by Seuzz
From this point on, you can't expect a detailed recital of my history. I told you, I've been doing this regularly for thirty years or so. I can give you case studies, particularly interesting things I've done, but not a historical progression. I've only been able to tell you about certain cases so far because they were first times. You always remember a first time. I could tell you about the first time I crawled a girl, for instance--
Yeah, I've crawled girls. It's never been a major point. Only as a means to an end.
Well, I'm just not interested in them. Except, of course, sexually.
You totally misunderstand the point, and what's so hard about it? I like being a guy, but that doesn't mean I want to have sex with guys. Same thing: I like having sex with girls. That doesn't mean I want to be one.
Yeah, I've had sex with guys, while being a guy. I've played the faggot, been a faggot. I could tell you about the first time I did that, too. Which do you want, my first time as a woman or my first time as a faggot?
You and Yogi Berra. Alright. I'll tell you about the girl first.
It was while I was still at the university, the first time I did my thing at a college setting. I've been back to them. They're easy hunting grounds. But this was during my first time, after I first arrived and was finding my feet.
I had been skipping around from body to body, host to host. Like I told you last time, I'd decided I didn't want to stay in one place long. The first-- I dunno, first dozen or so times-- It was all a variation on what I did when I changed out of Peter. I found guys I could share a bedroom with. This meant I limited myself to fraternity guys, guys who shared houses. It had to be places where I could crash in someone's room without raising any kind of suspicion or alarm. So I also kept to guys who partied, who got drunk and passed out a lot. Or I took them on benders. A lot of the guys I crawled wound up having academic problems while I was in them. They stopped studying or going to class, did a lot of partying. So, I'd crawl a guy who had a roommate, and then in the middle of the night I'd switch places. Or I'd go out and get drunk, stumble home, and "accidentally" go into the wrong bedroom and pass out on the floor. Do a switch after that.
It worked. It always worked. But I decided I needed to develop some new techniques. You know, just in case. I decided girls might be a useful conduit. If I was a girl I could find a guy--almost any guy--and go home with him or take him home, and after he was snoring in my ear I could switch places with him.
I wasn't sure I could crawl a girl, actually. Maybe there'd be biological or chemical differences, so I had to be careful. I chose my male disguise carefully, went for a real jerk. Big guy, body builder. Mmph, no, I don't remember his name. Anyway. Proto-Schwarzenegger. Real skeezy. That's because I wanted it plausible when I proposed a three-way with a girl.
I spent a few days as him, having fun. Picking up heavy things and putting them down again. It was educational, too. There were lots of chemicals being traded around and taken in back rooms, back corridors. I took notes, because I saw that could be useful avenue too. Get a guy alone, stick him with a needle full of something that wasn't what he was expecting, and while he was out or in a daze crawl out of my old shell and into a new one. But I tried the girl thing first.
One Friday night, not long after, I went to a bar. Kept mostly to beer, kept mostly sober. Chatted up girls. Got close and breathed on them, let them feel my biceps. Let them get excited. Then I'd lean in and suggest we go off someplace. They'd be willing, and then I'd drop the next suggestion. Told them I had a friend who'd like to go along too, have fun, just the three of us. First couple of girls didn't like the idea, and I backed off when I couldn't talk them around.
Because I didn't want them excited when another guy showed up. See, my plan was that after I got them alone and had some fun, I'd retreat to the bathroom, crawl out of my host, and then go into the bedroom as his "friend" and crawl the girl. So, finally I found a girl who was willing. Her name was Marcy. Skinny thing with long hair, wearing practically nothing. She was all into the idea, especially when I told her my friend was a big guy like me. Oh, that turned her on. I draped a meaty arm around her--she fit in the crook of my arm like a broomstick--and led her back to my place.
I had lots of fun with her first. I didn't want the opportunity to go to waste, and I was getting kind of nervous about whether I'd be able to pull off the switch. Eventually she asked where my friend was. I snickered and said I'd go get him, and left for the bathroom.
That was the terrifying moment, in the bathroom. My host was a big guy, a really big guy, you understand. I looked at myself in the mirror. Chest looked like I had Volkswagen bugs implanted in them. I got scared. What if he didn't pass out when I crawled out of him? What if he came to too quickly, caught me with Marcy? What would he say or do when he came back into the bedroom? I almost chickened out. But I went through with it. Lay down in the bathtub and let go of him. It was hard coming out. He was thick, there was a lot of him, and it was like swimming to the top of quicksand. I saw it was a mistake to have gotten into the tub when I finally got out of him. Instead of quietly rolling off him I had to step on him to get over the edge of the tub. Lucky thing he was out cold, didn't even grunt or anything as I clambered out. But I turned out the light quick and then scampered into the bedroom.
The lights were out there, too, and I opened and shut the door quickly so she wouldn't catch sight of me. She was restless. I heard her sit up. "Are you Andrew's--" Yeah, that was his name, Andrew. "Are you Andrew's friend?" Breathless and giggly like. "Yeah. You're Marcy?" I said. She giggled again. I jumped onto the bed, onto her. I felt her hands on me, and she made a little pouting noise. I could tell she was disappointed in me. Whatever. I put my hands on her face and pushed down.
No resistance. It was like falling through a trapdoor. Came out the other side real fast, too. Jumped up with a little start. I remember I hiccupped, which was odd. Put my hand to my mouth, felt my hair falling across my face. Then reached down to touch my breasts. Small things, almost nonexistent. What's the old joke about the guy whose chest is bigger than the girl's? Andrew's nipples were almost bigger than her whole breasts. Felt down a little further to the hot, furry bit.
I thought I'd be more excited. I told you, I like girls. Here I was inside one, could touch her--touch me--all I wanted, feel it from the inside. But it was ... nothing, really. It was like getting a toy you always wanted and discovering it's just a hunk of plastic or metal. It's all in the imagination, you know, a toy. It's what you make of it, not what it is. And being a girl, finally, having the breasts and the pussy... Well, there was no imagination to go with it. So it was just skin.
That's a good question, but again I think it comes back to imagination. I'm a guy, I have a guy's brain and instincts. I can imagine being a guy, I have the feeling of being a guy, and I can have the imaginative feel of being that guy, or that guy, or that guy over there. I get inside them, and it's like a toy I can play with and have fun with, because it's got an imaginative hold on me. Not with a girl, though. No.
Yeah, I had her brain and so I had her imagination. I could impersonate her perfectly. But she couldn't imagine being herself, because she was herself. And there was no surprise or thrill in touching herself, because she was the one doing it. It was just stimulation. Oh, don't get me wrong, the stimulations worked just fine. I was in her for a few days, and I, uh, stimulated her a few times. But there was no thrill over and above what she herself would have felt.
Well, what happened next was that I thought about leaving, before Andrew got back, because I didn't know what he'd do. But then I thought that might also look weird. So I waited. Almost twenty minutes. But he came back in, eventually. I asked where he'd gone. He just grunted. I asked him about his "friend," and he didn't say anything. I tried kissing him and caressing him, to make it look convincing, but he just turned his back on me. I'm doubt he suspected anything. He would have been more violent if he had. I think he was just confused. Probably scared, too. It was the typical reaction I'd noticed. Guys get quiet after I leave them. They look furtive, for a day or two, at least.
If you want me to get to the end of these stories, you should stop trying to send me off on tangents. Later on I can tell you about the times I've crawled back into old victims. There are stories to tell there. But about Marcy.
Yeah, so I waited until he'd gone to sleep, and then I crept out of bed and got dressed and went home. She was in a sorority. I got some sleep. Next day I played the part of her perfectly. The other girls were kind of mean. They knew I'd--she'd--gone off for a three-way, and were snotty about it. I told them it had just been me and Andrew, but that didn't make a difference. What she wanted, not what she got, was what counted.
She had a journal. I copied out some passages that might be useful, filled a few pages with notes of my own and ripped them out, to keep. Things like the names and details about some of the other girls. Research. Who I might profitably hit on when I got back into a guy. Who might be useful later on as conduits for getting into other guys. Who the sluts were, who could be counted on to go home with a guy, that kind of thing.
The following Friday I was back at a bar. I looked around out of curiosity, but Andrew wasn't there. I let a guy buy me a drink. Went home with him. End of the story comes when I crawled out of Marcy and took him. She was in a daze afterward, and let me spend the rest of the night ravishing her in all kinds of ways.
No, I think that's all for now. I'll tell you about my first trip to Queensland next time.
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