Archive-name: Changes/donna.txt
Archive-author:
Archive-title: Donna
She was beautiful and she was my next door neighbor. Her name is Donna, and
she came over to welcome me to the building. We had a cup of coffee and some
cake she brought over, but she had to run. Going to her dance class she said.
I had taken some dance, so I asked about it. Apparently it was right across
the street, and many people from the building went, but she wasn’t sure that I
would like it, but, if I wanted I could tag along. There was a smile in her
eyes that wouldn’t let go. I put on my sweats and followed her.
It was three floors up. I was the only man in the place, and I could tell that
this wasn’t a soft workout for chubbies. Every woman there had a body that was
toned like a 64 Rolls. They wore their leotards with the grace of professional
dancers, flowing through the room. Many wore a wide sash of embroidered fabric
around their hips. They smiled at me. I was glad I wore my grey sweats.. they
were loose where it counted. I smiled back.
Donna introduced me as a visitor. The class started, and I knew what the
problem was.. It was a Belly dance class. I’m all man, and I’m no quitter, so
I got in and did the work. Shimmys, pelvic thrusts, everything. I was pretty
good. The instructor said they’d never had a guy come here twice, but maybe I
could be the first. The gleam in her eye was more challenge than I’d seen from
many a tough guy. I gave her my winning smile, and asked when the next class
was. The way the women looked at me as they left, I knew I’d found a winner.
It was about the fourth week. They had a present for me. I opened the paper
and found a black and aqua lycra leotard, footless tights, a jogbra, dancebelt,
wig, and a length of material for a sash. I had to think fast. This was a
test, and if I wanted to keep the respect of these dames I couldn’t fail. I
went behind the curtain, and emerged, fully dressed. I had done the right
thing. I went through the class looking at myself in the mirror. The leotard
was very high cut and the aqua hourglass pattern on the front gave the illusion
of a female figure. The sash filled out my hips.
I was good that night.. better than ever before. My appearance has helped me
lose myself to the dance. I got compliments.. and a few more phone numbers.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Donna talking to the instructor. She walked
me home.
Donna explained that I had a decision to make. I was being offered admission
to the Slata.. the sisterhood. The first man ever. Most of the women in the
class were members.. it was a society that helped others learn the tricks of
Belly Dancing. Problem was, there were rules. I would have to follow the
dress code at classes. Have to learn the rules. Have to make a costume. Have to
perform in public. And have to go through the initiation.
The Sisterhood taught total release of self during dance. You followed the
rules, you lost the hung up you, found your freedom. She came closer to me,
her face begging for my acceptance. That night I was in. In more ways than
one.
The dress code was clear. No hair on your body. Any where. The hot wax smelled
of honey. A few shots of Jack Daniels, and the sting of my pubic hair being
yanked out was just a deadened hum. Proper makeup. Base, contour, rouge,
shadow, liner. My wig was full and frizzy cascading onto my shoulders. Show
your breasts proudly. Well they were just foam latex over silicone, but they
were mine.
The thin lycra stretched tightly over my breasts, high heels clicking on the
terrazzo floor, I began my journey. The first step was across the street, but
I had no idea how far it would take me.
I just stared at myself in that big mirror. I snapped open the front of my
skirt and slipped it off. My legs looked so bare, covered with nude pantyhose.
My balls were taped up into their sockets with moleskin. A ribbon around its
head pulled my penis back between my buttocks. My hairless pubic area showed
under the tight fabric. My hairless armpits were sensitive to the wind, and I
was almost overwhelmed by the scent of my own perfume. I danced. Every ripple
of my body was visible to all. Every eye was on me. I was sexy as hell. I
wanted to rip off my clothes and dance naked for all the women, to open myself
up and take the sexual heat that pounded trough that place into my body. I was
going to writhe and sweat until my muscles couldn’t move anymore. The warmth of
my skin mixed with the strong musk of my perfume.
Did I dance. As they left, a number of women touched me, their long fingers and
bright nails stroking me through the lycra, damp from sweat so it clung as if
it was glued to me. The places where they touched me heated up, hot and
driving.
The chill city air snapped my leotard cool as Donna and I walked across the
street. Follow me, she said and I did. Into the bar across the street, and down
at a booth. We ordered white wine, and I glowed when I saw the red lipstick
mark on my glass. We were seated where I could see myself in the mirror. I
looked fabulous.
Nature calls. We picked up our purses and wiggled back to the loo. The leotard
slid off my body,still with a cling from the sweat. The panty hose rolled
down, and Donna got behind me to release my cock from it’s home. I had gotten
used to the continual excitement of my buttocks rubbing against my helpless
cock, but when it was freed I looked down through my adhesive breasts to see it
stand out free and proud. Donna took it between her long nailed hands. We’re
sisters now, and sisters share everything. Soon my back arched crazily as she
took it in her mouth.
I thought of the men outside nursing their beers. I looked into the cracked
mirror and saw the red nipples of my foam breasts bouncing. The lipstick tasted
creamy as my tongue circled my mouth. I wanted to cry out as she sucked harder,
her tongue in a frenzy, stroking my glans. My calves ached from the tension
pushing against the 4 inch heels. I came for what seemed like hours.
We caught our breath, did what we had to do, put our clothes back on and
checked our makeup. A couple of guys bought us some drinks and got a little
thigh, but we were going home “alone”.
A good costume takes hours of work. Beaded push-up bra with silicone inserts
that make it all look like me. Scanty panties. A heavy girdle..a beaded, coin
bedecked belt that accentuates the movement of the hips. A thin skirt, veils,
and heavy jewelry. Had to pierce my ears, and the heavy earrings pulled at my
lobes.
When I put it on I was another person. Meena. No last name, no family, no real
life, just a beautiful sexy dancer. I danced with my soul, unladen of worldly
worries. I worried about keeping a perfect tan, about keeping my skin supple,
about if I should get a jewel for my navel. I was a creature of the body and
soul, and my intellect drifted along, released from a need to control my every
move.
Donna and I sat home, practicing our dance, sewing beads, or spending hours
practicing sexual techniques from the Kama Sutra. Our hairless oiled bodies
moved too slowly to see as our souls hovered above and watched.
The initiation took all weekend. All of the initiates were stripped naked. We
were to be cleansed fully. Each of us assumed the position of the dog and the
goddess of all came along to cleanse us. From the front of her robe came a
long hollow dildo. She inserted it deep into the vagina of the first initiate,
and shot a quart of soapy, perfumed water deep into her. Her braething became
deep and heavy, panting with the fullness. I felt the woman next to me receive
the cleansing, her body quivering. They lubricated the dildo for me, and it
sank slowly into my anus. My balls were taped inside my body, and my penis hung
below my hairless pubis. I tensed up as it entered, but changed my focus. I was
being entered by the earth, by all. I was being cleansed. My body began to
quiver, and I felt myself coming to the orgasm that Donna had spoken of. The
water was in my bowels, flushing out the impacted debris of this society. I was
cleaned.
We dressed. For me that meant tying my penis back between my buttocks, putting
on a garterbelt, stockings and high heeled sandals, and slipping into a long
fox coat, lifting my long hair over the collar. The satin lining caressed my
skin and caught lightly on the erect nipples of my latex breasts. My long red
nailed fingertips swept through the luxuriant fur. We were going out dressed
like this, ready to bare ourselves to the world. Donna had the Polaroid camera
to snap the flash pictures.
The fur had no closures.. I was all that held it shut. In the back of the cab
I saw the cabbie stare into the mirror. I let the fur slide open, shut it
quickly as the cab swerved across the street. In the mirror I saw my face with
a huge wicked smile showing white teeth outlined in red lipstick.
Our first stop was the mall downtown. It was all but deserted at 2 AM. I opened
my coat wide and Donna snapped a picture. My eyes were bright red dots, my
hairless body was luminescent against the dark lining, and the lights of the
city shone behind me. I exposed myself to the world, showed that I was not
ashamed of my nakedness.. but was in no hurry to get arrested either!
As we walked the satin rubbed against my body touching and caressing my flesh.
We entered a greek resturant. I didn’t check my coat. I had been there before
to awtch the cabaret dancers, but only in my male clothes. Let them stare I
thought.. I am beautiful! The bartenders jaw dropped, but Donna snapped some
picures with my coat open and we moved on. I saw the bouncer stop someone from
following us as we walked away.. Donna had friends.
We got on a subway and rode to the beach. The photos on the subway were
wonderful, and I let my coat hang open and the air come against my hairless
pubis. My finger strayed under Donna’s skirt to her clitroris. It was dark at
the beach, but I felt powerful, and shed my coat as Donna snapped me
sillouetted aginst the reds, golds and purples of the rising sun.
Just looking at the photographs were a powerful turn-on. I fell to my knees and
put my head under Donna’s skirt and ate her hungrily. We had sex on the beach
under my fur, and went home. I had two more days to go to become the first male
sister.
After a few hours sleep, It was time to dress for my first public performance.
We drew a hot scented bubble bath and relaxed. Donna rubbed my tan body down
with perfumed lotion. The tan lines from the bikini to I wore at the tanning
booth were faint but noticeable. Full makeup went on, from deep contour to
tons of eyeliner. My breast forms that had been removed for the bath, but
tonight all the flesh would be my own. I pulled on the beaded bra, and lifted
my breasts so that they would be pushed into place by the silicone inserts.
Donna ran her hands over my newly formed breasts, and i felt a tingle in my
nipples. Usually we have one of these for both holes, Donna smiled, but you
only need one. She inserted a butt plug deep into my anus. My cock was again
imprisoned between my buttocks, lavishly lubricated to ease the constant
friction when I walked. It held the plug tightly. The panties slipped over
all of this, cut so high that the clefts between my legs and hip showed all the
way up. My pubis was smooth and hairless, so nothing peeked out. The
embroidered skirt went over that.. in belly dancing the positions of the legs
are not always attractive, and the skirt conceals as much as it reveals. The 10
pound girdle went on next, weighing down my hips so that every move of them is
accentuated, so you feel the weight bearing down. The veils covered me. I
slipped on a pair of heeled sandals, my toenails painted the same shade as my
lengthened fingernails, and I was ready.
Walking to the studio was different. I felt my buttocks squeeze my cock, and
the butt plug made me squirm.
Our first performance in public was scheduled for a local mall at the height of
day. A stretch limo had been hired to drive us to the mall, and the we piled
in. I was dressed in pink and purple, but with my sisters in orange, red
,green, in all their shades, we were wildly colorful. The limousine smelled of
perfume and the perspiration of our half naked bodies. We swept through the
crowd at the mall, veils flowing behind us, and went to the central stage. My
heart pounded with adrenaline as I thought of all of those people watching me
be something that I wasn’t. I was a faker in this outfit of chiffon and silk.
There was a mirrored facade on one of the stores, and I saw four beautiful
women making their way through the crowd. I retreated into my mind and
remembered that I was Meena, lovely dancer whose body and talents were meant to
serve and delight. My body loosened as I relaxed and in my next glance in the
mirror I was walking with the grace and fluidity of one born to dance. I
accepted the heat coming from the audience, accepted their visible desire for
me as my due. I was a sister in the dance. I was the object of their
affection, and I embraced it and it made me strong.
We walked to the stage, and the music started. We danced together, and then
each had a solo. We cheered each other on, and the audience joined in. I was
in in ectasy during my solo. I could feel my penis grow in my cleft, forcing
the butt plug deeper into me. As I forced my hips forward in an age old
pantomime pantomime of sexuality. The audience was my partner, and I could feel
them heating up, twitching and throbbing to my unbridled sexuality. We were one
joined, together. There was the wet feel of semen between my buttocks as I wal
walked off stage.
The walk back to the limo was delicious agony. My sensitive penis was wet by
come, and it tingled with every step I took. My hips swiveled wickedly to
accentuate the stimulation. My breasts heaved with every breath and I longed to
touch someone, to have someone touch me. It was the most delicious foreplay I
had ever had.
In the limo I learned that I wasnt’t the only one to have had an orgasm during
our performance. All of us had. We slid the divider between us and the driver
shut.
Clothes came off. I remember having one woman sitting on my cock, and another
sitting on her face. The smell of musk was unbelievable. My brain was unhooked
from my pulsing body. My hands reached out blindly and found a tender nipple to
stroke. Every time I felt myself starting to come, the rhythm changed. My penis
was a mass of nerve endings, sore and hot. I reached up to gab the hops of the
woman above me, and force her down so my tongue could penetrate her deeper.
There was a chain reaction of orgasm, as four voices cried out together. We
lay together in a crumpled mass, and adjusted our breathing to each other.
The car pulled to a stop. We scurried back into our outfits, all the women
reinserting their dildos with a short gasp. As we walked upstairs to the
studio, we knew that now we were sisters, the four of us, bound through the
dance, and though the basic needs of our bodies.
I could tell by the looks that everyone knew what had happened. I suspected it
wasn’t the first time. The knowing smiles were contagious.
We had performed well, and we would celebrate with a fabulous feast. We were
to serve.
All of our clothes were slowly removed. We were told to lie on plastic covered
tables, and we were given slow delicate sponge baths. The warm water tingled on
my hairless skin. There wad the mild tang of disinfectant in the air. Every
part of me was scrubbed with a natural bristle brush. I relaxed , and let the
many hands touch and soothe me.
We were to serve these foods. We were to be human platters, our clean skin
laden with the many tasty dishes.
The food was brought out. Pots full of spicy stews, meant to be eaten with the
fingers or with pita, warm and fragrant. Cool yoghurt dips, flavored with nuts
and essences. Bowls of prepared fruits in a sweet honey sauce. Creamy farmer
cheeses, soft and spreadable.
Each of these was ladled onto us. The contrast in textures, in temperatures,
started my heart to pound. The scent wafted up to my nostrils. I could barely
lie still.
The dinner was invoked. The room was darkened, lit only by candles. The Sisters
filed in, almost 35 of them, all dressed in ceremonial costumes that barely
covered their breasts and genitalia.
As we opened our mouths, wineskins were held over them, and we were given
drink. The dinner started.
At first I felt many fingers touching my body and lifting the food, but as more
wine was consumed, I felt the fiery tongues scrape off the warm food. Teeth
scraped my breasts lightly as my sisters grasped honeyed fruit in their mouth.
I felt my penis rise, covered with a milky sauce. My breathing speeded to a
deep pant as four or five tongues lapped up the yoghurt. My back arched, and I
heard a cry from the next table. I knew that all of the initiates would be
forced to come. I fought the feelings, but to much wine had been poured down my
throat. As I came many fingers grasped my penis and squeezed every drop of
semen out of it, greatly prolonging the delicious agony of orgasm. Even as I
was coming, they licked, bit and touched my body.
There was no rest. Amidst much giggling they set about to make me come again.
By the time they succeeded I was sore and every nerve ending in my body felt
shrieked with pain and delight.
My knees were trembling and weak as I was helped up and lead to the shower.
