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Leo D. Caprophilico aka LovesCoyoteWoman's Stories


Leo's First Time(1): non-zoo event in zoophilia...

9/12/98 About Marda

At age 19, Leo had his open secrets about 'incest' and 'bestiality'. In those
days there was no Web or PLF, and 'zoophilia' was but an arcane piece of
psycho-jargon. Some of Leo's friends may have suspected actual or contemplated
experiments. Nobody thought his concerns had much depth, and Leo's possible
'kinks' sometimes became the subject of jokes, which he didn't seem to take
seriously and laughed up with his buddies. But Leo was serious; even though he
would deny being a serious zoophile for many years to come, his feelings toward
his favorite sister Wanda were certainly not a joke. But he had another
commitment that helped him step back from such fateful attractions somewhat.

In his strife to grow up and become a bigger and racier man of the world, young
Leo privately doted upon an unholy trinity of bestiality, incest, and
'cheating'. Well, what involvement could Leo have had that was 'inadmissible',
even in bull sessions with friends in which incest and bestiality were openly
laughed up? You guessed it -- 'cheating' was involved. And that was scary.
Once, in the interest of getting 'closer' to one of his college dorm buddies,
Gil, he tentatively started to delurk his 'cheating' story. But Gil hit Leo's
points of interest with put-downs and disbelief. Leo quickly backpaddled,
trying to add some jokes about little guys wanting to appear more manly and
worldly in the eyes of big 'studs'. (At an earlier point Leo had laughingly
asked Gil if he had ever jacked off dogs, and Gil had reacted with what
appeared to be a humorous and verbosely articulate essay of disgust.) But Leo's
discomfort was not eased, nor was the recant received with very good humor. So
Leo quickly and resolutely held back his urge to share this kind of story with
anybody. Leo kept this to himself:

I was just barely out of puberty, age 15. I went to 'Hope Church' and Father
Marc was the new Minister of Music there, directing the choir. His real name
was Marcus Daley, a fatherly composer, performer, and instructor of vocal
music, and not a Catholic. He was recruiting new vocalists for the choir, and
somebody had mentioned my name to him, since I formerly sang pretty good
soprano and alto with the Junior Choir there, before my voice changed. Marc
approached me, and I told him I was thinking about it, stalling him off. I had
started private piano lessons with the eminent Virginia Waller at the same time
and I had begun to worry about having enough practice-time and homework-time
for school. Then a Sunday or two later I stood in the pews singing the hymns
with the congregation in church, while the new, growing choir stood facing us,
singing with us, only more expertly, decked out in maroon robes. I found myself
looking eye to eye with a person who struck me as being the most beautiful and
loving in the world, bar none, and seemingly the equal of any of the country's
best sopranos. The sanctuary was a very large room, but the lady of interest
seemed very close. I thought of one more beautiful girl being out of my reach,
as she seemed to be more mature, and already having her own connections unknown
to me. And then the new Soprano sang a solo that day, to my immense delight: a
very dramatic anthem with a lot of 'coloratura' passages. She looked totally at
ease and in charge of the event as she sang. I looked at the bulletin, and
found the soloist named as 'Marda Breckenridge'. (Note that I have been calling
her other names before, because it is still hard for me to consider telling
exact names and places connected to this story.) I thought, there wasn't much
hope of meeting up with one of the director's special visiting soloists again.
But the mere vague possibility of that meeting was enough to push me right up
to the front to volunteer for choir right after that Sunday service.


First Time (2)....

Marc gave me an appointment to show up at his house -- his studio -- for a try-
out a few days later, and said that he would also try me out as a piano
accompanist with some of his students as time permitted. My newly-changed voice
wasn't good, with gagging on low notes and cracking and straining on high ones.
But Marc said I was a 'tenor' (potentially, I guess), and he liked my ability
to read music and thought my voice would blend well in choir, with practice,
which was basically true. Then Marc invited me to sit down with coffee at the
table, and got me to talk about my music, and in due time, three 'students'
arrived to sing: Marda and two others. The other two were Marilyn Rowe and Judi
Carr, who turned out to be fresh, attractive women in their 30s with histories
of various and sundry affairs, things I couldn't share with anybody else. Marda
was 27 years old at the time, 12 years my senior, and already had three kids,
the youngest still being carried around. Marda was still married to her first
husband, who was a medical insurance exec, who had just expanded his career to
include claims examination and investigation... a type of company cop. We hit
it off very well together from the very first; in my callow-youth ignorance, I
failed to appreciate sufficiently what a fortunate degree of mutuality we all
had in our music efforts. We were immediately on a first-name basis and became
good friends at our very first session, and remained so. (Such familiarity was
noteworthy in that day and age; in Portland in 1962, childhood really did last
21 years, and we felt truly obliged to show ourselves going the distance.)

At first the three women and I would get together to practice at Marc's studio
about once every two weeks or so, but as talk of an upcoming spring concert in
Tillamook grew, we began to meet more and more often. Some 20-25 other youth
and adult students joined us off and on, who would also go to Tillamook with us
(a beauty spot on the Oregon coast). Marda was terrific in working with me
through my 'stage fright' and other nervous habits, and could calm me down when
I got into irksome bouts of excited non-stop talking and even almost autistic
drumming on the piano. Father Marc was far more brusque about these flakey
episodes than Marda, who always corrected and advised with love, calm, and racy
humor. With her expert enabling, I could eventually make the most awkward piano
accompaniments sing, and, from Bach to Rock, we became the centerpiece of the
show. From the very beginning, from what she was able to see (especially at the
Tillamook concert), my mother remarked upon something very interesting and
special happening between me and Marda. (I later learned that my mother had
been a remarkably naive lady, as well as a chronic intellectual over-achiever.)
Because Marda seemed to be 'good for me' (and she REALLY was!), my mother was
not alarmed, and even encouraged others to say, 'oh, nothing bad could come
from that', even as we were spending more and more time together, as months
turned into years. Family jokes began to spring up about these 'strange women'
(often Judi, Marilyn, or others) that came to pick me up at the folks' house
for music sessions. Marilyn became fond of mimicking my Dad's suspicious looks
and actions that he seemed to show when one of them would ring the doorbell and
ask me to go with them. Marilyn got big laughs from us in the privacy of Marc's
studio. But when Marda was the one to call on me at the house, the family jokes
were amazingly hushed, and often Marda was alone.

Father Marc was beginning to show signs of losing his health, especially after
my first Tillamook concert, which turned out to be the last for that group. I
was reluctant to incorporate the full significance of Marc's health issues into
my view of how our music group was destined to grow, evolve, and disperse. But
Marc was less and less a disciplinarian church-musician as time unfolded, and
he became increasingly nostalgic, sentimental and sensual in his thinking, and
more interested in the sexy, tinseled, partying aspects of show business that
figured in his earlier years when singing with his Nashville crowd. Marda and I
developed a very affectionate touching, hugging, lap-sitting relationship,
which we played with a light touch around Marc's other guests, a scene which
usually afforded us the biggest piece of time we could get together. Our 'racy
jokes' turned into serious talk about sex, though again we talked in front of
others often as if we were joking. Marc and his other guests became more and
more bold in talking about kinky sex, and began trading books that they were
reading. My sister Wanda began to show up among Marc's guests when she and my
sister Shari would be there for music sessions. Too-young Wanda accosted Marc
very brashly one day, pointedly in Marda's hearing, about Marc and his friends
'corrupting' her brother (me) with all sorts of dirty and wild stories,
drinking, smoking, and displays of loose behavior. Shari (naturally very close
to Wanda, reading and influencing her mind in the manner of an identical twin)
quickly cut into that diatribe, and dryly rasped that it was no use to scold
anybody, as Leo was already long since corrupted on his own.


Leo's First Time (3)...

One night somebody brought to Marc's studio a copy of the Hindu 'Kama Sutra'
(the classic art of Sex), and Marda and I were totally captivated by it. (Wanda
didn't seem to be present then... the others waited until my folks had stopped
by to pick up their youngest girls, Wanda and Shari.) We came to the part of
the Kama Sutra about compatibles and different sizes of human genitalia being
described in animal terms. The deer, mare, and elephant represented the three
size classes of women, and hare, bull, and horse were for the men. (The spirit
of this seemed to be that at each 'stage', a woman always was sexually bigger
than a man; that thought would turn me on, as would the faunal references.)
Marda seemed to be anxious to assure me that she was a 'deer', but I thought
secretly of her far more 'big' than that, and I confided that I was a 'bull',
with only an average-size dick for my build, which wasn't at all large. Marda
wasn't very tall or heavy, slightly shorter and lighter than me (with a
remarkable warmth and a feeling of lightness to her body that belied her actual
weight), but our subsequent experience together proved me quite correct in my
impression of her sexuality, which was truly luxuriant. I was slow to recognize
the pun and her bold invitation to kiss in front of the other guests: 'deer'
should have been corrected to 'dear', obvious, corny and very funny, but I
muffed it. By that time, though, we were kissing good-night when we parted in
going home privately after music, and kissing longer and deeper all the time.
We watched carefully to stay out of view of Marda's family when I dropped her
off in my car.

At 19 years, the first car I bought was a funky green 1960 Rambler sedan that
was the kind my college classmates said would easily turn into a nice bed for
make-out artists. The car would just barely run, and a lot of its equipment
wouldn't work, but it helped me get by. One day I knew Marda and I were indeed
going to 'do it'--everything possible and then some. You could see, smell,
taste, and feel it all coming from miles away; one could only wonder how many
others could see it, too. But part of me, and Marda, too, wanted to be seen and
to share this funky, raunchy, yet delicate and exciting intrigue. The thought
of a possible zoophilic connection for her occurred to me fleetingly, but such
thoughts and fantasies just didn't seem to want to form and endure for Marda
and me. It was going to be devastatingly simple, just one-on-one. And early one
evening we appraised each other over coffee at Marc's table; I looked at her
features and manner as my mind raced through all the things we had shared. She
was 'mostly German', but there were definitely traces of something more exotic
about her, possibly some Moorish influence. She took to German language very
easily (and she claimed never to study it formally), easily understanding
everything I learned at school and ran by her, and easily singing all the
German lyrics. Her maiden name was 'Detrick', derived from 'Dietrich'; much of
the family had been from Austria, and I suspected she also had some Jewish
background. I had found that she was curiously unwilling or unable to talk much
about anything that had happened to her before she was 12 years old, except
that her father had died early on and had been very dear to her. It was quite
remarkable how very little she resembled her mother, who seemed to be feeding
Marda a lot of negative propaganda about her 'exec' husband for some reason.
Marda had somewhat fleckled skin, with a large birthmark on an inner thigh that
was a beautiful natural tatoo -- a map of a 'secret place'. Her hair was
luxurious red-brown, and she had a rather diamond-shaped face with high
cheekbones. Hands were large, breasts moderate; she didn't like long nails, but
liked to keep herself trimmed and good for touching (per Kama Sutra), and her
feet and ankles were really smooth, with long, supple arches. We said goodnight
to Marc and headed into the cool, rainy night and drove across Portland and
parked in the dark West Hills on a lonely fire road. Soon we had those car
windows all steamed up and got pretty oblivious to anything that might have
gone on outside.

Leo's First Time (4)...concluded...

It was a very fun, exciting thing, but pretty tough at the same time. The seats
wouldn't go down, so we started off with her sitting on my lap. It wasn't too
good a position for us - pretty cramped - and I was feeling some fear, so I had
trouble really letting go all the way and enjoying to the fullest. But soon she
was vigorously taking me up inside her and fucking hard, saying that was a
pretty nice dick I had there to work on (at that point a brief thought flashed
through my head that Marc once whispered to me, on one of his nastier, hornier
nights at home, that her husband was a big, dominant guy with a real little
cock, not so great a lover...). So maybe she was highly appreciating things in
spite of the hassles, not just trying to talk whore-talk as a turn-on (I never
was quite sure). She could do really wonderful things with her strong, deep
pussy with its long, wide moist ribbon lips tracing its large ellipse. We
struggled to get comfortable, even as full comfort eluded both of us. Her scent
was soon all through me and everything else, and she began to quip that we were
really beginning to smell like sex. (In my mind, 'sex' was HER, as I really
have a characteristic dryness of the body that never afforded me much
lubricating fluid or much scent). She made some remark about her body being a
'used' one, and maybe not so great compared to what I was used to with 'girls
up at the college', even as I thought privately that she really knew better
than that. I reflected then, that she had seen me visit at Marc's place with
blonde Yvonne a few times, and a blonde friend of my sister named Pearl from
Linfield College had visited with me there, too. But no, I definitely did not
prefer blondes. So I said 'what other gals, really?' Even though I had actually
been sexually active as a child, (having long been a crazy rough dry-humper
with fuck-fantasies, having fondled dogs and rabbits and birds, having fondly
viewed miles of horse-cock, having cornholed a guy and been cornholed myself
before getting out of 7th grade, and having offered a hard cock to a cat, all
and more unknown to Marda) I was anxious to let her know this was definitely an
adult First Time, and that I truly found her sexual beauty to be awesome.
Indeed, it truly went well beyond even what I would have imagined. And I said
in German 'du bist die erste Frau in meinem Leben' -- ('you are the first woman
in my life!').

Marda suddenly woke up to the fact that we had done this very impulsively and
had made no contraception preparations, and that she could be nearing a fertile
period. She was definitely distressed, amazed that we'd prepared nothing even
though we'd talked about this and had agreed on trying to avoid such a goof.
And in disengaging, she began trying to wipe clean the cum, and we began to
worry about coming home smelling like sex, as the glow of intimate coupling
faded. We hadn't even thought about seeing whether either had really come, but
the sticky stuff was there, all right -- mine and hers. Time was running out,
and I began to feel very scared, stressed out, and sick. The encounter was
changing my body, I thought. There was a thrill to that, but also pain and
nausea from the acute stress of it. Later I had to get out of the car and
vomit, as we tried to clean up. I apologised profusely to Marda for coming
apart in front of her, but she didn't take it bad, and later on that evening
was joking about it. Then we were with her family at her house, and had made up
a story about how we were delayed coming from Marc's studio by me getting sick
while we were in the store. But at that time I was terrifically naive about how
tough a cookie that 'insurance cop' husband of hers was going to be to keep in
the dark. She was kneading some sweet dough, ready to bake, as I set the table.
She popped a morsel in my mouth with gentle fingers, and said, 'can you eat
that now, Sicko?' But then I realized that little manoeuver was pretty much
something only intimate partners would do easily, and I think that Linda, the
young daughter, noticed that then. Later in the week we talked privately. It
didn't look like Marda was going to get pregnant, but in case it really did
happen after all it would be OK with her to go ahead and let us have a kid of
our own. That was mind-boggling to me, but I realized I really did want to
marry that woman, even though it had been a 'given' for such a long time that
she was completely out of reach, or that I always had to act that way. At that
point I remembered one of Marc's remarks, in seeing that Marda and I might look
like we were 'going steady' -- he thought I would most certainly NOT want to
marry her, whatever else might be going on. Well, I thought, it's my life,
isn't it, Father Marcus, and who are you to say what 'works' for a head like
mine? Though a best friend, Marc could indeed work up some discouraging
thoughts. But then, he and Marda went back pretty far together before I had
come along, and he was facing evidence that any desires he might have for her
would have to be satisfied by far more circuitous routes than he would have
liked.

Leo rests his case here, dear friends, for the time being. In present day, he
contemplates a reunion, as a long-term mental block which obscured most of
these memories has been lifted by Divine Grace. That same Grace led Leo to PLF.

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
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