Keroin
aKwatic
- Joined
- Jan 8, 2009
- Posts
- 8,154
*Warning* The following is long and contains bad grammar, spelling, punctuation and fluctuating tenses. (Syd, get drunk first if you want to read this).
Chuck and I occasionally ask silly questions of one another. The latest question he asked of me was what I would do if I woke up as, (not with - darn), Clive Owen. He also stated that there would be a woman in bed with me. Anyway, this is all quite silly but it's Wednesday and I think I'm borderline anemic so it's allowed. Here is my answer...(feel free to comment if you think you would do something different as Clive or if I missed something important).
My Day as Clive Owen
Oooooo, this one is very difficult. I’ve often thought of being with Clive, as you know, but I’ve never thought of being Clive. So, let me set the scene. I, Clive Owen, am waking up, next to some bimbo who is not K. (What a shame). The first thing I’d do is…
Rub my face. How odd it must feel to have coarse hair growing out of one’s face. I’d spend at least ten minutes feeling my stubble, savouring the sensation of moving it back and forth. Of course, this would lead me to feeling all the other body parts because, come on, feeling a man’s body from the inside out would be too trippy.
Naturally, I’d stop at my cock. Being Clive Owen, my cock would be the perfect size and shape – not too big, not too small, with the area around it well trimmed. Don’t get me wrong, this would be purely for research purposes. I’d want to know how everything feels. I’d experiment with different pressures, I’d try to discern whether the base, shaft or head of my cock was most sensitive, I’d stroke myself at different speeds, paying attention to my reaction.
Now I’d have a problem because I’d be all worked up with a naked woman next to me. Could I resist the temptation to fuck a woman, as a man? Well, since my brain would still be mine, I think I could because I just can’t do anything until I’ve brushed my teeth.
After ninja-ing my way out of bed, so as not to wake the fuck toy, I’d sneak off to the bathroom and lock the door. I’m so happy Clive’s rich! I’m rich. I have a kick ass biddy. A long look in the mirror would be in order. Well, not only do I have hair on my face, but it’s also in my nose as well. That is entirely unpleasant; maybe less mirror-looking is in order?
While brushing my fangs, I’d contemplate shaving, then decide against it. Heck, I can be smooth any old day. How often do I get to be furry and have people find it attractive?
Peeing would be awkward. Would I stand? Yes! Overspray be damned, for once in my life urinating would feel like an act of aggression. In fact, I might pee all over the place, just because I can.
And, I’d leave the seat up. This is my house, bitch!
(Look at all the exclamation points my masculinity has brought out.)
Showering would be a good excuse for more nether zone research. Question: does the application of slippery material amplify pleasant cock sensations? At this point, I’d likely have to go all the way with myself. My rigid self-discipline is only outweighed by my voracious curiosity. When I peaked, I’d try to watch. The thing about being a woman is cumming is so internal; it would be so cool to actually see my joy juices painting the shower walls. Being a man, I wouldn’t even wash it off afterward.
Post shower and post pleasure, I’d slap some cologne on my prickly mug, tousle my raven locks in a devil-may-care manner and wrap a towel around my waist. The towel would be white – there’s something ever so sexy about a freshly showered male with a white towel around his waist.
Now that the initial shock of my me-ness had subsided and my primal needs were met, manners would get tossed out the window. Exiting the bathroom, I’d make as much noise as possible. Ordinarily, I don’t like wearing underwear but Clive has appearances to uphold so I’d find a nice pair of undies – cough, pardon me, I mean “briefs” – and slide them on. For pants I’d choose something rugged, something I never wear as K. A good pair of jeans, slightly faded and worn in, would work well. Oh, I’d have to have a belt, too. Leather, sturdy leather.
On second thought, that would be a bad idea. The K brain would be too distracted by the belt/weapon to enjoy her day. No belt.
My bitch du jour would be waking and moaning as I flipped through my choices of upper body wear. Hm, you know, you just can’t go wrong with a plain t-shirt. Nah, let’s super size it. How about a button up, collared shirt. Nothing too fancy. I’m thinking a Banana Republic kind of look a la Mel Gibson in The Year of Living Dangerously. It should be a little wrinkled and I’d leave it half untucked, 'cause I’m Clive-fucking-Owen!
“Food’s in the fridge, make sure you’re showered and ready for me when I get back,” I’d growl at the fuzzy-headed wench on the bed, as I stuffed my wallet in my back pocket, slipped on my shoes and strode, with Clive-like confidence, out the door. There’d be time to tour my crib later, right now I’d want to experience the outside world as a man.
The next few hours would be spent visiting as many different public places as possible to see how others react to my maleness. I’d have to go to a lingerie shop and take my time pawing through racks of dainties. I’d ask the female customers for advice. “Is this something you would wear? You’re about the same size as my wife, would you mind modeling this for me so I can see how it looks?”
There would also be a strip club on my itinerary because I’d just have to know if watching a naked stranger dance is really as exciting for men as I’ve been led to believe.
I suspect it is.
I also suspect being visibly erect would take some getting used to. This would be my cue to return home to the honey pot. I’d arrive to find her perfectly coiffed and dressed in something that would make even Victoria want to spill her secrets.
Oh yeah, let’s give her big tits because I’m only a man for a short time so I want as much real estate as I can get.
How to handle this. What do I want? She’ll do anything. I am Clive, after all...
***
On second thought, this was far too long and the first part is the most interesting. I'm scattered today. I need more food.
Chuck and I occasionally ask silly questions of one another. The latest question he asked of me was what I would do if I woke up as, (not with - darn), Clive Owen. He also stated that there would be a woman in bed with me. Anyway, this is all quite silly but it's Wednesday and I think I'm borderline anemic so it's allowed. Here is my answer...(feel free to comment if you think you would do something different as Clive or if I missed something important).
My Day as Clive Owen
Oooooo, this one is very difficult. I’ve often thought of being with Clive, as you know, but I’ve never thought of being Clive. So, let me set the scene. I, Clive Owen, am waking up, next to some bimbo who is not K. (What a shame). The first thing I’d do is…
Rub my face. How odd it must feel to have coarse hair growing out of one’s face. I’d spend at least ten minutes feeling my stubble, savouring the sensation of moving it back and forth. Of course, this would lead me to feeling all the other body parts because, come on, feeling a man’s body from the inside out would be too trippy.
Naturally, I’d stop at my cock. Being Clive Owen, my cock would be the perfect size and shape – not too big, not too small, with the area around it well trimmed. Don’t get me wrong, this would be purely for research purposes. I’d want to know how everything feels. I’d experiment with different pressures, I’d try to discern whether the base, shaft or head of my cock was most sensitive, I’d stroke myself at different speeds, paying attention to my reaction.
Now I’d have a problem because I’d be all worked up with a naked woman next to me. Could I resist the temptation to fuck a woman, as a man? Well, since my brain would still be mine, I think I could because I just can’t do anything until I’ve brushed my teeth.
After ninja-ing my way out of bed, so as not to wake the fuck toy, I’d sneak off to the bathroom and lock the door. I’m so happy Clive’s rich! I’m rich. I have a kick ass biddy. A long look in the mirror would be in order. Well, not only do I have hair on my face, but it’s also in my nose as well. That is entirely unpleasant; maybe less mirror-looking is in order?
While brushing my fangs, I’d contemplate shaving, then decide against it. Heck, I can be smooth any old day. How often do I get to be furry and have people find it attractive?
Peeing would be awkward. Would I stand? Yes! Overspray be damned, for once in my life urinating would feel like an act of aggression. In fact, I might pee all over the place, just because I can.
And, I’d leave the seat up. This is my house, bitch!
(Look at all the exclamation points my masculinity has brought out.)
Showering would be a good excuse for more nether zone research. Question: does the application of slippery material amplify pleasant cock sensations? At this point, I’d likely have to go all the way with myself. My rigid self-discipline is only outweighed by my voracious curiosity. When I peaked, I’d try to watch. The thing about being a woman is cumming is so internal; it would be so cool to actually see my joy juices painting the shower walls. Being a man, I wouldn’t even wash it off afterward.
Post shower and post pleasure, I’d slap some cologne on my prickly mug, tousle my raven locks in a devil-may-care manner and wrap a towel around my waist. The towel would be white – there’s something ever so sexy about a freshly showered male with a white towel around his waist.
Now that the initial shock of my me-ness had subsided and my primal needs were met, manners would get tossed out the window. Exiting the bathroom, I’d make as much noise as possible. Ordinarily, I don’t like wearing underwear but Clive has appearances to uphold so I’d find a nice pair of undies – cough, pardon me, I mean “briefs” – and slide them on. For pants I’d choose something rugged, something I never wear as K. A good pair of jeans, slightly faded and worn in, would work well. Oh, I’d have to have a belt, too. Leather, sturdy leather.
On second thought, that would be a bad idea. The K brain would be too distracted by the belt/weapon to enjoy her day. No belt.
My bitch du jour would be waking and moaning as I flipped through my choices of upper body wear. Hm, you know, you just can’t go wrong with a plain t-shirt. Nah, let’s super size it. How about a button up, collared shirt. Nothing too fancy. I’m thinking a Banana Republic kind of look a la Mel Gibson in The Year of Living Dangerously. It should be a little wrinkled and I’d leave it half untucked, 'cause I’m Clive-fucking-Owen!
“Food’s in the fridge, make sure you’re showered and ready for me when I get back,” I’d growl at the fuzzy-headed wench on the bed, as I stuffed my wallet in my back pocket, slipped on my shoes and strode, with Clive-like confidence, out the door. There’d be time to tour my crib later, right now I’d want to experience the outside world as a man.
The next few hours would be spent visiting as many different public places as possible to see how others react to my maleness. I’d have to go to a lingerie shop and take my time pawing through racks of dainties. I’d ask the female customers for advice. “Is this something you would wear? You’re about the same size as my wife, would you mind modeling this for me so I can see how it looks?”
There would also be a strip club on my itinerary because I’d just have to know if watching a naked stranger dance is really as exciting for men as I’ve been led to believe.
I suspect it is.
I also suspect being visibly erect would take some getting used to. This would be my cue to return home to the honey pot. I’d arrive to find her perfectly coiffed and dressed in something that would make even Victoria want to spill her secrets.
Oh yeah, let’s give her big tits because I’m only a man for a short time so I want as much real estate as I can get.
How to handle this. What do I want? She’ll do anything. I am Clive, after all...
***
On second thought, this was far too long and the first part is the most interesting. I'm scattered today. I need more food.
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