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The Skin

by Malcolm
Very occasionally when you wake in strange surroundings there's a moment or two of unearthly, mindless peace before some cue brings the whole weight of memory and ego crashing down on you. I guess it's what the Zen types call Zazen and I can see, sometimes, why they are prepared to put a lot of effort into looking for it. In this case the cue in question was a discarded plastic beer glass presumably missed in the rather superficial clean up the night before because it was hidden under a chair. Hidden, that is, to someone of the vertical persuasion. From my perspective lying on the rug it was clearly visible.

That put me in touch with memories of last night's party. I jerked back the mental finger like a man whose tentative touch on an uncomfortable tooth tells of expensive root canal work to come. I caught a brief flash of me crawling on the floor drinking lager out of a bowl. Someone had held some kind of strap or leash on my neck and everyone had been laughing at me. Yet, at the time, I had felt only pleasure in being the centre of attention.

I decided that was enough remembering for the moment. Let's get back to the present.

Item: I was still wearing the skin. A little logic suggested that that was inevitable since I was still in Margo's house and I had had no other clothing with me. Of course, Margo was the kind of person who encountering a naked man lying on her hearth rug in the morning would have merely asked him how he wanted his coffee but I was a trifle more conservative myself.

Item: I had evidently just slept half the night curled up on the hearthrug dressed in a costume which by rights ought to be sweaty and constrictive. I ought to have ached in every bone. Actually I felt warm and comfortable. The mask restricted my field of vision a little but I didn't feel even a touch of claustrophobia.

Item: I had no trace of a hangover. With memories like that a hangover should be obligatory. For the kind of evening I appeared to have had a hangover next morning is the first step on the long road towards absolution.

On the whole, I decided, it was too early in the morning for logic and maybe attempting to get back to sleep was the best option.

It was not to be, though. I had scarcely curled up again when Margo breezed into the room. Her morning cheerfulness had always been a deterrent to sleeping over after one of her parties. "Morning, Fido." She said brightly. "Have a good night."

I groaned theatrically. "Please tell me I didn't make a complete idiot of myself last night. Lie if necessary."

"Actually what you made of yourself was a complete dog. Everyone was impressed. You were a big hit. Even Amanda said you were the best she'd seen."

Amanda, I should explain, is a professional dominatrix. She's probably had more men on the end of a leash than I've had cooked breakfasts. Coming from her this was quite an accolade, though one I could have done without.

I got up. Then with a double take I got up again; this time on two legs. I shook my head in puzzlement. I needed to get home and changed. I followed Margo to the kitchen where she was pouring us coffee. "Rose?" I asked.

"Got tired and left about 2 a.m. while you were still going strong. She said she'd come round and pick you up this morning." She gave me an impish grin. "I think you might be in the doghouse for a while there."

She pushed a mug of coffee my way, then chuckled as she realised how little use that was to me. I could probably have picked the mug up between my "paws" but how could I drink it through the snouted mask? She opened a cupboard and found me a straw. "Actually that's a good question. How ever did you drink that lager last night? It seemed like you were lapping it up like a real dog."

I had to confess I had absolutely no idea. I was more concerned with the question of Rose and how much damage I'd done to our relationship.

Thinking back carefully past the really embarrassing bit I was able to tell myself that Rose was at least partly to blame. I was she, after all, who had insisted on my wearing this crazy dog suit. It's scarcely the kind of apparel I would normally chose for a fancy dress party. I'm more into pirates, vampires, burglar bill outfits and the like. I'm not noted for my acting abilities. If I must perform I prefer to stick to simple, macho stereotypes.

When Rose had arrived at the house I'd had to confess I'd completely forgotten about Margo's party. It may well have been a Freudian slip. Though I like Margo she has some seriously weird friends and I'm not usually comfortable at her parties. Rose accuses me of being stuffy and anal, though I've never been sure what that means. Of course that meant I'd made no provision for fancy dress and, with an hour to go, there was no real chance of hiring anything.

I was on the spot "We are not going to let Margo down. We'll have to improvise." and after a moments though there had been a slightly triumphant look in her eyes. "Fetch the skin. I've been dying to see if it fits you anyway."

I had, for a moment, been tempted to lie and say I'd got rid of it. I'd certainly formed the intention of getting rid of it often enough. I was telling myself that I didn't want to wear the thing because it would be uncomfortable and embarrassing. The truth is the thing gave me the creeps and I wished I'd never mentioned it to Rose in the first place.

Animal costumes are still called skins in the trade even though they are now made of nylon fur and foam latex. This one, though, was the real thing. Lord knows how old it was. It had and old heavy zip but there were signs that the zip was a relatively recent addition and that it had originally laced up the back. I had, in a manner of speaking, inherited it. When I had moved into my current house I had discovered a couple of old tin trunks in the attic space, apparently missed by the house clearers. Their crude locks had yielded easily to my inexpert probings with bent paper clips and while one had proved to contain merely a few Navaho trinkets the larger of the two had yielded this rather fearsome thing.

At first I'd assumed it was some mascot costume or perhaps one intended for children's theatre but further inspection seemed to rule out both of those. Costumes intended for such purposes do not extend anatomical correctness to the point of making them clearly male. Further examination showed that the crotch was so arranged that the wearers wedding tackle would actually wind up inside the simulated gear. The thing was all in one piece with laces at wrists and ankles. All four paws had raised pads as if to make appropriate tracks. It looked to me to represent some wide muzzled dog, perhaps a mastiff. It must have weight about 20 pounds and it was made of carefully stitched animal skins with stiffeners of what I think must have been whalebone. The chest thrust forwards like a medieval pigeon-breasted doublet apparently shaped with wickerwork. The tail seemed to be articulated with some hard bead like objects. It had a faint musky smell which made me think of museums.

Ever since I'd shown it to Rose about six months earlier she'd been wanting me to try it on. It was manifestly too big for her but she kept saying that it looked exactly the right size for me. I'd resisted so far for reasons I hadn't really cared to examine to closely.

But that day Rose finally had me backed into a corner on the issue and I knew it. I had shrugged in resignation and got the stepladder out and between us we had got the trunk down. The skin looked, if anything, less prepossessing than when I'd first seen it, the mask seeming to leer at me. I had said a silent prayer that the thing wouldn't come even close to fitting.

It did fit, of course. In fact it had fit me like a glove. The legs and sleeves slid into place as if frictionless and indeed as I slid into it seemed slightly slimy and I felt a shudder of disgust. Then Rose had fastened the zip and at that moment I could almost have sworn the thing squirmed against my skin as I felt my cock slide into the sheath. Then suddenly it was warm and comfortable. My former nervousness had seemed inexplicable and ridiculous. It felt as if the thing, after a cautious approach, had decided to make friends with me.

I remember feeling unusually confident as Rose, having put on her own, rather more conventional costume, drove us to the party. I remember waving to some odd pedestrians that stared at us. And by the time we arrived I had decided to play to role as well as I could.

I had done it clumsily at first. But despite the fact that I don't remember drinking all that much (having to use a straw slows alcohol consumption considerably) it became easier and more natural as the evening progressed. My memories are a little fragmented but I seem to have taken to all fours at a fairly early stage. The other partygoers played up to me with enthusiasm. Being stroked and petted got more and more pleasant as the evening progressed and though logically I should have felt little sensation through the suit it seemed that I was as tactile as if naked. I remember strong odours too. The smells of beer, people and pot. The smell of sexual arousal. Of the leather and rubber gear of those of Margo's guests into such things. It was a great evening.

By the time rose came to collect me that morning I was pretty desperate for a pee. I had held off uncertain as to how I'd go about it. I could, I suppose, have asked Margo to get me out of the costume so I could go but although I knew perfectly well Margo wouldn't turn a hair I was too embarrassed.

When she arrived I hurried out to the car with none of yesterday's nonchalance and tried to hunker down out of sight. The minute she let us in to my small house I asked her to get me out of the costume.

"Not," She said, "Until you make love to me. Doggy style, of course."

"But I've got to piss. And soon, I'm bursting."

"You seemed to manage well enough last night."

"Did I? I suppose I must have done. I don't remember."

She walked through the lounge and unbolted the kitchen door. "Out you go."

I hesitated, wondering if she was serious. She said again. "Come on. Out!". Oh well, if this was to be my punishment for abandoning her last night I'd better take it like a man. Or like a dog? Well at least the backyard is private, being surrounded by high hedges. I approached the door reluctantly. "No." Rose demanded "Properly, on all your legs. Otherwise you'll get piss down yourself." So I dropped to all fours before going through the door. Rose completed my embarrassment by giving me a push with her foot and shutting the door behind me. I looked about for a suitable place, ideally out of sight of the kitchen windows.

Now if you've ever tired going any distance on all fours you'll know how tiring it is. The strange thing was that today it seemed amazingly easy. As I stood in a denuded flower bed and gave my bladder blessed relief something of last night's mood began to creep back. I began to experience those preternaturally sharp smells again. Suddenly the strength of these feelings frightened me. It was like some kind of intoxication. A loss of control.

Having finished I didn't know what to do next. I was shut out. Could the clumsy mitts that were my paws operate the door knob? I suspected, in any case, she would have locked the door. Probably I should go and scratch to be let in like a good doggy.

But the door opened before I got there and out came Rose on hands and knees, completely naked. She shuffled round and bent her spine in invitation leaving no question of what was expected of me. I hesitated a moment, to worried to be immediately horny then deciding abruptly that this was the quickest route to get out of the skin I hurried forward and covered her as best I could.

Suddenly I was very horny indeed and she gasped with surprise and perhaps a little pain. The orgasm was a fast as I've ever experienced and in an instant I'd forgotten everything.

Confused I fell back to the ground and watched as the mistress stood up. She spoke to me and I basked in her attention, waiting for her to make clear what I wanted. She went from the outside place to the inside place and I followed. She spoke again and I waited. Then she seemed to scared and when she spoke again the fear was in her voice. That made me sad and I wanted to bite the thing that was frightening her but I couldn't smell it, or hear it, or see in. Suddenly she got down and put her hand on my neck. I felt a little tug. And then

I was a man again half in and half out of a cold and slightly slimy fur costume. I tore myself out of the thing with revulsion. My teeth were chattering so hard I couldn't speak. I huddled there while she helped me into my clothes and gave me brandy. When I still couldn't get warm she helped me upstairs and under the bedclothes. "It had me." I said when I could stop my teeth chattering for long enough. "I lost myself in the orgasm and I couldn't find myself again. If you hadn't "

She poured some more brandy into the glass for herself. "My God! What is that thing?"

That was four days ago. The physical changes were subtle and we didn't really believe them until she'd found a recent photograph of me. My canines were just a little taller than my incisors. It was only about a sixteenth of an inch, though it's more now. My body hair didn't used to be this dense or long. Shaving once a day was enough.

As I type this the thermometer says it is 80 in the room. Despite this and the coat I'm shivering. There's only one garment that can warm me now and I wear it as little as I can. That, unfortunately, is more than I'd like. I can't get an instant's sleep without it.

We tried to burn it. Fortunately we were cautious about it and the blisters have mostly healed now. Rose calls it psychosomatic but she can't explain why the flame burned only me and not the fur to which it was applied.

Rose found out quite a bit about the previous owner of the house. She found the reservation on which he was born and spoke to an old man who had known him before he left. She heard that he was a disappointment to his father, who had had a formidable reputation as a medicine man. The boy had inherited the basic talent but not the self-discipline.

She found out how he had died. A hunting accident. The hunter swore that what he had seen was an animal. A coyote, he thought. Of course some of those rednecks will shoot at anything that moves but when I heard that I made Rose buy a collar and a good strong chain. There are farmers around here with shotgunes and sheep to protect. As a man I understand that. When the skin has me it's another story.

Each time I wear the thing now it takes me more completely and more easily. Each time the physical changes are a little more apparent.

I'm less frightened now. It's not so bad being a dog and Rose has promised I can stay with her. I know now that the essential core of myself is the same whether I'm man or beast. One of these days Rose will unzip the skin and find everything human in me gone forever but what I truely am will survive, as will my love for her.


This Story is © 1997 by Malcolm
If you have any questions concerning the archive itself, or are the author of this story and request removal, please jumpover to the feedback page, or send me mail at thomash@t0.or.at

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