Friday, November 15, 1996

Fiction: Genie

One day, as I walked along the beach at sunset, melancholy, depressed about my lack of luck in love,  a strange looking bottle caught my eye as it glistened in the fading sunlight.  I picked it up, cleaned it with my sweater, and nearly shit myself as a massive djinn billowed out of the bottle.

"You have released me from my prison of a thousand years.  I grant you anything you wish for," said the djinn.
Unable to pass up such a wicked deal, I instantly wished for infinite wishes.  The djinn was reluctant, but he had to accept.  Oh, well.  That's his problem.

Amazed with the possibilities, the infinite possibilities, I sat there dumbstruck.  Then I wished myself a few trillion dollars, and a harem of beautiful women.  That's when my good fortune began.

My women were all ugly.  So I wished for new women.  I had to give specific details, and I found myself completely unable to sufficiently describe a woman adequately enough so that she would appear to me as perfectly as she had in my imagination.  So I began to pick and choose from the real women in the world.  I started with the [girl I met at a live music show who models skin care products].  And I added the blonde from music class and the hippie girl from school.  I had them all at once.  I didn't give a damn what any present girlfriend thought, although I made sure to wish for her eternal happiness with men, out of a sense of combined guilt and respect.

But this grew tiresome.  Mostly, the girls just didn't connect as well as I could have hoped.  I wished for them to, but it wasn't the same.

Then I got the idea.

"Djinn," I asked, "I wish for my ultimate sexual fantasy to be fulfilled immediately, whatever that may be; and to make sure that there is no mistake, I wish that you might have a perfectly clear idea of exactly what my fantasy is."

Then the djinn replied, "These wishes test the limits of my power.  You must choose now whether you want to keep this fantasy as reality or return to an entirely mundane way of life of before.  They are your only two choices."

"So, let me get this straight," I said.  "I have a choice of either living my ultimate sexual fantasy forever, or returning to my normal life forever.  Tough choice."

"Do not choose too quickly.  No one fully understands the extent of their fantasies until they truly live them out. . ."

"I choose to live my fantasy forever," I immediately answered, perhaps too rashly.  But I think it must have been the best decision I ever made, even though I had my necessary doubts for a long time afterwards.

The djinn laughed and said, "as you wish," and snapped his fingers.  He disappeared in a puff of smoke, and I looked forward to being swept away by beautiful maidens who would fuck my ever-potent immortal dick forever until the end of time.

But it didn't happen.  I stood on the sidewalk where the thought had struck me to wish for this and waited for things to happen instantly.  But nothing came.  I began to wonder if the djinn had somehow tricked me.
Just then, an explosion rocked me off my feet.  I was knocked out cold.  When I woke up, it was in a dark room, all alone.

I felt fine.  I was uninjured.  But I had to wait for hours for anything to happen.

It was then that I noticed that I was naked, and in a small cell.  A huge beast of a man came to my door, unlocked it, and dragged me out.  I was powerless, and surrounded by big burly guards.  They threw me into a room, where a beautiful woman sat upon a sort of throne, attended by plenty of other beautiful girls, scantily clad.  I was made to kneel in front of her.  So much for my fantasy, I thought.

"You have been chosen," she announced to me, "to further the causes of women.  You will soon be indoctrinated in our ways."  She waved a hand, and the room cleared, and we were alone together.

She came off her throne, and sashayed over to me.  She was wearing fishnet stockings, a tight little skirt, and a tight little blouse, accentuating her tits, her ass, and her legs.  She was blonde.  It was the Noxzema girl, the hippie girl, the music girl, all the beautiful girls wrapped up in one.  My eyes virtually popped out of my head.  "Do you like girls?" she asked.  I could only stare in amazement.  My dick was flaccid with embarrassment.

"Well, you don't seem to be very excited.  But I know that you are.  You have to do me a favour.  You see, I need some people to help me in my little cause.  And you're a prime candidate.  I know you like girls.  I know you want to fuck me.  But I have to change all that.  You don't have to understand why.  There's nothing you can do about it.  You've been chosen.  You will do everything I tell you to, not because I tell you to, but because you will desperately need to to fulfill your own petty desires.  Any questions?"

I stammered.  This was pretty much what I had told all the girls in my harem when I wished for them and got them.  Except for having to change anything.  I started to get a huge boner.

"Since, you're speechless, let's get started."  She shoved her genitals in my face, and let me undress her, bit by bit.  I worshipped her every curve, every little feature.  We fucked like animals for a long, long time.  It was the best sex I had ever had.  It is still the best sex I have ever had.  I will never forget it.  I thought that my existence would hereafter be slavery to this beautiful woman forever.  And I could never get out of it.  And I feared that my decision had been too hasty.  As much as I enjoyed fucking this goddess, I didn't want to be her slave forever.  But it was only just beginning.

We did it all.  She blew me.  I ate her out.  We had 69.  I tit fucked her.  I fucked her up the ass.  She fucked me up the ass with a dildo.  I dressed up in her clothes.  We added one of her girls into the mix.  We tossed her and added another man in.  I was shocked to discover how far I would go to please us both.  For the first time ever, I had a sexual encounter with a man, albeit she was the focus of my attention.  I actually sucked him off for her.  Throughout the entire time, I must have come a hundred times, and instantly reloaded.  It was fantastic.

I was quite surprised when, after she had finished with me, she turfed me, naked as I was, and exhausted from so much incredible gratification, onto the street.  I was alone and helpless.  I hated her for treating me like that, and vowed to either forget about her, or if I ever saw her again, to kill her.  I was completely disillusioned about my djinn.

I went home to my palace, and fucked the girls in my harem as I had before.  But they were so very bland compared to the goddess.  I thought of her in her little panties and bra as I had my way with my harem girls.  The picture jsut wouldn't go away.

I hoped to forget.  But I just couldn't get that picture out of my mind.  I found myself thinking about those panties.  How I had worn them myself, how much fun I had with her.  I tried to recreate the experience I had with her with my harem girls.

I had routinely had several at a time, so that was nothing new.  And I had sucked every part of their bodies, and had every part of mine sucked in turn by each of them.  So I experimented with their panties, too, and restored some of the drama, some of the chemistry.  Only the harem girls laughed irreverently, secretly, at my little experiment.  They didn't appreciate true femininity.  They didn't know how to please me like that goddess did.  I continued to do it, and continued to titillate myself, in spite of their derision.  I'm sure they like it anyway.  I sure as Hell did.

But I couldn't get away from it.  The panties were my only link to the goddess.  Sure, they weren't hers, but still, the fact that I wore any at all made me think of her.  I needed to relive that moment.  I desperately needed to wear women's underwear to satisfy myself.  It slowly became a necessary staple in my sexual encounters with my harem girls.  Soon I couldn't do without them.  I would buy new lingerie for them with the view in mind of slipping into it myself after stripping it off of them.  

It got to be so bad that I couldn't come without girls' clothes on me.  I needed to wear panties to come.  It sure was ironic: here I was asserting my manhood with the harem girls by wearing their underwear.  Eventually, I stopped touching them, because I could get more satisfacton from just prancing around in their panties and brassieres and teddies and garter belts than by fucking them.  I was completely transformed: I thought of the goddess, and of my pleasure in recreating the experience of that fantastic encounter.  I stopped having the girls come to me, strip, and give me their clothes; I asked them to bring it to me first.  I asked to try things on with them.  Of course, this was still always in our private sexual encounters.  Nothing was ever said about this outside of the proverbial bedroom.  I never ventured out of the bedroom to get women's clothes on.  Up to that point, anyway.  I just felt the need to wear girls' stuff so strongly that I eventually started stealing into the girls' wardrobes to steal a peek at their panties.  And then to touch them.  And then to wear them, while they weren't around. 

I started wearing girls' panties under my clothes.  It made me feel so sexy, so connected to that mysterious goddess.  My girls would never miss their panties, considering how much underwear they had to choose from.  Still, I was careful never to be caught by them wearing it before they gave it to me.  For a while at least.  Then I started meeting them, and stripping down to my panties and bra.  We were virtually mirror images of each other.

Even that wasn't enough.  I still felt too distant from the goddess.  I started thinking about how great it felt to be feminine.  I realized that the goddess wasn't the center of my sexual thoughts anymore.  I was just using her as an excuse to justify my wearing women's underwear.  I began to realize that this must be leading up to my ultimate sexual fantasy.  It was just too incredibly tantalizing to give up.  On a whim, I shaved my legs.
Pretty soon, I was completely femininely attired under my clothes: under my shirt and pants, I had some kind of lingerie covering a hairless body.  My hair was long.  Being feminine made me feel incredible.  I saw less and less of the harem girls.  I relished taking off my suit at the end of the day, and finding my femininely attired body underneath.  I wore girls' panties all the time.  

Now I was thinking that this is the height of my eternal fantasy.  But little did I know how much more there was to come.  

I didn't expect one day as I went on my daily walk to spot the woman who had introduced me to such unearthly delights.  I ran after her, and I accosted her.  How I wished I still had the power of wishes, so that I could subjugate her and keep her forever in my harem!  But that would not be the case.  Instead, I had to go the old fashioned way.  I had to talk to her.

She recognized me instantly.  She gave me a wink, and we flirted over a cup of coffee.  She invited me back to her place, and I accepted.

Once inside, she said, "so, by now, you must have found yourself making choices you never thought possible."  I asked her what she meant, knowing full well what she meant, but too guilty to admit it.  She stepped towards me, and tore off my shirt, revealing my flowery, lacy bra.

"Ha!  I knew it!  Well done.  Go home.  I'm glad to see you're doing what I want."

I was hurt.  Again.  I couldn't believe that she was turfing me again.  I pleaded with her to keep me along, to have another fling just for old times' sake.  She laughed, and pushed me to the door.

"But wait," I pleaded.  "Can I at least have something to remember you by?"

"I suppose," she answered, and she disappeared into her bedroom.  She came back and handed me a bikini.  I was enthralled, and looked forward to slipping into it later.  Satisfied (amazingly) I left.  And did I ever wear that bikini!

But it wasn't enough.  I had to have more.  I needed to be more feminine.  On a whim, I started looking into taking female hormones, to give me tits and a waist, and remove my hair, and change my voice.  After a long time of deliberating, I took the plunge.  I started turning myself into a girl.  After only a few years of constant masturbating in women's clothes, I began to notice significant improvements to my figure.  I was looking good.  I started wearing skirts and blouses.  My harem women were both appalled and amused.  My guards and servants were shocked.  I was beginning to flaunt my femininity.  I wore makeup, pantihose, heels, the whole works.  I had made myself into a complete transsexual.  All I needed was a cunt, and I would be female.  I often wondered at this point if this was my ultimate sexual fantasy.  But it wasn't over yet.

To try to feel more feminine, that is, to continue in the way that I thought I had to go to fulfill my fantasy, I started to pick up men.  I started having sex with men.  They fucked me up my girlish ass, and I sucked their dicks.  Those who found out that I was actually still a boy either didn't care, or ran away.  I didn't care who knew.  But I found that I didn't quite enjoy it.  I still longed for femininity.  I still wanted to caress tits (not my own) and eat pussy.  Pussy was still tops on my mind, and it wouldn't go away.  I was stuck.

Then it all came to fruition.  As I strutted my girly butt down the street, she made herself visible to me again.  She took me back, and told me, "yes, now I can see that you're almost ready."  I followed her home again, and she led me into a large chamber.  In it were the beautiful servant maidens I had seen before, when I was brought to her naked.  Each and every one of them had a dick.  They welcomed me to the fold, and I stripped down with them.  These were men, too.  

Now my fantasy came to its conclusion.  I found myself cuddling up to one of the "girls," and admiring her beautiful, lithe girl's body, and rubbing my silken-covered cock against hers.  I was rubbing up against the most beautiful women on earth, and they were all men.  The feeling of silk on silk, of lace on silk, of satin on lace, etc. etc. etc. gave me the most pleasurable experience since the one with my goddess.  Then I understood that I was to attend on her always, just like the rest of the girls.  

So my ultimate fantasy had come true: I got to fuck my goddess, and her servant girls, some of whom were actually transsexuals.  

Then djinn reappeared to me, and asked me if I ws still happy with my choice.  And although I was reduced to a sex object, always fucking, always ready to come, always hard, and immortal, I had to say, YES, I want to be like this forever.  So here I am, wearing girls' clothing only, and rubbing up against another girl's dick, while eating out the goddess.  Forever.

Friday, November 01, 1996

Fiction: Sci-Fi War of the Sexes

So how many times will I sneak into the computer room late at night, when everyone's asleep, just to glorify my masturbatory fantasies?  I must admit that this makes it that much more exciting.  It allows me to work out the details of my fantasy before I begin, and work myself to the highest pitch of desire.  I never have anything to add.  I just have a vague sense of having to elaborate my own deepest fantasy to myself one more time, just to try to get to the very bottom of it.  Now, I think that after 50 pages of this, I've come about as close as I'm going to get.  It's not even the point anymore.  God only knows how many times I've repeated myself.  One of these days, I should re-read all of this.  It'll take a while, for sure.  Oh, well.  If only I could write about other things with this much passion.  I only hope that no one ever discovers this. . .

I checked out one of [my brother]'s Heavy Metal comics.  Cheesy sex-comics, with unbelievable depictions of women.  I always want to wear their clothes.  I love their outfits.  That's what I want to be: a sexy girl in those tawdry comic books.  I could picture my own cheesy comic installment. . .

Futuristic city-scape.  Tall round buildings, twisted metallic stuff all over, with tubes and wires everywhere.  Sexy women in skimpy clothing everywhere.  No men to be seen.  

Focus on supreme sex-goddess on a throne, in the sexiest clothing you've ever seen.  At her feet lie prostrate hundreds of adoring naked men.  They are her slaves.

Cockamammie dialogue about the War between the sexes.  Reproduction has become obsolete, because women don't go through pregnancies anymore.  Fetuses are incubated until birth.  Sex's only purpose now is pleasure.

Men, of course, wanted to control all the pleasure.  They wanted women to be their private sex toys.  But women know better than to want such loveless garbage.  After centuries of slavery under men, women in harems and brothels etc begin to find a taste for pussy, too.  They discover that they don't even need men for pleasure anymore.  So they begin to collaborate secretly, to overthrow men.

Men are at first oblivious to this.  But then the hostility becomes unbearable.  Women create societies of their own, with their men-children as slaves, a lower class which does all the dirty work.  They are filthy and stupid, and only good for cleaning.  Not even good for sex anymore, because women all fuck each other now.  Men have no place in this system.  Until the wars.

Switch to explosions, destruction.  A male attack on the female city.  Chaos.  Action.  The men need to recapture the women, because they can't allow themselves to become fags.  They desperately need women, their soft round bodies, etc.  Can't do without them.

The battle ends.  The male ship leaves, having destroyed a significant part of the city.  Goddess calls for revenge.  The war escalates.

Various scenes show the intrigues in each court.  The men know they're in trouble.  They rape the women they've captured, and fuck them so much that the women soon die.  Some men however keep female hostages, and keep them from other men.  They guard them jealously.  Women are the most precious possession anywhere.  Meanwhile, the men captured by women become mere drones, who have no sex at all.

The women, however, devise a sort of plan.  They know how valuable they are to men, so they find a way to destroy masculinity from within.  They pretend to be willing to have sex with men, but coax them to wear their underwear.  This underwear destroys the men mentally.  Gives them into the power of the women.
Thus women are banned in the male world.  Women must be destroyed, because they are insidious and dangerous.  So men no longer capture women.

But women have discovered their great advantage.  They capture men and turn them into their pawns, and return them to manworld as if nothing has happened.  These men tear down the male establishment completely.

So naturally, the male champion falls in love with the goddess.  She loves him despite the centuries of being a lesbian.  Her ultimate goal is to capture the male leader and make him her personal slave.  this is only alluded to.

So the battles rage.  Male forces dwindle.  The decisive battle.

The male champion is captured, and brought to the goddess.  The surviving men despair for the loss of their champion, whom they presume dead.  But the goddess goes on to capture the rest of the men.  As a final embarrassment to her defeated foes, she produces her captive, their former champion.

He emerges onto the stage at her command.  He is completely subservient to her.  He is wearing his male clothing.

She publicly commands him to do silly things, like kiss her delicate, stockinged feet.  She commands him to remove his clothes in front of her as in a strip tease, dancing like a girl.  He stands naked in front of her, for all the world to see.  

Then she stands up, and tells him to stop.  She commands him to sit like a dog.  She begins to remove her own clothing.  She simply drops it on the ground in front of him.  Then she has her other slaves put the two sets of clothing in two piles, and bring her out another skimpy outfit.

In front of the whole world, she asks him to get dressed in whatever clothing he prefers.  Whatever he feels more comfortable in.  Without hesitation, he slips into her discarded clothing, greedily, lustily, as if he were digging into a meal after a long period of fasting.  He prances around like a girlie, happily attired in the goddess's skimpy underwear.  The whole horde of men are completely demoralized, and are forever defeated.

The end.

Of course, within this whole comic book story is the matter of choice.  The moment when the champion discovers the virtue of wearing girls' underwear.  He is given the choice, and he reluctantly discovers why he has feared for so long to act out his secret fantasy of slipping on women's panties.  He discovers that doing so is far more sexy and far more satisfying than anything he has ever experienced.  He discovers that he loves it so much, that he can't prevent himself from going back to it.

Still, I like the idea of training.  Or of a long period of transformation, involving countless guilty forays into femininity.  Like me.

Just think.  They have to train him to wear it.  But they always watch.  They are always a part of the process.  Unlike me.  They enjoy watching him initially refuse to wear what they put in front of him, and slowly give in, not to their coaxing, but to his own irresistible desire.  Like mine.  He simply can't stop himself from wanting to wear women's underwear.  So he wears it, and while he wears it, longs for the next time.

One thing I was intrigued by tonight, before I began to write this drivel, was how in the earliest stages of my experimentation, I was always afraid of direct contact with the feminine garment.  Or to be more specific, I always needed some kind of protection on my genitals from actual women's wear.  I had to be wearing my underwear underneath the pantihose or bathing suit I dared to slip into.  I needed that anchor to my sexuality.  I couldn't accept that I was succumbing to abject femininity when I put on some article of women's clothing.  meanwhile, I fantasized about it all the time.  I used to roll up my underwear to make them more skimpy, and thus more feminine.  This was very satisfying for a time.

But slowly, I allowed myself, in my feverish desire, to remove my protection, and expose myself to the consequences of wearing only women's clothing.  It was a long process.  It sometimes began again when I tried something new.  Eventually, probably after the second bathing suit, I leaped into whatever I captured naked and fearless.  I wanted to feel as feminine as possible.  

But the process was still quite fun.  It was most exciting.  I remember my first tries with pantihose only vaguely.  They were my first concrete experience with women's clothing.  At first, I was very careful not to go overboard.  But I had such a powerful desire to wear them.  All the time.  Whenever I was horny, I wanted to wear something, or pretend to wear something.  So wearing pantihose was first, not only because I always found it so sexy, but because it was so abundant (as I soon discovered, when I dared to sneak a peek into mom's dresser).  What harm could there be if I stole a pair from the hamper for a few minutes, I thought.  I used to come into it, too.  But I started off protected; of that I am sure.

I don't remember when I began to keep a pair of pantihose under my bed.  I don't even know if by then I had begun to experiment with wearing pantihose naked.  But boy, was it fun.  And shameful.  I was very careful about it.

I don't remember when I began to "borrow" the first bathing suit, either.  But I do remember wearing it only for a short time at first, returning it guiltily, and then masturbating.  And at those times, I wore it protected, I'm sure.  The incident I most remember was the discovery of the second bathing suit.

I tried it on, mostly because I had stuffed the first one, which I had stolen, all covered in come, into the sides of my waterbed, where it began to stink horribly.  So I needed a new one.  I tried this new one on one afternoon, with my underwear on.  And I was shocked to discover how wonderfully tight and thick and smooth it seemed to be on my body.  I danced around in it, but soon took it off.  It was just too intense.  But soon thereafter, palpitating with desire, I returned for it, and tried it on naked.  It was the most intense experience up to that point of my young life.  I was amazed.  I was hooked.  I loved it.

But I think I already might have owned the first bikini bottom.  That one was extraordinarily intense, too.
Anyway, the point is that I had to protect myself from the magical power of the article of women's wear.  It's like a firm belief in sympathetic magic: if I wear women's clothing, I will become a woman.  The idea appealed to me in a very sexual way, even though I didn't want to admit it.

Now I do readily admit it in private.  I'm wearing my lingerie outfit now, and wish I had a bra to go with my panties.  Or smaller panties with a matching bra.  And a nice little skimpy bikini.  That's all I want.  One day...