
Our pubic hairs meshed. This is what being a woman is all about. I am
made for him. As a man, he has been designed to penetrate somebody like
me. Somebody with a vagina.
He opened his eyes, and said, "Good morning, Baby."
I put a finger across his lips, but I gave him one of my special looks.
Sort of, slight turn of the head, slightly hooded eyes, slight smile.
My hungry look. My "lie back and enjoy" look. It works every time.
My little twist to get comfortable brings forth a gasp from him, before
I start the rise and fall. Just me, to start with, but as our conjoined
heat rises, his hips come off the mattress to meet me. Our thighs slap
together.
God, I am getting wet just thinking about it. About him. About the
feel of him inside me.
I am on top, but it is nothing like when I was a man. My legs are wide.
My breasts bounce. My long hair dances across them as the trusts become
more vigorous.
He cannot stay silent, and neither can I. But we don't need words or
sounds to know that we will orgasm together. The heat. The heat.
Ohhh. Then his hot seed. My body swallows it up.
I need to dismount. For girls like us, it comes straight out. I need
to have a Kleenex or two on hand.
"What a great way to start the day," he said.
"Just the first of the day," I replied, placing the wet tissues on the
bedside table.
He brushes my hair to one side and kisses me. This is more than just
sex.
The crazy thing is that I did not always want to be a girl. Now, in
this moment, I would not be anything else.
It started with a dare. It was supposed to be a costume for a party.
Dressing in drag. Then my girlfriend at the time said, "We won't need a
wig. With hair as long as yours we just need a few curls."
A few curls was all it took. Once my face was clear and smooth, those
curls dancing about when I shook my head, made me feel like somebody
else. Instead of performing like Rue Paul at the party I found myself
talking to the girls as if I belonged with them.
The first time I was introduced to a guy, it was to someone who knew me
as a guy, but he did not recognize me. He thought I was a woman, and a
stranger to him. Everybody else was almost giggling out loud, but
nobody said anything while he chatted me up. When the laughter burst
out, of course I joined in, but I could see the look on his face -
pained disappointment.
The weird thing was, that was how I felt too, in that moment. We could
have been a couple, that guy and me, If I had been real. But I wasn't
then. I am now.
That was when I first had an inkling that I might not really be the man
I thought I was.
No. That is not right. I have never been that man.
Now, looking back, it was like for the first twenty years of my life I
was trapped in a gorilla suit. I thought that I was a gorilla. I beat
my chest and grunted, and dragged my knuckles along the ground, because
that is what gorillas do. I never looked for the domes on the neck or
the zip in the back to take that damn suit off, because I was a gorilla.
I thought I was. Everybody around me thought I was.
That night was all it took. Once that I had found that I could take the
suit off, I never wanted to put it on again. I wanted to burn that
cursed gorilla suit on a bonfire and dance around that fire in female
nakedness.
When you need to perform as a gorilla you can put the suit back on and
make gorilla noises, but you know you are not a gorilla. You can take
the suit off after the performance. You can plan a life out of costume.
You can get the drugs, and plan the surgery.
But even with the suit off, gorilla-like behavior can emerge. I suppose
that if you have played a gorilla long enough that is not difficult to
understand, even though you know that you never were one of them ever.
You can work on it, but (for me anyway) final freedom on came through
him.
His hand is back on my breast. Surely he is not ready for me again? It
has only been a few minutes.
His had slides down to my inner thigh. I am plucked from nose to toe,
and have been since early in my transition. There is something about
being so totally hairless that is exhilarating. There is no barrier
between the body and the world, not even the light fuzz that born women
have. The very opposite of a gorilla.
It means taking care of that skin. Not just my facial skin routine, but
top to bottom moisturizing, morning and night. I love it because twice
a day I can truly appreciate the body that I have made for myself, and
for him.
My skin is so sensitive that I think that I can even feel the whorls on
his fingertips. It seems that my whole body is a G-spot at a time like
this, but he knows where he can be most effective. There and there.
His touch makes me shudder with delight. I giggle. Such a feminine
sound. It seems to come so naturally now. I can hardly even imitate
the voice I once had.
He is not a big man. Not as big as I am. But you know what they say:
Small guys try harder. I was never one of those. But now I am soft.
Big, soft, smooth and yielding.
He is inside me again. So I can look up at him and give him the smile
that tells him that he is finest man on the planet, on top of a woman
who adores him. At the top of a stroke of his hips he kisses me on my
full lips and pushes aside a curl so that he can see me better. He
wants to see the joy of my climax. He will time his with mine.
The French call it "la petite mort" - the little death. Those seconds
after orgasm when the mind is emptied by the moment, and we are closer
to God. Only a human being can appreciate that.
His acceptance of me as human is all that I need. His desire for me,
and his love for me, is all that I want. The ashes of that gorilla suit
are now just dust in the air.
The End
© Maryanne Peters 2019
Valentina
- 10.05.2022
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Gorillas in the MistChapter 2
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