The Ivory Coast

I toured with the circus for several years when I was younger. It was definitely an interesting life– hard work, and by-and-large a lot of fun, and it gave me a good stock of stories; but quite frankly, touring with the circus is really only a good job when you’re young. So I taught myself some code, took a few online classes, and set myself up as a website developer.

I’ve done alright for myself too. I’ve got plenty of clients, and I was able to buy my own place in the city, a converted industrial space in Long Island City, kind of near the waterfront, before the neighborhood got all gentrified.

They started offering free yoga in the park over the summer near my studio. Flexibility has always been my bugbear, and it’s only gotten worse as I’ve gotten older. I don’t fit inside most yoga studios. This class was on the lawn at a sculpture garden near the East River. I decided to give it a try.

I actually quite enjoyed myself. People stared at me, because of my size and clumsiness, but I’m used to that. And I wasn’t even the clumsiest in the class. There was a woman in her mid-thirties on a matt next to me, and she was nearly as awkward and stiff as me. I thought she was really cute. We nearly blundered into each other several times during the class. I suppose we must have looked like a pair of spastic marionettes, as we jerked and staggered from pose to pose.

After the class, we got to talking, and we went for a little stroll together. She got an iced latte from a cart, and I got some lemonade and peanuts, and next thing I knew, we were sitting on the grass together, chatting away like old friends. Her name, she told me, was Karen.

She asked me if it was my first time doing yoga, and I said “Yes”, and asked if it showed. She laughed and said ‘Not at all’. She had been a bit of a dancer in her teens and early twenties, but hadn’t kept up with it. She was an ex-lawyer, now a schoolteacher, and she had the summer off. She said it had been a while since she had done anything very physical. It kind of startled me, like when a songbird flies up into your face out of an unsuspecting shrub, to realize that we were flirting. It had been ages and ages since anyone, of any species, had flirted with me.

Ever get an erection, one that is completely unbidden and inappropriate, and it feels like the whole world is staring at it? Well, in your case they aren’t: you’re wearing pants and underwear, and if there is a bit of a tent going on in the front of your slacks, someone would probably have to be looking for it to notice that it’s going on at all. In my case, well, it’s pretty glaringly obvious. First of all, I don’t wear pants; second of all, my penis is as long as a man is tall, and will drag on the ground if I’m not careful. I was flirting with this pretty woman who I’d just met, and who seemed to be enjoying my company, and I was sporting a boner that she could have used as a dress mannequin. Mortifying is not the word.

“You’re not embarrassed by that thing, are you?” she asked me, gesturing toward my gigantic misbehaving cock.

I shook my ears sheepishly, feeling the hot blood rush to my head in a deep red blush.

“Well you shouldn’t be,” she said, “It’s magnificent. Besides, I’m in much the same state myself. It’s just less visible with me.”

We decided to go back to my place, and she climbed up on my shoulders and rode. I swear I could feel the warmth of her pussy squishing against my skin up there, all the way through her capri pants.

Once we were there, it was less immediately clear what to do. Or rather, how we would do it. With anyone else, the situation would have been awkward. With Karen, it was just fun, as if we were solving a tricky puzzle game. Obviously I couldn’t simply fuck her, which is what we would have both liked given our druthers. Our anatomies were wildly incompatible, even if our attraction was mutual and urgently intense.

She tried giving me a handjob, but it simply didn’t work. It was way too awkward; she had to wrap both her arms around my cock and sort of bounce up and down, like she was working a jackhammer or something. It felt kind of nice, especially with her bare breasts pressed against my dick, but it wasn’t taking me anywhere, and she periodically hit a spot that made my dick jump and sent her, squealing and laughing, flying across my living room.

She tried playing with my balls while I jerked off in the standard way, but that wasn’t doing it either: her touch was either so delicate on my testicles that I couldn’t feel it, or if she tried to be more forceful, it made me jump and flinch in a way that was downright dangerous to her well-being.

The method that we hit on, and that served us well in the future, was her (with the aid of a large quantity of Astroglide that I just happened to have lying around the apartment) shoving her arm up my asshole, all the way up to the shoulder, and giving me a vigorous butt-fucking, while I masturbated with my trunk. That did the trick all right. When I came, I let out a bellow that quite literally rattled the windows in their panes.

I smothered her with kisses. Very nearly literally. My trunk can be an amazingly dexterous tool: it can type on a keyboard, operate a mouse, and apparently, it can locate and manipulate a human clitoris. With the tip of my trunk, I kissed my way down Karen’s body, starting with her face and neck, pausing at her small, round breasts, teasing each nipple to pink erectness, before travelling further south. I let my snuffling trunk slowly snake down her body, avoiding that sticky, needy spot between her legs until she was positively crooning for it.

She was intoxicating. Her legs were spread wide apart, further apart than I would ever have imagined possible, based on her performance in the yoga class. I gently teased and snuffled at her sex, savoring her tastes and textures, stimulating her swollen clit. Her head lolled back and forth as I nuzzled her. It was beautiful to watch.

When she came, she was almost as loud as I had been. Her body seemed to come suddenly unsprung, like a watch that has been over-wound, the clockwork all going haywire. She rolled and thrashed and screamed, wrapping her legs around my trunk and pulling me into her slippery wet pussy. I stayed with her the whole way, until the screaming stopped and she lazily and regretfully pulled away.

We both had big fat grins on our faces, and even though it was lunchtime, we couldn’t bring ourselves to leave the apartment. She lounged around the place naked, and we ordered in: Chinese for her, a dozen Caesar salads for me. Later that afternoon, we masturbated together, with her sitting on my lap: my cock lying on top of her like a fallen young sapling draped across her chest, while she fingered her pussy and I jerked off with my trunk. We managed to come at almost exactly the same time. It was glorious.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you not to sleep with someone on the first date. It was the best thing that ever happened to us. We bought an electric buffer, with a big soft cloth wheel, and sometimes we do a sort of modified sixty-nine; I lay down on my side, and she lies down between my legs and softly polishes my cock up, down, and sideways, while I slip my trunk between her legs and gently nuzzle at her pussy and clit until we are both excited to the point of no return. Then I snuffle hard at her clit, and she works the humming buffer up and down the length of my cock until I explode all over her, squirting my come all over her face, neck, and chest, which invariably sets her off like rolling thunder.

People stare at us, of course. When we’re out around town together, and she is wearing cut-offs and a halter top, riding atop my shoulders, and I can just feel her pussy squishing away against my skin up there, and she leans down and whispers in my ear exactly what she is going to do to me later on, and I get a woody the size of the state of Florida, I can feel their eyes on us, but I don’t care. Someday I’ll have to meet her parents, and that day I am dreading, but we’ll get through it.

I honestly don’t know what she sees in me, but I’ve honestly never been so happy in my life. We’ve stuck it out with the yoga; she is getting more and more flexible, and I can do a headstand.

Sometimes I indulge in a fantasy where she is sixteen feet tall, and I can really fuck her. She gets down on her hands and knees, and I take her from behind, carefully easing my cock into her pussy, sliding it all the way up inside until my balls are pressed up against he soft flesh. Then I raise my trunk to the sky and let out a bellow that echoes against the skyscrapers of Manhattan, and I fuck her pussy hard and deep until I feel her coming. Her orgasm sets me off, and I come inside her, and then we just lay like that for a while, enjoying the closeness. But that is just a fantasy.

END

7 Comments »

  1. Joyce C. said

    Hmmm? Interesting character here!! The images of what species it is has me wondering! Animal? Human? Both?
    What ever it is the two of them together is explosive and hot!!
    Thanks for another great story!!!

    • elsiewrites said

      He is supposed to be an African Elephant.

  2. J said

    I love when I start reading your stories, to guess at the gender of the protagonist, I never thought I would have to ponder species!

    Surprisingly hot 🙂

  3. Joyce C. said

    Ah!! I was thinking that it might be an elephant! Still a cool story!

    • elsiewrites said

      Researching this one was informative. If you do a google search for ‘elephant masturbation’, you come up with some interesting results. I’m not personally big on cross-species sex, but I make it a point to try and hit every genre of written-word porn here. And I like to keep you guys guessing!

  4. Gideon said

    What a happy story! 🙂

  5. stairways said

    Hilarious! Wasn’t there a movie where a girl has the “benefit” of an elephant?

RSS feed for comments on this post · TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: