Ape Man

She was standing in the clearing of the rain forest, naked but for a
loincloth she had made for the occasion out of a chamois-leather. Vera
looked like a Botticelli Venus on a bad-hair day. She had the purple
blanket I usually keep on the back seat of the car. When she found a
spot on the ground free of obvious insect and leech hazards, she
spread the blanket, stood on it, then peered into the green gloom of
the surrounding woodland, looking for me. I stayed still, well hidden
behind a forest giant.

I had taken her clothes back to the car where I had changed into my
gorilla suit. It was hot and heavy with, when zipped up, only two
openings; one for my head the other for my genitals. I planned to don
the headpiece, which attached by a velcro strip, just before I was
required to rush out of the forest and, despite her cries for help
from Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle, screw my beautiful wife into the
forest floor.

We had been playing games like this once a month for over two years.
The charades started when she decide that our love making needed a bit
of spicing up. Once a month we would take it in turns to specify the
fantasy of our choice. At first the situations were pretty tame. We
pretended to be strangers and booked into a motel as Mr and Mrs Smith.
We made love in the back of a hire car like a couple of teenagers. She
put on a heavy Swedish accent, and very little else, and gave me a
whole body massage "like ve do in Sveden". This was probably a vile
slander on Swedish masseuses - Vera had never been further north than
Cairns - but I enjoyed it.

Gradually our games grew more elaborate. Vera as the French maid
enjoyed being spanked with the feather duster (my choice). Vera as the
Nazi bitch had "vays to make you squawk" (her choice and not to be
repeated!) Me as a naughty bishop. Her under the table in a dimly lit
caf,. Me, a sultan in a one woman harem. Vera as Carmen Miranda being
rogered as we rhumba'd..

It was after the problems we had with fruit during this particular
fantasy that she decided we needed a "safe" word. One which, when
uttered by either party ended the activity forthwith. In commemoration
of the incident Vera chose "bananas".

This latest idea - Vera as Jane, me as a great ape - grew from her
fascination with a performing gorilla, the star of a small traveling
circus that had been entertaining the good folk of Townsville for the
last two weeks. 

The gorilla performed a wide variety of tricks being rewarded for each
one with a kind word and a piece of fruit. His trainer had explained,
on the local news radio, that no form of coercion had been used in his
training. He was quick to imitate and anxious to earn a reward.

Vera had seen the show a couple of times. She wondered what would be
the fate of any unfortunate woman who encountered a sexually aroused
gorilla. I suggested she looked it up on the net. I said that Trevor -
that was the performing ape's name - would probably run a mile from
some ugly hairless non-gorillass who made advances towards him. Vera's
fantasy persisted, hence that afternoon's performance.

I struggled into the headpiece and, with the loudest roar I could
manage, hampered as I was,  sprang into the clearing. I beat my chest
and waved my dong in an apish manner.

Vera jumped in genuine surprise, then, as I grabbed her in my hairy
arms, she cried out for Tarzan to rescue his Jane.

"Ungh! Ungh!" I extemporized, ripping the chamois-leather loin cloth
off her moist pudenda.

"Save me! Save me!" squeaked Vera/Jane.

I massaged her delightful breasts. My big gorilla hands were black and
beastly against their pale pink fullness. Her nipples hardened. Tarzan
was no longer being summoned. I wondered whether gorillas indulged in
fore play, and had reached the point of not really giving a damn, when
the lights went out and after a short period of what seemed like of
wingless flight, I lost consciousness.

When I came to I was in a patch of thick fern on the edge of the
clearing. I peered out. Vera, looking weak and wobbly, was being
supported by two rangers, the female one had draped the purple blanket
over her shoulders. Four others were struggling with a net containing
the black hairy body of a genuine gorilla - Trevor, as it turned out.

I recognized the trainer from the circus. She was very distressed. A
short, dark complexioned woman, with a deep voice. "I can't understand
it!" she kept repeating."What was she doing here, anyway, with no
clothes on?" 

I beat them back to the car park with time enough to hide my costume
in the boot and to look suitably indignant when informed that the
young lady naturist - Vera - had been serially raped by Trevor - the
gorilla.

His trainer said she was very very sorry. She had been posing with the
rangers and Trevor for a publicity photograph, when they had heard in
the forest, a "roaring noise". Trevor rushed off through the thick
undergrowth. She blushed when Trevor's sexuality was discussed, giving
rise in my lawyers' mind to the suspicion that she, the Trainer, had
taught Trevor a trick or two not suitable for public performances.
Lawyers are like that. The trainer couldn't understand why Trevor had
persisted. He would only keep, "doing a trick" (her exact words) if
promised another piece of fruit.

Despite what my lawyer said in negotiating the handsome settlement,
Vera was not badly shaken. She had thought Trevor was me, making a
special effort, until she cried, "bananas" after her third orgasm. She
was surprised when her hairy lover grunted and came at her again, and
again and again.

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