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Morphtalk by the Blog Dog

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

Commissioned by Seinfeld 1999

Blogisode 8 Part 2:

Though I talked a lot about them, morph-only sports and competitions are still a really new phenomena. Actually, aside from the few I mentioned in the first part of this blog, we haven't had much of an opportunity to develop our culture beyond the most basic, instinctual level. Just because morphs don't have that many sports of our own, though, doesn't mean that we don't play sports. Actually, we're all sort of expected to take part in some sort of team sport on a regular basis, as a way to build community relationship; the expectation isn't a spoken one, usually, but just about every morph does it, and would probably look at a morph that doesn't kind of funny.

For me, "team sports" means aerobics and weights at Windy's gym, since I'm never alone when I'm doing those. Aside from those more private-level group activities, though, martial arts training is rapidly growing in popularity (that pitpull I mentioned in part 1, Spike, is a key figure in the development of a morph-specific martial art, actually, and training morphs in its use), and all sorts of games take place on the streets. When I'm walking home from work at the University, pretty much as soon as I step into morphtown, I expect to have to skirt around the edges of a pickup game of soccer or football (American football, that is, for those not from the States), or maybe rugby. American football and soccer are popular because there's a lot of running involved, as well as developing pack-level strategy and tactics. Rugby is popular because it has all of that, and the opportunity to tackle somebody with a lot more enthusiasm than those other two sports. Basketball is also pretty popular, since a lot of the neighborhoods now designated "morphtowns" have leftover street courts from when humans were the dominant population. Baseball isn't too common, at least in the city where I live, mostly because there aren't that many places where you can safely play the game without breaking some windows, and morphs, even the young ones, don't like ruining the place where we live when we can avoid it. Street hockey also sometimes breaks out, much like war, and when it does, there aren't a whole lot of rules, and good-natured, no-holds-barred melees tend to happen with regularity during one of these pickup games.

Every sport I've mentioned taking place in morphtown, though, is an informal game, the sort of thing you'd expect kids and some adults to play in their spare time. Well, "some" among humans, anyway; among morphs, a whole lot of adults are known to join in on a pickup game, and it's not at all uncommon to see a father wading into the middle of a hockey brawl right alongside his sons and daughters. All the same, the games morphs play are thought of as a hobby, not a career. Until the last couple years, morphs weren't allowed to take part in professional sports traditionally played by humans. I guess it's because we never had a Jackie Robinson figure, or maybe we just never had the inclination to make money off something we all grew up thinking was just for fun, to blow off steam after work, so we never pressed the issue.

No, as I think about it, saying morphs didn't take part in professional sports until recently isn't accurate. In a few sports, actually, morphs were brought into play early, and have a really wide following among the wealthy human population that still financially dominates our little blue planet. The sports morphs were allowed to play in, though, were always morph-only, and generally a variation on sports normally filled by animals. Dog- and horse-racing are the biggest examples of what I'm talking about.

Racing events for animals, especially horse racing, was always big business in the circles that followed that sort of thing. A thoroughbred that could beat anyone in a race could be worth millions. Naturally, once morphs started to trickle into ownership by civilians, it was only a matter of time before some bright egg got the idea of putting morphs onto the tracks, instead of a horse or a dog. Also naturally, after morphs started to get into the racing scene, every breed that could run soon found a place in the lineup.

Probably the best way to explain how morph racing works would be to give an example. While I was thinking about this subject, I decided I should probably go and get some firsthand information, which means heading to the local track. Almost every big city has one, after all, and my hometown is no exception. Luckily, I had a friend who was in the racing lineup at the time, Rizzo, this really cute Saluki girl; I like her, even if she's a keptmorph, and I actually kind of like her owner, this bigtime sports reporter (I'll withhold her name, though, to protect the innocent - you'll see why later on); Rizzo's owner is a tiny half-Korean, half-Caucasian, and you'd think she was the sweetest, most innocent little thing to meet her. With Rizzo on my side, and her owner backing her up, I got a ringside seat to the action.

Like most races, this one was unisex, in this case all-femmes. The prize at the end was twofold for the winner. First, and most important from my point of view, there was a sizable cash prize to the winner, with lesser prizes for second and third places; the sport's human-run, so that's where the payout usually stops. The second prize, though, was the reason Rizzo, and all the other femmes there for that matter, were really excited: breeding rights with Montenegro.

I've been casual friends with Montenegro ever since Dorothy introduced us, and he's tapped my treasure tail enough times that I have to say, he makes a pretty decent secondary prize: that stud knows how to treat a girl...or a guy, for that matter, considering what he did to Chuck the last time that big black stallion crashed at my place in between flights. Poor Chuck didn't get up almost the whole day after, and he wasn't even the one on bottom. For an awful lot of morph femmes, though, getting top seed is really important, and after Montenegro's movies hit the bigtime, and he became known internationally as an action hero, his breeding services have been in really high demand, almost as much among freemorphs as kept ones. Getting s squirt of his sperm up your cootchie's almost worth as much as the prize money, in terms of market price.

So there I am, using my field glasses to run my eyes over the bare bottoms of the fourteen runners, when Montenegro sees me and comes over to say hello. Neither of us said a whole lot, of course, since we were both more than a little preoccupied with the view. Morph races are traditionally done as close to the nude as is practical. With guymorphs, they're typically allowed a jock strap to keep their goodies from bouncing around and slowing them down, while leaving everything - and I do mean everything - else on full display. A lot of morphguys even go so far as to wear mesh straps, which means even more gets put on display. As for femmes, a sports bra is about all they bring with them, and let me assure you, the view is fine. Especially on the day that I was watching, because, due to the nature of the prize, almost every last one of those sleek, skinny morphgirls was wiggling back and forth, their poor little cunnies itching something awful with the fire of the heat in their tummies. That's right: almost without exception, every one of those morphs had come onto the track ready first to race, and then to make babies.

Normally, a femme in heat isn't that impaired by her "condition." There's this sort of an itch you can't scratch down there, you know, but that's about it, and if you wait long enough, it cools off on its own. You do get a lot more attention from morphmales while you're in that state, but that's about the only real change. Right up until you get aroused, that is. Once you get hot and wet, then all bets are off. Me, I get...well, let's just say I'm not fit for polite company, as Chuck found out one time when my birth control pills had a change in formula, and I didn't realize it until later; sure, they still worked for keeping me from getting knocked up, but they didn't keep off the heat.

For these girls up on the starting line, they were riding that ragged edge. Enough arousal, and you can draw on the sex drive as a source of power. Too much, and your legs get too wobbly to even walk, let alone run. Somehow, I knew that some of those femmes were going to end up face down and bottom up in the dirt, yowling like non-morph cats in heat in despair when they realized that they'd let their desires get the better of them, and lost the race.

Speaking of cats...mmm, nice. Just looking over the video I shot while I was out there, and I have to admit, the cheetahfemme next to Rizzo has a gorgeous little tush, those spotty buns just the right size to fit into my hands, let alone the hands of somebody as big as Montenegro. She keeps sticking it out, too, and wiggling it around, tail hiked, to show off how wet and ready she is for the stud sitting next to me. Right next to her was the stripy butt of a zebrafemme, and though she was a lot more in-control, you could pick out the way her black quim was winking in need even without the field glasses I was using.

The starting lines for a morph race are sort of like those for a horse or dog race, with a frame where all the racers can line up, and a trap door at the front that snaps open when it's time to race. These frames differ from those for four-legged creatures, however, in that they're a lot shorter, so the moment a morph bends over to get into the proper starting position, the hind end sticks up and out. A perfect opportunity for a photo shoot, let me tell you, and the proof's in the number of pictures on the Internet of exactly that part of people's favorite morph racers. I'd even go so far as to say that a lot of racers get their back ends snapped more often than their faces.

When the race started, a thought hit me, and I just had to ask Montenegro: why were there so many girls from different morphtypes lined up and eager for his seed? After all, morphs don't usually have the ability to breed with morphs of a different type, except in very rare and exceptional circumstances. Montenegro explained to me that he was one of those exceptions: he'd been made, quite literally, as military-grade breeding stock. Not wanting to waste more time than necessary on breeding new morphs, back before they had to start treating morphs like people, a lot of world militaries decided to have a few morphs custom-made for breeding purposes, making them cross-compatible with just about any morphtype you'd care to name. Montenegro, as it turned out, was one of these universal studs. Yet another reason why he brought in the big bucks whenever he rented himself out.

The race...well, the race was fun, all right. I admit, I was a lot more interested in the bouncing boobies and flexing thighs than I was in the race itself. And sure enough, that cheetahfemme bit the dust, just like I thought she would, and had to crawl off the track in disgrace, poor thing. Unlike an animal race, however, morph racing is more like track and field: the whole track was an obstacle course! There were hurdles, areas where the racers had to dive in and swim, pits that had to be jumped or even pole vaulted, and even a bicycle part around the middle. Needless to say, it's a lot more fun than watching some horses run in a circle. When all was said and done, my friend Rizzo was the first femme over the line, and the one to get her reward, right then and there on the track. I mean what I say: Montenegro excused himself and walked out to grab that skinny little saluki, and bend her over one of the nearby hurdles.

There was a collective gasp from the audience (myself included, I must admit) when that big black stallion stripped himself down, and that immense black mountain he calls a cock rose to full attention before all our eyes. About two-thirds of the audience was female (mostly human, but female all the same), and there weren't many of us, human or otherwise, that could hold back our own sympathetic whimpers and moans as skinny little Rizzo got her hot little saluki butt pounded. I mean that: Montenegro didn't hold anything back! He just grabbed the base of her tail with one big hand, and her tush with the other, and squeezed himself into her, nice and slow, before he opened up, making my little friend squeal like a puppy. There wasn't any need for foreplay, wet as Rizzo was after her run, as much with sweat as with her girl juices, and in minutes she was howling madly in orgasm.

For his part, Montenegro lasted a long time. Believe me, if I'd paid for my ticket, it would have been money well-spent, for the show that big stud put on. By the end, poor little Rizzo was as limp as a dishrag, very literally screwed silly, her eyes out of focus, her tongue lolling as she panted, an expression of pure bliss on her sleepy face. When he'd fired both barrels into my saluki friend, Montenegro picked her up and tucked her easily under one arm, then gave a nod of appreciation to the audience, and headed to the showers.

From what I heard afterward, both from Rizzo and from Montenegro, the big guy got jumped by a pack of heat-horny femmes pretty much as soon as he stepped into the locker room, the hot cheetahfemme in the lead. Of course, they hadn't counted on Montenegro: it was a sexual massacre, judging from the aftermath (which I did see - what a mess!). After everything was said and done, my big friend thanked the girls for their time, showered, and went back to his hotel. Behind him was a room full of femmes as limp and spent as Rizzo had been.

That's where morphs really get attention in professional sports. Not to say that we don't have a showing in a few others. Mostly it's small-time stuff, though, the bush leagues where morphs play against other morphs. So far, there aren't that many fans of morph-only baseball, or football, or soccer, and so forth, but there's usually enough for some local sponsorship at least, enough to make it worthwhile, and even profitable enough to pass for a job if you win consistently. From what I've heard, morphs in human-dominated sports are at about the same level as sportsmen were way back in the day, when the players didn't make a lot of money, but put their hearts into the sport for the love of playing the game. A few more years, and morphs are almost guaranteed to hit the professional level, just like those old-time ballplayers.

One big exception in the present day is hockey. Yeah, I know: hockey. Who'd have guessed? Apparently it's because the Canadian leagues are a lot more willing to give minorities a chance, and that includes morphs. So every now and then, you'll hear of a Canadian team coming over the line to play against a team in the United States, and every time it happens, there'll be at least one news outlet, official or otherwise, that will insist on talking about the match being a contest between "man and beast," or something silly like that. Canada didn't have that big of a population to start, and after whyker came through, their universal healthcare almost bankrupted itself trying to handle not only its own population, but hordes of people from the United States trying to mooch from their northern neighbors. The end result, as it relates to hockey: at least one of those teams up there, the Wolves, is entirely composed of morphs.

Rizzo's the one who clued me into one of the "special hazards" that comes with being a reporter and interviewing a locker-room full of big, shaggy morphmales. While Rizzo was getting her baby basket stuffed, her owner was up north, getting very up close and personal with the all-morph Canadian hockey team. From what I understand of the story, she went in for a normal interview after a, especially heated game against a team from the States, and all the morphs were very nice, and completely professional; they didn't do a single thing to make her feel uncomfortable or in any sort of danger. At least not after they realized she was there. Before, they'd had some of the cheerleaders for their team back in the locker-room to help them celebrate their win, but they'd shooed the girls out to make everything cool for the reporter.

I guess, based on Rizzo's account of her mistress' experience, that it was the cheerleaders that got to the reporter. You see, they were all human - all of them. She actually called them back in, hot on the scent of what she thought might be a story of sexual abuse, or some other sort of scandal, the sort of thing the media loves. What she got instead was a story of raging hormones on all sides, and a lot of very liberal minds willing to try out new things. Not that I can blame those human girls: when you're stuck around feral savages like timber wolves and grizzly bears all day, and everybody's supposed to act like they're perfectly civilized in front of the cameras, while engaged in the testosterone-heavy sport of full-contact hockey, it was only a matter of time before somebody crossed the line.

Do believe me when I say that it wasn't the morphs.

Though she owned a morph femme, Rizzo's reporter owner didn't know much about morphmales, and she was curious. After hearing the confessions of the cheerleading squad, that curiosity deepened, and then went just a little farther when the head cheerleader (presently out of active work due to an unexpected pregnancy) invited the reporter to take a shower with them. _All_of them.

Last I heard, both she and Rizzo have twins on the way. I've already been earmarked for babysitting services.

To conclude, morphsports are a thing, and they're a part of current events. Right now, our presence in professional sports played by humans is fairly small, and whether we'll be allowed to compete with and against human players is still heavily debated. Eventually, though, at the very least we'll get a league of our own, and I'm looking forward to seeing it happen.