fitting
- 4 years ago
- 23
- 0
Fitting In free porn video
Fitting In
The woman sitting next to me on the couch was about my age. She took a
cigarette out of a pack, her dark fingers raising that white tube to her
brown face as she smiled at me. She put her lips on that whiteness, lit
it with a match, and sucked at it while my cock began to rise in my
pants..
I looked across the room at the mirror on the opposite wall. I looked
very white, while this woman seemed a buttery shade of brown.
She exhaled a stream of smoke, and I turned back to look at her.
My eyes took in her generous bosom. I wanted to see her breasts
uncovered and bury my face in them, kissing and sucking them.
She puffed again, then put her cigarette in an ashtray.
"What do you want, Jerry?" she asked me.
"What?" I asked.
She unbuttoned her blouse as I stared in disbelief at her. Smiling, she
reached up and undid her bra. Her big brown boobs now stuck out directly
at me.
"Jerry, do you want these?" she asked.
My white hand started reading for her nearest brown breast. She caught
it and pushed it back with a smile.
"I want it," I said.
"Jerry Holland," she said. "Do you want these?"
I sighed. My cock pressed against my zipper.
"Yes, I do," I said, and I raised my hands again. Again, she caught my
hand and, with a smile, pushed it down to the sofa.
Her face got serious.
"Jerry James Holland," she asked. "Do you want these?"
I looked at those big brown breasts, her dark nipples, and the valley
between them, and I knew I never wanted anything so much in all my life.
"Oh, God, I do. I want those," I said. "I really do."
The woman smiled at me and nodded. She put her hands behind her head,
and her breasts seemed to stick out even more.
Smiling, I leaned forward and kissed her left nipple. The woman moaned
and lowered her hands, putting them around my head as I began to suck.
Warm and happy, my lips pulled and pulled at her nipple, while she
pressed my head into her breast.
Suddenly, warm liquid shot into my mouth. I began swallowing it, but
there was too much. Her flesh pressed my nostrils shut, and I couldn't
breathe. Her dark flesh began sticking to my face, and while I tried to
pull free, I couldn't.
I tried to turn my head and twist free, but she wouldn't let me move. I
wanted to breathe, and I couldn't.
I tried to open my mouth and scream. It was stuck to her, and nothing
would give.
I was going to die.
"Help!"
The scream came from my throat, and I screamed again as my eyes opened.
I threw my blankets off and sat up, shivering.
The door opened, and Mom walked in, concern written all over her face.
"Are you all right, Honey?" she asked, putting her arm around me, as she
sat on the bed. "Was it that nightmare again?"
I looked down in embarrassment at my brown breasts and sighed.
"I dreamed I was Jerry again."
I made a fist and hit the bed.
"I've been having this nightmare for nearly a month now," I said. "Am I
going to have it for the rest of my life?"
Mom hugged me, and I hugged her back.
"Honey, I don't know. I never knew that this could happen. I don't know
what to say."
"I know," I said. "I never knew this could happen either."
We sat there silently. I looked at Mom and remembered that she hadn't
always been my Mom, but she had always been kind to me since my change.
We just fit perfectly together, and anyone seeing us would never suspect
that I hadn't emerged from her womb.
"Do you want something?" Mom asked.
I sighed.
"I never have this nightmare more than once a night," I said. "I can
probably get back to sleep now."
After another hug, Mom stood up.
"Goodnight, Honey," she said.
I looked at her and thought again of how lucky I was.
"Goodnight, Mom."
XXX
"Is this Adams' Business Services?" the woman on the phone asked. "Do
you prepare book manuscripts?"
"Yes, we do," I said.
And with that, I totally changed my life.
My name was Jerry Holland. I had just graduated from college in the
Spring of 1983, right in the middle of a recession, and the only job I
could find was typing for Adams' Business Services, a minority-owned
business that provided secretarial services for other small businesses.
One sideline for our business was typing term papers, theses, and
dissertations. And that is how Dr. Diane Jordan found ABS and blew my
life up.
Well, I guess if I'm honest, it wasn't Dr. Jordan's fault.
My life had gotten stuck at a crossroads. I had graduated from college
and was doing a job I could have done out of high school.
Frankly, I didn't fit in at ABS. I was the only white employee. I was
the only male employee. I was the only person there who didn't smoke.
I didn't like it there. Mrs. Adams, my boss, was fine, and my co-workers
were friendly, but I just felt like the odd one out.
I didn't even tell people about my job. My mom knew I worked for Adams
Business Services, but she assumed I worked with and for white people.
If she knew my boss was a black woman, she would have told me to quit and
get a respectable job.
Then there was my personal life.
I was still a virgin. I had never fit in at high school, and while I had
dated several girls in college, it had never gone anywhere serious.
I had to get my life in gear, I would tell myself.
But then nothing would happen.
Meanwhile, I had Kathy sitting across from me in the office every day.
She was my age, tall, and well-built. After I had been sitting across
from her for a week, I started dreaming about her, or more specifically
her breasts. She was a deep bosomed woman, and when my head hit the
pillow at night, I would think about what Kathy looked like without her
clothes, and how it would be to touch and kiss those big brown breasts of
hers.
Of course, I couldn't date her.
My mom would throw a fit if I brought her to the house. The neighbors
would throw rocks at my car if I brought her to the house. My relatives
would never speak to me again if I dated her, let alone married her.
But six days a week, I would sit across the office from Kathy and type.
I would watch her walk back and forth from her desk to the snack room,
watch her smoke, and chat when there was down time. She was a nice
person, and I wanted to take our relationship to the next level.
Without getting killed or kicked out of my family or neighborhood.
And that was where I was when Dr. Jordan called and asked if Adams
Business services prepared book manuscripts.
"Yes we do," I said, and I quoted her our rates.
Dr. Jordan stopped by later that day. She was a tall, intense-looking
white woman who wore her graying blonde hair in cornrows and sported a
tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. A big Barnes & Noble
tote bag hung from her shoulder, and she carried a big cardboard box in
her hands.
"Are you the young man I talked to?" she asked, after I opened the office
door for her.
I took the box, which I assumed contained her manuscript, from her. It
felt like she had filled it with bricks. I quickly put in on the edge of
my desk, trying not to make a 'thunk.'. Dr. Jordan shook my hand and
smiled.
"I hope you can make sense out of my manuscript."
"This is going to be a big project," I said to Dr. Jordan. "You'd better
talk to Mrs. Adams."
So I passed Dr. Jordan over to Mrs. Adams, and they talked for better
than an hour. Dr. Jordan became our client, and we began the process of
turning her manuscript into Myths and Legends of the Kashanga.
Although, oddly, I ended up not having anything to do with the book.
Everybody else seemed to have some part to play in it. Kathy typed up
the rough draft, which Mrs. Adams proofed and consulted with Dr. Jordan
about. Sharon typed up the footnotes and bibliography.
I basically did the other projects that came in during that week.
I have to say that I was miffed. I had caught Dr. Jordan's call, yet
here I was typing mailing lists and bills for dentists, and everyone else
was working on a book that actually sounded interesting.
"What's that book like?" I asked Kathy, as she lit a cigarette.
She expelled smoke from her nostrils.
"Weird," she said. She tapped a finger against her head. "I don't know
about that Dr. Jordan. There's a lot of crazy stuff in there."
"Like what?" I asked.
Kathy drew on her cigarette and thought for a while.
"I'm just finishing up this chapter about a missionary," she finally
said. "A British guy who went to Africa in Queen Victoria's time."
"Okay," I said.
She exhaled. "Well, I guess he wasn't really a good missionary. I mean,
he goes to the land of the Kashanga, and they adopted him."
"Well, that sounds okay to me," I said.
Kathy took a last puff, then crushed her cigarette out in her ashtray as
she exhaled. She leaned over and whispered.
"He started worshipping their goddess," she said. "N'Kumba."
"What?"
"This missionary started worshipping N'Kumba, the fertility goddess of
the Kashanga," she said, pointing at the pages she had been typing from.
"That's what this Dr. Jordan says."
I blinked. "I guess he wasn't a good missionary," I said. "Why did he
convert?"
Kathy put her hand over her mouth and laughed. "Dr. Jordan has this
crazy idea," she said. "I don't believe it."
"What?"
Just then the phone rang, and I answered it. It turned out to be a wrong
number for the department store across the street. By the time I had
gotten rid of the caller, Kathy was typing away at the chapter and
chuckling to herself.
"So why did the missionary convert?" I asked Kathy.
She stopped typing and smirked at me. Then she flipped through Dr.
Jordan's manuscript until she found a page.
"This is N'Kumba," she said, showing me a xerox of a drawing of a statue.
I got the impression of a long, almost oval, black face, but my attention
quicky descended to the two very prominent breasts that stuck out from
the torso.
Laughing, Kathy quickly covered the picture up.
"Dr. Jordan has some weird idea about the missionary," she said. "But I
just think he fell in love with a Kashanga woman."
When I lay in bed that night, I thought about Kathy and N'Kumba.
I had talked to Kathy more than any other woman since I had graduated
from college months ago. We got along. I thought she was attractive.
And I hadn't asked her out. I couldn't ask her out. She was black, and
I was white, and there were just too many problems going along with that.
I rolled over and thought about that missionary Kathy had talked about,
the guy who had been adopted by the Kashanga and converted to the worship
of N'Kumba.
Now, he gave up a lot, I thought. He gave up his family, and his faith,
and his status. All the things that he had grown up with, and he gave it
up because he loved this Kashanga woman.
I rolled over. And that was back in Queen Victoria's time, maybe over a
hundred years ago. Giving up all that stuff really must have been hard
for that guy.
I took a deep breath.
If some British guy could risk all that over a century ago, I could
probably ask Kathy out.
Maybe, away from the office, we'd find we didn't really have anything in
common. God knows, my dates with other women hadn't led anywhere, so why
should it be different with Kathy? I was probably building up barriers
in my mind where nothing existed.
Still, I decided before I went to sleep, I ought to tell Mrs. Adams that
I was thinking of dating Kathy. She might have a policy against that.
The next day was a mess. Kathy called in sick, and Dr. Jordan called to
say that there had been a mix-up with the publisher, and she needed her
manuscript finished a week early.
Mrs. Adams walked over to my desk, puffing on a cigarette. She was a
hefty woman, and it always amazed me that a tiny cigarette could calm her
down like it did.
"Jerry," she said. "You'll have to work on Dr. Jordan's book. You type
it up, and I'll proof it. Dr. Jordan needs it tomorrow."
"I'll do my best," I said.
I worked at Kathy's machine. I wanted to look at the chapter about the
missionary and find out what had happened to him, but I was a good guy
and threw myself at the parts of the book that Kathy hadn't typed.
Fortunately, that was just half of the last chapter, the conclusion, and
an appendix.
I have to say that Dr. Jordan was a good writer. Some of the books I've
typed have been dry as dust and left me wondering why anyone would want
to read them. Myths and Legends of the Kashanga had me following the
author's argument with no problem.
The last chapter, or at least the part of it I read, dealt with the
disappearance of the Kashanga. Dr. Jordan's argument was that the
Kashanga had not ceased to be but had managed to hide themselves in other
populations.
"As the case of the Rev. Witherwood suggests, the Kashanga had a flexible
culture and identity, capable of attracting and assimilating outsiders.
In the face of hostile foes, perhaps the Kashanga could dissimulate,
camouflage themselves, and penetrate larger groups, thus surviving until
the time came for their re-emergence at a safer time. The origin myth of
the Kashanga, after all, explicitly condemns traditional warfare and
inflexible ideas of identity in favor of a more fluid view of tribal
belonging.
"It is, perhaps, decisive that the main deity of the Kashanga was the
goddess N'Kumba. Instead of simply a fertility goddess, as the first
writers on the Kashanga assumed, N'Kumba combined the role of trickster
with her maternal role, and, as the example of the Rev. Witherwood
suggests, could bring outsiders into the Kashanga, assimilating them into
the tribe whether they willed it or not."
The Rev. Witherwood, I assumed, must have been that missionary Kathy was
talking about, but this was the only time Dr. Jordan mentioned him in the
last chapter.
The conclusion compared Dr. Jordan's findings to the work of other
anthropologists, and since I hadn't read the book to that point, I was
kind of bored with it.
"How's it going, Jerry?" Mrs. Adams asked.
"Okay," I said, looking up from the word processor. "I'm nearly done
with the conclusion. Then I have the Appendix."
I picked up the two pieces of paper that were paperclipped together. The
original typing had a number of handwritten notes, with strike-throughs
and arrows all over it.
"Looks like a nightmare," I said.
"Well, you'll turn it into something worthwhile," Mrs. Adams said. "Be
sure to read it out loud while you type it, so you know it makes sense."
I noticed she was holding her purse. I glanced at the clock. It wasn't
even five o'clock yet, well before Mrs. Adams usually left.
"Has something come up?" I asked.
"Marjorie called, and I have to pick my nieces up from daycare. I'll
take them to her house and wait until she gets there."
She pointed at the manuscript.
"Finish it up, print it, and leave it for me on my desk. I'll come back
tonight and proof it, so it'll be ready for Dr. Jordan in the morning."
"Will do," I said.
Mrs. Adams left, and I finished typing the conclusion. Then I looked at
the Appendix.
PRAYER TO N'KUMBA
That was clear. The rest of the stuff on the page wasn't.
There were typed words, written words, crossed out words, and arrows
zipping this way and that, up and down the page.
I shook my head, took a deep breath, and began typing as I read the mess
out loud.
"Great Mother N'Kumba, hear my prayer. Open your heart to the heart of
one who loves you. Enclose me in your warmth and feed me with your love.
Wash me in your warmth and bless me as your child. Let me grow to take
my place with your people. Open me and let me bring forth strength for
you. Let me feed your people and teach them your wisdom. Carry me to
the village of the blessed when I die. Great Mother N'Kumba, this is
what I ask."
I looked at the paragraph after I typed it and smiled. I had gotten the
sense out of the chaos that Dr. Jordan had thrown upon the page.
And then my fingers kept typing, and I kept speaking the words I typed.
"Great Mother N'Kumba, hear my prayer. Open your heart to the heart of
one who loves you. Enclose me in your womb and wash me in your warmth.
Enclose me with your flesh and bless me as a Kashanga. Let me take my
place with your people. Open my flesh and let me bear strong children
for you. Let me mother your people and teach them your wisdom. Carry me
to the village of the blessed when I die. Great Mother N'Kumba, this is
what I ask."
I blinked and tried to stop typing, but my fingers kept going. I kept
talking too.
"Great Mother N'Kumba, hear my prayer. Open your heart to me and enclose
me in your womb. Let me be washed away in your blood and emerge to the
world as a true Kashanga, Open my flesh to the seed of my people and let
me bear strong children, nursing them at my breast. Let me teach the
children of my womb your wisdom, and carry me to the village of the
blessed when I die. Great Mother N'Kumba, this is what I ask."
Only now did my fingers stop and my voice fall silent.
What the hell was this?
I read and re-read and re-read again the three paragraphs I had typed,
and each time I did, I found myself nodding with conviction.
Yes, this, these words, this prayer, came from my heart.
I stood up and walked from the word processor to the break room. I
closed the door behind me and began kicking my shoes off.
"Great Mother N'Kumba," I said. "Touch me with your heart."
My heart began to pound rapidly as I let my shirt and pants fall to the
ground. I took off my undershirt and noticed the dark brown spot on the
left of my chest.
"Enfold me in your womb and wash me with your blood."
My skin became warm over my heart, and the warmth spread across my chest
and around my back. It rose to my shoulders and began descending down my
arms, while it spread down my legs. My skin became a deep shade of rose,
and then darkened still further.
I looked down at my brown skin and my heart leaped with joy as I realized
I was becoming the same color as Mrs. Adams.
My penis remained white as my legs became brown. I ran my fingers over
my now hairless legs and became impatient.
"Mother N'Kumba, open my flesh."
The warmth that had coursed through me now concentrated in my phallus.
That flesh now became hard and surged to an erection, but one that hurt
and made me gasp in pain. I swayed on my feet and nearly fell over. An
instant later, however, the skin on my penis began to flake and peel off.
Staring down, I began rubbing my hand over my cock, and with each pass a
layer of flesh became brittle and brushed off, dribbling down to the
floor, yet disintegrating before it landed. However, it still felt good,
warm and tender, and I moved my hand faster and faster over my decaying
flesh, moaning and shaking as my cock got smaller and thinner.
Suddenly, it was gone, and I drew my hand away from my crotch. As I did,
the warmth and tenderness retreated into my belly. I stared at my dark
flesh and couldn't breathe as I could feel things shifting within me down
there.
I raised my head and took a deep breath. I glanced at the clock on the
wall and wondered when Mom would come back.
I blinked. Mrs. Adams wasn't my mother, although I knew damn well she
was. I was so proud to sing in the choir with her, but I remembered
hearing Mom talk to Aunt Marjorie about Richard Roundtree when she
thought I wasn't listening.
"That man is FINE," Mom had said.
I smiled, understanding what Mom had meant. I pictured Roundtree taking
me in his arms and kissing me.
I closed my eyes and shuddered.
An image of Roundtree taking his clothes off popped into my mind.
I gasped as the flesh between my legs opened.
"Oh, yes," I said. "Oh, yes."
I opened my eyes and looked down at my new sex. Not really believing
what I was seeing, I reached down and ran my fingers through the curly
dark hairs that surrounded my new lips. I took a deep breath and then
rubbed these lips.
I moaned as I thought of how a man's cock could push between them. The
idea scared me but made me curious. Gratitude to the goddess filled my
heart, and I smiled when I thought of the day when I would receive a
man's seed.
Would I get pregnant? I wondered, and looked down at my flat chest and
small nipples. How could I nurse a child with a bosom like this?
As I wondered, the warmth within me deepened, strengthened and burned
brighter. It spread throughout me, and I raised my hands to my nipples,
while the hair on my head grew thick and long, reaching to my shoulders.
I ran my fingers through my hair as the heat within me concentrated in my
nipples. I squeezed my nipples. Pleasure swept over me. I poked the
flesh around them with my fingers.
Closing my eyes, I imagined a small hungry mouth crying to be fed, and I
wanted to pick it up and feed it from my body.
"N'Kumba, dear N'Kumba, bless me."
Again I shuddered and nearly fell as my chest sweat. Finally, my nipples
started to puff up and stretch, growing wider across my chest. The flesh
beneath them now swelled and pushed out. I gasped and moaned, trying to
keep on my feet as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. Putting
my palms on my nipples, I could feel each wave of growth as my flesh
pushed and grew out.
A sense of love swelled up in me, and tears began to stream from my eyes
as I remembered Mrs. Adams and how she had always been there for me
through my life.
I am loved, I told myself. I am loved, and I will love.
"Bless you, N'Kumba. Thank you, O Goddess. Thank you."
Finally, a coolness came upon me. I shook my head and glanced at my
clothes on the floor. Baffled, I quickly got back into my panties, bra,
and dress. Slipping my shoes on, I left the break room and went back to
my desk.
I looked at the word processor and read the prayer that I had typed.
"Great Mother N'Kumba, hear the cry of a heart that is open to you.
Bless me and love me. Enfold me with your people and make me yours.
Great Mother, N'Kumba, answer me in your wisdom."
I blinked and looked at the page in Dr. Jordan's original manuscript. I
remembered that it had been marked-up and messy, but now it simply held
the hand-written prayer that I had typed.
The door opened, and Mrs. Adams walked in.
"I'm sorry it took so long, Nicole," she said. "Did you get it typed?"
"Just finished it, Mom," I said. "I think Dr. Jordan will be very happy
with our work."
XXX
I sat on the sofa and smoked, while Jerry sat at the other end and looked
at me.
Actually, Jerry looked at my breasts.
I could see he was pretty uncomfortable. Jerry knew what he wanted to
ask for, but he didn't have the courage to do it. He was pretty shy.
I took a deep drag on my cigarette and decided I had to get things going,
or we'd be here all night. I exhaled and put my cigarette in the ash
tray.
"Jerry, what do you want?" I asked.
"What?"
I sighed and unbuttoned my blouse. As Jerry's eyes grew bigger, I opened
my bra and let my breasts hang free.
I smiled when I saw the stiffness rising in his pants.
"Jerry, do you want these?" I asked.
His mouth opened, and he looked kind of stupid as his hand began reaching
for my left breast. I caught his hand in mine and pushed it back.
"I want it," he said.
I smiled at him.
"Jerry Holland, do you want these?" I asked.
Jerry looked like he was in agony. He could see what he wanted, but he
was embarrassed or ashamed to ask for it.
Finally, desire won out.
"I want it," he said at last.
Again he reached for my breasts, and again I caught his hand and gently
pushed it down. He looked pretty funny, but I didn't want to laugh,
because this was important.
"Jerry James Holland," I said, "do you want these?"
He looked at my breasts like he had some inkling of what was being asked
and how important this was. But then he took a deep breath and answered
truthfully.
"Oh, God, yes. I want those," he said. "I really do."
I put my hands behind my head, and Jerry's mouth nearly hit his knees as
he looked at my breasts. Finally, he leaned forward and put his mouth on
my left nipple.
It felt good as he started to suck. I moaned and brought my hands down.
I put them around Jerry's head and pressed his face against my breast.
Great Mother, N'Kumba, I thought, hear the cry of a heart that is open to
you.
Jerry vanished. The sucking at my breast stopped.
I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling.
I didn't want to scream. I didn't feel like I had experienced a
nightmare. Instead, my dream felt... good. Necessary even. I hadn't
been Jerry this time, and I didn't think I'd ever dream about being him
again.
I thought about Jerry, how he had been fascinated with Kathy's big brown
breasts, so fascinated that a goddess he never believed in heard his
prayer and gave him some.
Or rather, gave me some.
I looked at my bosom and smiled, knowing that someday I would be a mother
and have children who loved me.
I thought about the shy person I had been and felt sorry for him for a
moment. He hadn't been a happy guy, but the goddess had given him a
miracle, and it was up to me to see that our story had a happy ending.
"Goodbye, Jerry," I said and fell asleep.
Author's Note
I hope you have enjoyed "Fitting In."
If you would like to read more of my work, please look for my Tales of
Metamorphosis books at Amazon.
"Goriod: Tales of Metamorphosis # 1" takes place in ancient times and is
available now in Kindle and print.
"Lorinocco: Tales of Metamorphosis # 2" takes place in the 18th Century.
(Forthcoming)
"Patient M: Tales of Metamorphosis # 3" takes place in the 20th
Century.(Forthcoming)
Gigi
- 24.06.2022
- 18
- 0
