Worshipping Carla's Cock
I am a closeted bisexual. I have been since I was an adolescent.
These days I have a secret regular lision with a south american transexual who is 20 years younger than I am.
When we date, she dresses in full feminine attire, a black minidress, silk stockings with a suspender belt, and heels. She is curvy and beautiful and easily passes for a girl until you speak to her, when her slightly husky voice seems to give the game away.
Those of us who know and love transgender people can often tell before a person who has not made love to these beautiful creatures. When I first met Carla, I saw her across the room at an art gallery wine reception and knew. I knew she had a cock. Later, after we hooked up, I discovered to my continuing joy that Carla's cock is a thing of beauty, sculpted ebony, as hard as mahogany when erect and as persistent in use.
She is a wonderful exponent of self-control and can fuck vigorously for hours. She can also come in generous and powerful measure. When she allows herself this indulgence, the semen is pearly grey, viscid, hot and its measure is sufficient like a rare delicacy, a belluga caviare, to astound and delight the palate.
When she is erect, she is a ramrod - never is there a half measure, a semi-hard on. The word BONE was made to describe Carla's erection. It has the hardness of a carved wooden dildo from a bygone age, hewn from African hardwood timber.
When I peel back the delicious sallow foreskin to reveal the dome of her glans, I marvel at its shapely beauty, it delicious musk, and the fondant smoothness of its feel when I wrap my eager toungue around it, curling against its rim. When I descend below for a few seconds to press my face into the loose g****fuit scrotum skin, feeling her balls expand within the sac as I nuzzle, inhale and imbibe her odours into my body, my eyes roll back and I almost faint from the headiness of that scent between her legs, the musk that is a potent distillate of her sexuality, subliming upon my tongue and vaporising into my lungs and brain and heart and soul.
At last in my mouth, this beautiful penis bucks and rises to my caresses and I marvel at its rigidity and rampancy until the moment of ejaculation when everything dissolves into a climax of heat, texture and musk, the smell of the semen in my nostrils, the feel of it against my teeth, the heat of it on my tongue....
I am literally flying though the air in my mind, on a magic carpet of sexual elation. I am everywhere and nowhere. The room melts away.My world collapses and expands into her flesh, her brown skin, the smell of her, the presence of her divine cock. I feel it with my fingers, my lips, my tongue, my nose... inhale its odour, sense its warmth, revel in the sickly sweet stench of preum.
And when she holds me firmly by the ankles as she stands at the side of the bed, and takes me deeply and roughly with that magnificent cock, I close my eyes and delight in the power of her penetration, stretching my arse muscle, filling my bowel and sending a delectabel pressure back upwards into my stomach so that I feel as tough this penis has possessed me for a moment, has become my core. And after many minutes of her f***eful thrusts, when I finally succumb to her harsh masturbation of my cock as she sodomizes me, and spurt my load in the air, I sigh and beg her to cum on me or in me.
She has me masturbate her to the final climax, as I clench that delightful nine inches of power, I marvel at the delicacy of the skin like fine spun silk, and how easily it moves up and down over the harness of the shaft within, under the guidance of my firm and pressing fingers. I caress the shaft, pick out the veins, feel the rough skin of her shaven pubic mound rub against the side of my hand as I stroke deep to the base before making the long and beautiful journay back the mountain top. God reveals himself to me on that mountain top. In my mind I am a molecule, standing on the vast expanse of the glans penis, which has become a smooth and delightful world in which I may travel, on all fours, licking and sniffing the expanse, feeling its welcoming warmth.
I want to bring her and myself out of the closet, to tell the world, here she is, my female muse, my she-stallion... but I know that convention will never allow it. Instead I look forward to a day when we can move away to a far distant land where such things are more widely appreciated and accepted. And that is my frustration but also my secret pleasure.
Meanwhile, I worship Carla my goddess and her phallus in a sacramental way. I go to her altar and prostrate myself before her as often as possible, for every time the highs are tantric and magnificent. Her semen is my sacrament. I love and adore her and her prowess. And she is my guilty and secret pleasure.