Orientation

I woke up this morning with a pleasant tingle in my cock. I wasn’t sure if I was up for what that tingle usually foretold, but that’s the way the multiversal ball bounces. I got up slowly so as not to disturb the Mexican beauty I had met and bedded yesterday and tried to remember her name. I drew a blank and decided I would just call her Esmeralda if she woke up. She looked happy and peaceful and she was snoring up a storm. I had properly tumbled with her last night and the memory of her sitting on my face and moaning words of love in Spanish made me smile as I got dressed and went to perform my toilet. I quietly made some strong tea and had the remainder of the scones and honey that my youngest wife had left when she had visited me a couple days ago.

I opened the kitchen window of the cabin I call home these days and let the day inside. The morning air was visibly misty and had an icy chill, and the world seemed to have a peaceful undertone to it, as if nature had temporarily won out over the madness of man and was back in charge.

“If only…,” I muttered to myself, gathering together an old army blanket, my floppy old camouflage hat, fishing pole and tackle box. Opening the door, I surprised a chipmunk that was searching out any stray crumbs beneath the wood table where I usually took my meals and do my romancing. I smiled at the critter as he ran off the porch and darted under the cabin. I checked the batch of stars-in-a-jar I was making for my booth in the Market. Several were too weak for sale, the stars inside blurred, but I noticed that the ones I had set to capture the North star had turned out nicely. The sharp white light of the star contrasted nicely with the inky darkness caught inside the mason jar. These would make good gifts here and would sell well.

Whistling, enjoying the cold Michigan mist stinging my cheeks, I made my way the short distance to the river.

# # #

I saw her come out of the mist and knew right away she was a new one. They have a certain hesitant walk when they first get here that gives them away. I always liken that look to the expression one gets driving a car and realizing that you can’t remember anything about the last twenty miles you’ve driven. She had that look, although when she saw me with my pole in the water she strode more confidently in my direction.

She looked to be in her early thirties, was casually dressed in tight fitting jeans and a worn Chicago Bears tee shirt. Her tennis shoes looked brand new. She was an attractive woman with a nice rack highlighting a trim, athletic looking body. She had dark hair, naturally wavy, that she wore well below her shoulders.

Having some seniority here has its advantages; the gatekeepers have grown to like me and know of my appreciation for pretty women. My wives laugh at me when I tell them I don’t purposely seek these women out…my eldest wife, especially, knows my ways and mutters the same profanities whenever I protest my innocence.

It had become a private joke between us, a profane appreciation she used to tease and scold at the same time.

“Are you the one they call Billy?” she said as she approached me. I shushed her, pointing to my pole and the river, although I hadn’t caught anything in weeks. She caught on quickly and did a little ducking motion with her upper body as she mouthed the word, “sorry”, and I patted a spot on my blanket. I didn’t intend to tell her that my fishing luck was usually bone dry, not if it got her to sit close to me.

She sat down without hesitation, close enough that I got a good whiff of her. Lavender, just like my youngest wife. Her breasts swayed nicely under that Bears shirt when she sat down. No bra.

I liked her.

“They sent me here from…back there?” Her face looked confused, searching my face with a curious expression. Intelligence animated her eyes; it’s much easier when they are smart, I thought. Smart people usually don’t find our impossibilities so hard to accept. Other times it drives them incurably insane.

“They said you would talk to me? They used the words ‘first lesson’?”

“That’s what they call it, although I have told them they ought to call it orientation. You already know most of it; it’s just that your brain hasn’t quite accepted it yet. I just answer questions mostly; help you fill in the blanks.”

She looked from me to the river and back again. A smile formed on her face and I felt my heart do a small flip flop. She had a million dollar smile. It was going to be easy to get in trouble with this one. Ah well, duty calls, I thought.

Her eyes were searching my face now and I directed my attention back to the river. I gave her the chance to look at me and decide for herself how to take me. I already had become a fan of hers, let her look and take me in. I could feel the vibe coming off of her and knew she liked what she saw. Careful now, Billy, let her take the hook, I thought.

I looked at her face and saw the sunlight fall on her like a bright spotlight through the leafy rooftop that we sat under. I tried to memorize her face, to be able to recall it perfectly at some moment in the future. She looked like she was going to ask a question, but she didn’t verbalize it, just continued smiling at me. Finally, wrapping some words around her smile, she spoke.

“Any luck?” she said.

“The luck seems to favor the fish just now,” I said. “But I’m in no hurry. They’ll want my worm eventually and sooner or later one of them will get careless about it.”

A silence fell between us then and I searched in her eyes for any signs of panic or anxiety. There wasn’t panic in her, just confusion. A strong soul, I noted to myself.

“You’ll get used to this feeling you are having…pretty soon,” I partially lied to her. The truth is that most people never do get used to the glow.

She looked at me some more and I could tell she knew what I was referring to, and I admired her for not playing coy.

“You have an incredibly attractive face,” she said.

“What’s your name, dear?” I said, turning my attention back to the river, pretending to give a shit about the fish.

“Um….that’s odd,” she said. “I don’t seem to know.” I heard the apprehension in her voice and looked back to her, catching her eyes. This was a critical moment, and I always try to handle it delicately.

“Let me assure you that is normal, young lady. What you are feeling is felt by everyone who comes here, to one degree or another. You’re doing fine.” I always try to get the concepts of “here” and “there” into my orientations early in the process. That is key to a smooth awakening.

I tried to give her a grandfatherly look of reassurance, but her lavender smell and pretty smile caused the first stirring of the horns. I started to get wood, my pecker feeling sporty in my old jeans. I knew, from past experience, that she would sense it soon if not notice it outright. There was also the possibility that the effect of the transitioning would hit her right smack in her pussy. Oftentimes the effect manifested itself as a roller coaster ride of emotions, making them burst into tears, or as a profound feeling of “wrongness”. On two occasions they reacted so negatively that they somehow denied the gravity here and literally floated away, screaming at the top of their lungs, never to be seen again. But sometimes they just get hornier than hell.

“So….what do I do? I don’t know my name, but I remember other things.”

“My suggestion is this,” I said, “names are important, but they are not the most important thing right now. Pretend that you are being given permission to pick your own name. What name did you admire as a child? It could be a good friend’s name or a word that you always just liked the sound of.”

As I said this to her, her eyes dropped their focus and she looked right at my crotch. I shifted a little bit, trying to minimize my obvious randy state, but my shifting around only made matters worse. My cock was bold as love, as Hendrix used to sing. She didn’t avert her gaze when she noticed that I caught her looking, which didn’t help my hardness any.

“You can also pick a name and tell yourself that it is only temporary,” I said, my voice husky and breaking. “That gives you time to try to recall your old name, if you wish.”

She leaned over to me, her face approaching mine, her eyes looking deep into my eyes. She looked as if she had forgotten what our conversation was about and looked at me as a small toddler looks at a smiling adult in the supermarket.

“You have the most attractive face,” she said, with a slight giggling undertone to her voice. “Your beard is almost pure white…you remind me of Burl Ives.”

“I get that a lot,” I said, finding it hard to look away from her as her eyes licked at my face. Despite my brain saying to concentrate on the task at hand, my heart felt like it was twice its normal size and my cock approached diamond-cutter status.

She scooted closer to me on the army blanket. The morning sun was breaking up the mist. It felt like so many warm September days I had spent growing up in Michigan. I noticed that my head seemed to be slowly but perceptibly moving in her direction, my eyes focused on her full and tempting lips as we inched toward each other.

“Too late,” I whispered, as I lost control and my horns stretched the skin just above where my hairline used to be. Her eyes closed as our lips finally met, and a small sound escaped her mouth as she opened up to my kiss.

Some kisses are burned into your memory before they are even completed. Her tongue was clever and generous, her mouth had a wicked feel to it. She kissed more like a practiced courtesan than the foxy frontier school marm from an old Western movie, which is what she reminded me of.

Her hands reached out and she held my face in her hands, kissing me over and over as if we were reunited lovers, and my cock tented out the front of my pants. My hands forgot that we were supposed to be altruistically helping her and they went all naughty on me and started feeling her up. Her boobs were firm and larger than I thought, and her nipples hardened quickly under my hand massage. I could feel them quite nicely through her tee shirt.

Her hands got busy too, mostly with my cock and my pants. She was rubbing my willy as if he were furniture that needed polishing, and precum started soaking the front of my boxers, the old ones with the red hearts on a white background. Her pussy produced a fragrant odor, and my horns were nearly all the way up now, pushing my hat askew.

Years ago, the witch mother of my oldest wife put a friendly curse on me that prevented my hooves from forming, which always was the biggest pain in the ass about being a semi-satyr, as the family teasingly calls me. The horns hurt when they first come up, but that pain soon subsides as my body mass-produces semen and testosterone. I don’t mind the goat-like tail; in fact most women find it sexy, after the initial shock wears off.

I felt the breath of the lusty lord, Priapus, fill my lungs. I stood up and moved to the mossy riverbank, removing first my shirt and then my boots, socks, trousers and boxers. She stood on the blanket and took her shoes off, then her pants, and stood there naked but for that Bears tee shirt, somehow looking sweet and wicked at the same time. The thatch between her legs was untrimmed and wild, just as I like them, and the rich black pubes had the shiny sheen of moisture.

“You can leave your hat on,” she sang softly to me, in a sexy whisper.

“Fine, but that shirt has to go,” I said. The husky tone of animal lust that croaked out of my mouth was a command, not a suggestion. She laughed and crossed her arms to grab the bottom of her shirt, undulating slightly back and forth as she raised it up slowly, past her belly and pausing as it neared her breasts, turning to me and offering me a nice view of her ass. Swaying her hips to some unheard music, her tee shirt rose, bringing me a memory of the curtain opening at a musical I saw with my grandmother, a long lifetime or two ago. It was “My Fair Lady”, at the Fox theater in Detroit. Thank you, beautiful newcomer, for shaking that memory loose.

The shirt passed over her dark tresses and was tossed casually aside, landing on my tackle box. She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled, shaking her ass at me. My cock extended out in front of me, obscene and unashamed, as I surrendered to this lovely nymph now needing a hearty fuck.

# # #

On a craggy coastal rock larger than a house, two women sat on leather bound field chairs around a small fire. The wind was steadily blowing the fire’s smoke inland and the air had a salty taste to it. Seagulls raced and wheeled along the shoreline.

Through the morning mist the tree that grows out of the ocean appeared ghostly and far away. The distance from the shore was hard to ascertain, the only thing one was certain of was that the tree was massive and very old. The tree was Rika’s favorite wonder in a world full of wonders.

The older of the two women had thinning white hair and several front teeth missing. The younger woman had salt and pepper hair, an air about her of mischief, and her smile was easy and natural. She had a large sketching pad balanced on her lap and was putting the finishing touches on a penciled rendering of the tree, the shore, and the gulls. Her technique was nearly photographic, she drew what she saw, down to the tiniest detail.

There was sea spray on the wind, but the sketch pad was completely dry, nor did the wind alter or affect the sheets of paper. The spell necessary to protect the sketch pad from the elements was a difficult one to master, and the older woman had leant her talents to achieve it.

The crone was cleaning up a small scrap heap of bottles, vials, bags of herbs, and an empty carven cup, which most recently had poured its contents down the throat of the younger woman.

“You should start feeling the connection soon,” the crone said to the younger woman. “At first, you will be the only one who feels it, but soon after, and only if you wish it, you will be able to send as well as receive.”

Two seagulls were aerially dog-fighting just off the edge of the parapet, their movements mirroring each other.

The younger woman moaned loudly, involuntarily, and gave a surprised look to her companion. A pleasant warmth had suffused her vagina all of a sudden, made more noticeable by the chillness of the sea wind that stroked her cheeks and ears. It felt as though a gentle but invisible hand was caressing her pussy, tenderly yet firmly, feeling her and stimulating her, and she felt her wetness quickly expand.

The crone looked surprised, and in one smooth movement that belied the appearance of old age, took the sketch pad away from her younger friend, set it aside, and then raised the heavy woolen skirt of the younger woman and stuck her nose between her legs.

“Anomaly, what are you doing?” she said to the crone, whose trespassing nose was mere inches away from her moist pussy.

“Smelling you, Rika, what do you think? It is said that as the succubus changes, the smell ….,”. Rika heard the crone inhale deeply, then a triumphant cackle, “…and they are right, daughter! You smell wonderful!” Laughing, the younger woman spread her legs wider and stuck her hand under her skirt, testing the wetness that was rapidly soaking her cotton undergarment. She brought her finger to her nose and smelled herself. Cinnamon, Rika thought. Cinnamon and apples.

The two women convulsed in laughter, rolling on the mossy sward that covered the rock stack they were on. Rika recovered first, and started cooing as she became aware that her pussy was moist and aching, and the heat in her was demanding attention . Lying on her back and writhing, she concentrated while she found and fingered her engorged clitoris.

“I’ll be damned, Anomaly, but you were right…oh...I can…identify… the source…of this pleasure. Oh, my goodness, that feels nice. I can’t see…..but I just know…ummm….Billy….ugggh..”

“The horny goat spawn? Odd that he would be this strong a connection, since you two …”

“Oh, my gods, Mother, I am going to ….oh, I’m cumming, ..oh, it’s…. a strong one. …oh yes, oh Billy, you sweet….fucking dog, ohhhhh, gods,.gaaaaaaah….”

Her orgasm rocked her back and forth and she rolled on the grass like she was possessed by demons. The witch watched, fascinated, and smiled at the obvious pleasure her daughter was possessed by.

“Try to connect with him, Rika, try now, while you are at the height of your pleasure, dear!”

Almost without thinking, Rika formed a mental image of her husband, remembering the many days and nights of passion they had shared in the first days of their courtship. She saw his eyes twinkling into hers as they reached orgasm together, she remembered the childlike smile when she first took him in her mouth and sucked him to bliss, she could taste the salty flavor of his milky cum cream in her mouth.

Smiling, with fingers wet with her cum, she reached behind her and tickled the area around her rosebud, then plunged her middle finger steadily into herself, squealing in delight at the sensation, and didn’t stop until it would go no further. Then she withdrew it, feeling her sphincter clutching at her finger as she did. She then repeated the motion, and added a bit of a tickling wriggle when it was buried in her. Finger-fucking her ass, she laughed and said out loud, “Happy fucking birthday, Billy boy!”.

# # #

My lovely nameless newcomer was worshiping my cock, kneeling in front of me like a supplicant to an ancient revered god, making mewling sounds as she sucked on my hard shaft of cock meat. Both of us were naked as jaybirds, the sun had completely burned off the morning mist, and the temperature was steadily climbing, although my partner and I were generating our own type of heat. I was fully the billy now, leaning back against the aged oak tree that bordered my fishing spot, and my hands were in her hair, holding her dark hair firmly and fucking her mouth while she bore down on me like a hungry baby suckles on its bottle. She was playing my organ with her mouth like a musician, knowing intuitively when to pull and when to push, when to lick and when to suck. She hadn’t looked at me since she attacked and backed me up against the oak, instead she would take my cock out of her mouth and rub it all over her face and cheeks, cooing at it and offering it words of loving encouragement. I was simply a bystander, my cock was the object of her affection. I wasn’t complaining.

I had tried twice to move her back to the blanket, so that I could reciprocate and give her a proper tongue bath, or cut to the chase and slip my meat bone into that hairy slit that was smelling up the forest. She had quite forcefully shaken off both my ideas, and sucked harder to let me know who was in charge at this point. I could easily have overpowered her, but I let her have her wicked and naughty way with me.

“This is good,” I said to myself, “This one is now completely grounded here, and won’t be floating off into the ether.” I had once again performed a splendid orientation.

She had started a low humming sound which was now rising in pitch and her breathing was audibly shorter in duration. One of her hands was rubbing between her legs and her ass was moving up and down as her head bobbed faster and faster on my cock. She was frigging herself into a frenzy and I felt my balls stirring as well. Both her hands suddenly returned to me, one holding my cock steady for her bobbing mouth and the other passionately squeezing and rubbing my balls.

She looked up at me and with a smile soaked with sin and my spunk on her lips said, “I want your cum, you sweet, sweet man, give me your cum!” She then returned to pumping my cock with her fist and licking my goatish member like it was a lollipop made out of cock. I could no longer tolerate the pleasure she was gladly giving me and I felt almost like an observer when my semen shot into her mouth, like a weapon being discharged.

Simultaneously, I felt a tickling distraction around my asshole,then something going in my ass, and a quick inventory showed the source to be unrelated to my comely companion. Whatever it was, it was going in steadily, and then it withdrew, only to repeat the process. The only thing I could think of was that the oak tree I was leaning against was somehow fucking me. Stranger things have been known to happen here.

My cock was enjoying the blowjob of the millennium and all my nerve endings were dancing like it was Carnival in Rio, and my asshole was excitedly telling me that a hard, not-so- thin object had just been inserted, steadily, into my nether region. Said object was now wriggling around inside my butt.

My second and third spurts of semen nearly gagged my lovely pupil, and I heard her gasp and pull off my cock, cum dripping out of her mouth and a bleating scream I barely recognized as my own voice erupted out of my mouth.

Inside my head, I started seeing images of Rika, as if memories of her had suddenly broken loose and rose to the surface of my consciousness. Rika, in the bower bed we slept on behind the whispering waterfall on our honeymoon, Rika, rapturous at our first visit to the tree that grows out of the ocean, Rika’s dark eyes looking into mine as her mouth engulfed the head of my cock during courtship, Rika,……it was Rika! Rika’s finger had been inserted into my ass more than once in passion, and now the wriggling digit in my ass acquired the sense of familiarity that made me certain of its origin.

Between the sensations in my brain, cock, and ass, I felt overwhelmed. The earth shifted underneath me, a tilting vertigo that seemed oddly familiar, a sensation of falling, weightless, into a pocket filled with emptiness.

My lovely companion was still milking me, sucking contentedly on her new found friend, and frigging herself faster and faster.

As my tremors subsided and my balance returned, my gaze settled on her tee shirt covering my tackle box. The shirt had landed so that one word stood out against the dark blue background.

“Chicago.” I said. Her attention was drawn to my face when she heard the word, and she removed my shrinking cock and smiled at me, quizzically. She stopped her self-ministrations.

An image floated in front of me like a leaf falling slowly to the ground, an image of the marquee-style front gates at Wrigley Field. I smelled hot dogs steaming on a vendor’s cart.

“Cubs,” I asked her, as if it were a question. “Their announcer? The boozy one? What was his name?”

A light went on in her eyes.

“The boozy…oh, you mean Harry Carey, Billy?”

The light from her eyes reflected back at her from mine.

Memory is a funny thing sometimes. You can search and search in vain and suddenly it is just…there.

“Harry CAREY!” she screamed. She leapt up, putting both arms around my neck and pressing those nice breasts against my naked chest.

“I’m Carrie, Billy!”

“My name is Carrie!”