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Tranny Tales Ch. 01

By: erectus123



The use of the word Tranny is not meant to be disrespectful, it is used as it was in the past although not politically correct at this time.

*****

This tale took place a good while ago, but most of the details remain quite clear in my memory. Yet, strangely, at this moment I can't remember her name, maybe because she changed her name every month? She was a Tranny or pre-op T-girl if you please, about 19 years old. She complained that her competitors would cancel her ads in Craig's List. She thought changing her name frequently would slow them down. But anyone could easily see, even with the name change, the ad was the same person, because she always included the description, "Young ripe Filipina, transsexual, seeks tender companions, open to all requests." Who knows if the name changes really had any effect? The point is she had a lot of names.

Let me describe her to you; she was a young Philippine born in the US, her skin was almost white, a little creamy, she was fairly tall for one of Asian descent, her long black hair cascaded down her naked back or fell forward covering her pert breasts, she was always nude in her bedroom, she had a full sized oval face with moderate Asian eyes, her fingers were long and graceful, her nails long and always polished, she was slender with small boobs and erect well defined nipples, and a nice oval cushioned ass that seed to beg me to mount. She seemed to have no hair on her body, just a few pubic wisps. Her cock and balls were so small as to be almost invisible, hidden between her thighs making her all the more fem. How she managed to be so well groomed in that place she lived in, I really don't know, but she was always clean and smelled and tasted good.

She loved animals. Had a little dog, a white poodle she called "Tinkerbelle" and two yellow canaries, so domesticated they would fly around the room and alight on her hand. Like most members of the third sex, she was at odds with her family. They were Evangelical Christians and very disapproving of her life style. 

"They say God will punish me for what I do," she said on more than one occasion, "and punish them as well." Her family saw her as the scourge of civilization and believed the biblical destruction of this world was right on her shoulders. She saw her parents only on rare family occasions, although they too lived in Los Angeles. Having moved out of their home, she now lived in a rented room around the corner from the McDonald's.

I didn't meet her as a result of her ads in Craig's. The first time I saw I her was in the small supermarket near where I lived. I saw her as she passed and knew immediately she was a T-girl. I found her so attractive I backtracked to look at her again and to my disappointment, before I could approach, she was gone. When I saw her several months later I recognized her immediately. She was walking along the bus stop near the Mac's in a short black mini skirt and an orange coral frilly blouse wearing dark sunglasses, looking very much like a young Hollywood girl who had lost her way, cute and shy. I certainly wasn't going to let her disappear this time so I walked right up to her, started a conversation, asking her if she lived in my neighborhood and telling her I had seen her in the market. 

"Oh, I used to live over there, but now I live over here" and within a few minutes she had given me new address and her phone number. 

It was a summer holiday weekend and as it happens in the summer in Los Angeles, the streets were empty. I called her repeatedly the next day, but only in the afternoon did I get through. 

"I had to go get the Sim card recharged, don't call me so much, they charge for every call even if I don't pick up." 

"I'll give you money for a recharge, can I come bye."

Soon afterwards, I was at the door of a small tumbled down dirty wood clapboard house on a side street. Scraps of wood and construction material littered the tiny front yard surrounded by an ancient rusty wire chain link fence. Her landlord, Hugo (he surely was the Lord of the Land if not of the Flies), was a tall skinny probably 50 something older hairy gay guy, with a craggy beard who always looked dirty, but also dangerous. Her room was at the back of the house, since I had to knock at the front door it was as if Hugo was Cerberus, the Gatekeeper of Hell, he would open the door to let me in and point me down the hall to her room. I never saw him without his being semi nude or wearing a wife beater while his genitals remained in plain view. He was hung like a horse but I was told he was more interested in being ridden than in riding. He worked part-time in the early afternoon for a sandwich shop around the corner, doing deliveries on an old bicycle. He would put his arm around me on occasion, squeezing my muscle and ask if I would come in to visit him, have a drink or a smoke. When he said, "smoke" he lifted his hand to wave his fingers, indicating he had in mind "special smokes" if you know what I mean (this was of course years before the legalization of pot). With his other hand he'd pat my ass or grab for my cock. I did my best to avoid Hugo. He was obviously interested in more than a gay hello.

That first time I visited, I didn't yet know who Hugo was. He appeared at the door as a tall lanky half dressed guy. When I asked for her, he looked disappointed, then smiled and pointed down the hall. I walked down the corridor and knocked on a door that opened into a pink room with a large bed. There she sat truly like a Princess with a white tiny poodle on her lap. 

As I love dogs, I immediately started to play with the tiny dog and that broke the ice. We talked briefly before she pulled me down on the bed, where I undressed what few clothes she was wearing. The dog jumped off the bed and scampered away, disappearing under some piece of furniture. Two yellow canaries in separate cages sang happily as the afternoon sun filled their window. The room seemed filled with the heady aroma of "Channel No. 5" which she must have splashed over herself just before my head went between her small breasts to suck her nipples. She grabbed me by my cock and pulled me over her, so I was much like a wrestler pinning an opponent. This position gave her easy access to my cock that was able to enter her open mouth. She rapidly sucked me but I whispered, "I want to fuck you" and she stopped and rolled over belly down, moved to all fours spreading her long slender legs. I fit myself over her doggy style. Her plump little ass was a welcomed target I was quick to penetrate after applying a dab of lube that she had handed me from a shelf. 

I entered her tight vortex bareback. She moaned and I gently fucked her for what must have been fifteen minutes, she kept saying things like "Fuck me Poppy" (Which is what the Latino T-girls say) until I could no longer contain myself and with my arms around her, holding each of her small pert breasts, I came copiously, moaning and mumbling primal sounds. Unfortunately I didn't speak Tagalog or I might have said something meaningful but there was no escaping I was well pleasured. 

We lay together a while, I was so relaxed and relieved that I fell asleep momentarily and then realizing my stupor, I stirred to awaken. She too had fallen asleep but as my flaccid penis withdrew she began to awaken and I took her hand in mine and whispered, 

"Rest my darling, rest," hoping to make my get away. After a few moments I arose, left her some money on her night table and found my way out. I didn't know, at that point, where the bathroom was, so I wasn't able to wash my dick off. I just put my underwear on and left, smelling of her perfume. It was at that moment, after our first love making session, that she said the oddest thing, I still remember. I arose from her bed to leave, she said mater of factly, "Do you want some lotion for your cock?" As if that was what I should need. She obviously meant well, but it seemed strange. Maybe it was a good idea, but no one else had ever made such a suggestion. But as I've gotten older, I wash my cock after urinating and apply a dab of lotion, often thinking of her.

After our first love session, I would frequently return to see her early in the morning. Then I'd go for breakfast at Mac's, order the $3 breakfast with coffee, pancakes, sausage and some yellow fluffy soggy mass that passed as scrambled eggs. If she was still awake I'd invite her to accompany me, but usually she fell back to sleep after sex, my cum leaking out of her ass and puddling onto the bed sheet as she turned sideways to shield herself from the hall light when I opened the door to leave. She never asked for much money, compared to others T-girls I had frequented; she was a cheap lay, I say that with respect, but she was a good lay and a nice one. I certainly kept coming back for more.

With time we became close and she began to open up to me. She talked about her past, her ex and sometimes her family. Her phone was always going on the blink, seems she'd forget to recharge her sim card, whatever that was, over at the 7-11 Store. She said her sister was always mad at her because the phone failed. I never met her sister but she spoke often of her, though not always in a loving way.

She also mentioned a black guy, Slicker, whom she said was just a friend. 

"Boyfriend?" I said. 

"No," just a friend." 

I saw him several times over the course of our relationship, either arriving or departing book ending our fuck sessions. He was about my height, very dark skinned with white sparking teeth, wore an oversized brown leather jacket and a blue Dodger cap pulled down so you never saw his eyes. Later I found out just what the relationship was. 

She always promised me she would make other clients wear rubbers, but who really ever knows what your sex partner does when she's fucking other guys. You try not to think of it and tread the path between life and death without really knowing which was the high road. Such is the lure of complete pleasure. It is safe to say, there is no comparison for either partner wearing a rubber compared to barebacking, although I always fervently suggest the use condoms, at least until an HIV test and a monogamous relationship are established, if such a thing is ever possible, baring accidental condom failures.

When I first met her she seemed rather passive on most topics. She was apolitical, pro-fashion, pro-sex and she loved Filipino food. She was young and she was fun. 

What I liked the most about her was she had few if any clients, just a wealthy boyfriend from a previous serious relationship, whom she had lived with for a short time. She thought she would have married him and been on easy street, although this was years before same sex marriage was legalized. Of course, had he footed the bill, she might have become a sex change, or perhaps as I learned more about him, maybe he was the better candidate for sex change surgery than she. In any case, marriage was not yet a viable option and their romance seemed to have run its course, with occasional fits and starts, marriage was out of the question. For some reason I assumed he was the son of a rich Asian from Orange County but I never was quite sure. All I knew of him I had learned from her. He was about her age and had been very generous, buying her entire wardrobe and he had gifted her the dog that she chose from some expensive breeder.

At the time she had become a part of my life, her ex become a sort of phantasm who would enter into her life for a few days and then disappear, leaving her with some new clothes, perfumes and various expensive sexual devices; for example, a Fuck Machine. Don't know what that is? Neither did I.

This Fuck Machine was a black plywood box about one and a half feet long, a foot high, with a rod that came out of the side onto which you screwed in rubber dildo dicks of various sizes. When plugged in and turned on it did he old "in and out" quite nicely. She described whipping the boyfriend with a riding crop while the machine fucked him and she wanted to do the same with me. She insisted I try it, and on one occasion I let her have her way, the dildo was much too large to penetrate my lubed ass so she screwed on a medium size cock and embarrassed me completely, striking me with the sting of the riding crop on my bare butt from time to time. After the machine ground away at my ass for about fifteen minutes, an exudate that looked like cum, but was actually mucus from the irritation, dripped out of me. 

"Oh good, you are cuming," she exclaimed happily. I didn't argue with her, but that was the first and last time I had a date with the Fuck Machine and her as a chaperone. It wasn't for me at all. I'm still totally embarrassed by my acquiescence and that she saw me like that with my naked ass up in the air being dildo raped by that damn machine.

Other than the occasional weirdo boyfriend, she catered to me on a daily or every other day basis. What I specifically enjoyed was that she let me fuck her bareback. Most trannies would never have done that as only a year or two earlier they were dying in droves from HIV. What I didn't know was she was getting high on amphetamines every afternoon, probably with the money I gave her.

Like any one whom you fuck on a regular basis, you tend to fall in love or at least become very fond of them. The more I fucked her, the more she sucked my cock, the more I fell in love her and I made the mistake of telling her so as I made love to her. 

Before I knew it, I was bringing her lunch, taking her out to Philippine fast food restaurants, giving her gifts and extra money; all seemed fine on the surface. Then the proverbial shit hit the fan. 

Sunday I could not reach her by phone so suspecting the "Sim Card thing," I stopped by in early Monday morning and there was her gay landlord Hugo. He and some Mexican boy were hanging some sexual device with chains from the ceiling. Eyeing the pile of plaster on the floor I surmised they had missed the studs the first time around and it had collapsed under the weight of who ever had been hanging there. They were still were busy at work. 

"Where is she, your tenant?" I asked, not suspecting what had happened. 

Hugo stopped rattling the chains, bent over to pick up a long screw and responded,

"You're her boyfriend, you should know." 

"Cut the shit Hugo, where is she?" 

"Where is the little slut? I'll tell you." 

My hand was tightly clenching the small Beretta pistol I always carried in my jacket pocket.

"Ok sweetheart, it's like this, two days ago the little bitch went crazy, freaked out on her drugs and I had to call the police. The Judge had her committed for 30 days. Maybe that will do the silly bitch some good?" 

I spotted Tinkerbelle; the white poodle was still running around although she was so dirty she looked black. She ran to me and I picked her up to comfort her.

I sat down in the nearest chair, holding the dog. I felt as if the wind had been kicked out of me, I put my hand to my head and thought out loud, 

"Where'd she get the drugs?" 

"Oh that nigger drug dealer Slicker, you probably saw him 'round here. He's her supplier, but his weed is not bad either." 

Hugo looked at the young Mexican boy and mumbled something in Spanish and they both laughed.

"Can I see her?" 

"Nah, they won't let anyone but her Mom or sister visit her in the place. Don't worry hon, she'll be back here in thirty days and you can always swing by here if you want to get off before then." 

The boy must have understood that comment as he immediately tugged on Hugo's arm. I didn't respond, 

"Thanks Hugo, I owe you a bottle." 

"Vodka please," he instantly replied and I left.

I stopped by several times during that month to get some word but Hugo didn't seem to know anything else. She hadn't yet returned. 

Finally thirty days had passed and there we were, together again, in her room. She had put on a little weight and was not as gaunt as before. I looked around, the birdcages were empty and the birds were gone, 

"Hugo snapped their necks," she said, "The fuck said he didn't have time to take care of them." That was enough to put Hugo on my shit list for life. Oh yes, the Fuck Machine was also missing!

We had sex a few times after that, I gave her extra money, then without warning she was gone and her phone no longer worked.

Hugo said, "She flew the coup," and owed him rent money. 

After more than several months she called me, 

"You said you loved me. Well then, come and see me!" 

Much had changed in those months; being abandoned wasn't pleasant, and all this drug stuff and craziness were not in the least attractive. I had a new girlfriend, but out of some sense of obligation, I still went to see her. She had rented a small basement apartment on the other side of town in a private home from a family who lived upstairs. She was giddy and had put on a lot of weight. Her tits were big and so was her belly. I hardly recognized her behavior. She had become quite dominant. She pranced around the basement room, almost hitting her head on a low hanging pipe. As she bent over I could see she had no panties on.

"If you love me, here, suck my cock," and she lifted he dress to show off a fairly normal sized penis. 

"That's not really what I had in mind." 

"I don't feel like fucking today," she said as she knelt on a cushion and unzipped my fly, "I'll blow you instead." 

"That will take a while," but she started in enthusiastically and after a while she reached that trigger point and I filled her mouth with cum that she quaffed like a shot of Jell-O. 

"Look, I gotta' go."

I gave her some money and left rather disappointed with her mutation. 

I didn't return to see her after that. I was working hard and happy in my new relationship, fucking my new girlfriend who was very fem and not as unpredictable. Then some months later I got an email that read,

"Hi, my family sent me back to the Philippines, I wanna' come back to America. Please send me $300. I'll pay you back. You said you loved me."

I really didn't want to continue with her. The drugs and craziness had burned me out. I still had feelings for her but I was done. Perhaps I was a bit too flippant when I did reply, 

"I am afraid that if I send you money you will never get it or you will use it for drugs (I'd had bad experiences sending money to T-girls). Tell your sister to contact me, I will give her the money, and I don't know how to send it safely to you. I'm sure she can do that. How many guys would you have to blow in the Philippines to earn $300?" 

Knowing her sense of humor, I thought that would make her laugh. I waited to hear from her, even got together the $300, rolled up with a red rubber band but I never heard from her again, or her sister; but just now I've remembered her name...and I'm wondering if it was not my poor attempt at humor that might have upset her, but that something might have happened to her? I've looked for her easy identifiable Craig's ads for several years and never saw them. I'm afraid I will never will.

Tranny Tales Ch. 02



The use of the word Tranny is not meant to be disrespectful; it is used as it was in the past although not politically correct at this time.

*****

There is a rare moment during an eclipse when the sky turns dark red and winds seemingly gather together from nowhere, as if to celebrate the celestial event. I had come from a business meeting that ran late that night on a warm June evening years back. The boss wanted us to discuss a new super computer that the firm was considering acquiring. A few analysts had flown in from Germany and we were supposed to benefit from their insight and visa versa. 

When I left the office, it was already about 10 pm. I flipped on the radio and there was Art Bell and some nutcase talking about invaders from outer space who had abducted him and who, according to the speaker, were some sort of hermaphrodites. These alien creatures had subjected him, as they usually do, to unmentionable indignities of the anal variety. When Art, the interviewer, broke for the news, I was surprised to hear that in moments there was going to be a rare eclipse of the moon. I pulled over to the side of the Santa Monica Boulevard, opened the windows, rolled back the moon roof and looked up at the sky just as the moon began to be hidden by the earth's shadow.

Just at that moment, when I was feeling a little horny, a longhaired blond with a knee length skirt and red sneakers jumped out of the shadows. Her hair was shoulder length; her t-shirt offered a slight indication of breasts and a male voice announced, 

"Hi, I'm Michael." 

It didn't all add up.

"Hi Mike, what's up?" I answered with surprise.

"Man this eclipse thing is cool."

"Yes, it is."

"Anyway, I was wondering if you'd like a blowjob, I'm trying to earn a little bit of money. Trying to get down to Oceanside to visit my brother at the Army base." 

"If a Sheriff sees us Mike, both of us will be arrested."

"I don't mean here on the street. No, come back to my apartment we can hang out there." 

He seemed like a nice kid, probably in his early 20s with a boyish face and pretty long hair rather than wearing a wig as most Trannies do. As the West Hollywood Boulevard corridor was the Tranny center in this part of the world, I didn't feel any apprehension, 

"OK. Hop in." 

We sat in the car on a high hill on a side street and watched the eclipse for the next ten or fifteen minutes.

"Man this is cool."

I'd put some soft music on from the FM channel and Michael quickly, without any prompting began to tell me his life story and how he'd wound up in Los Angeles sharing a small apartment with an exceptional Tranny whom he was in awe of. I was well aware of the mentoring of transsexuals where a younger ward is "adopted" and taught the ropes of being a Tranny and how to make a living through prostitution, or in polite terms, as an "escort."

"So you are headed to Oceanside, you better be careful down there with all the military." "Oh no, it's cool. There is a Tranny place on the outskirts of town called Bo-Bo's and it is filled with service men. I must have blown 12 guys in one Saturday night, paid for the trip."

While Michael talked on and on, I drove a long way down Santa Monica Boulevard, into Hollywood, past Cahuenga into a low rent district where Michael indicated we had arrived at home base. I parked behind an old hotel building that had been converted into small apartments. There was still gravel surfacing in the parking lot and you could hear small stones bouncing off the tires against the car's wheel wells.

From the parking lot I could see an old iron staircase attached to the back of the building, probably a fire escape afterthought. We climbed to the second story as the old iron treaded steps vibrated under our feet. It was an old apartment house that I knew from past intrigues was home to a strange assortment of transsexuals, gays and drug addicts with considerable overlap. There was a hall entry on the second floor. I followed Michael down the dark hall, he lifted up his blouse, reached into his bra and pulled out a key, opened the door to a small room, empty except for a bed, a night table, a flickering old black and white TV and little else. We undressed and rested a while on the bed watching an old Errol Flynn film in Spanish, some buccaneer film, I think it was called "Captaino Blud" where Flynn, so handsome a man in his prime, was jumping from one ship deck to another followed by a bunch of cut throat pirates.

"Do you speak Spanish?"

""Hell no, just "taco," he laughed, "The damn set only picks up the high frequency channels, would you prefer Chinese or Korean?"

"No this will do fine."

As we watched, Michael kept his word and eased himself into position with his head on my lap with a perfunctory open mouth. No teeth touching, he began what turned out to be an excellent blowjob. Never too quick to getting off orally, I let him labor on, caressing his blond hair that showed no sign of dark roots in the dim light. Without the skirt he was a real California boy. It took a while, but he seemed totally enthralled in the enjoyment of sucking my dick, and as I was a little tired of his nonstop chatter, with his mouth now filled with cock, a little silence was in order and except for an occasional slurping sound the respite was appreciated. He had undressed only partially, wearing his padded bra and panties as he continued sucking. He coughed a few times, mumbled something about his hair in his mouth and then the happy moment arrived when I arched my back and moaned, holding his head firmly against me and I came like a Sten gun set for rapid fire. Michael quaffed the full load like a pro. I lay there for a few minutes, my heart pounding like a teenager.

The room was cool and silent except for occasional footsteps that vibrated the outside iron stairs. I whispered to him, "Thank you baby."

He had repositioned himself and was holding me in his arms; my cock was still leaking sperm against his thigh tightly pressed against me. He was kissing my neck and seemed very pleased to have me in his grasp.

"I really like you," he whispered. 

I liked him too, who can turn down a cow eyed lover with silent tears running down his cheeks. But as much as I appreciated his affection, and I would have never told him so, he was far too boyish for me and he made me feel gay, which I was willing to accept for that evening, such are the machinations of one who enters this twilight world seeking the "fem fems" and not the "halfway there." But I was there at that moment, and when in Rome, roam, as they say.

Of course I would never have said anything to hurt his feeling, trying to change the subject, I asked, 

"Have you lived here long?" 

"No, not long, oh, oh, you have to meet my room mate, Michelle, you should meet her, a real Tranny, great breasts, big cock, you'd like her, and she is really pretty and very cool." 

I smiled and laughed, big cocks, were not what I was really looking for.

He slowly released me from his grip and sat up on the bed, 

"Hey, you can take a shower if you like and hang with me as long, as you want."

"Thanks Michael." I excused my self and used the tiny bathroom. That was nice of him to offer the shower but I just washed my cock and pubes in the sink with a small bar of soap. I had carried my cloths with me, a precaution born of fear of being robbed, and was getting ready to leave. I was a little tired and relaxed and hanging with this young boy, as sweet as he was, was not what I really had in mind. I went back into the bedroom, gave Michael a kiss on his plump baby cheeks and handed him some small bills. This seemed to make him quite happy, 

"You can come back and you don't have to pay me next time," he voiced as he thanked me.

"Thanks baby," I kissed him again on the cheek and got up to leave. Just as I opened the door, there was Michelle. She was ravishing but Michael failed to introduce us.

I said "Hi" and "goodbye and went out into the cool evening.

Ten days later, late in the afternoon, I started thinking about Michelle and drove over to her apartment. Most T-girls sleep during the day, as they don't get home till early morning. Then the Mexican laborers line up in the direction of uptown on the boulevard headed for work, as a gaggle of trannies are heading in the opposite direction ready to sleep. I didn't know who I would find at the apartment, but it was my good luck that when the door finally opened it was Michelle who came to the door wearing only a tan terrycloth bathrobe. She recognized me at once,

"Oh, Hi, Michael isn't here." 

"I didn't come to see Michael. I came to see you."

"Oh.. What do you want?"

" Well please forgive my directness, but since you asked, I really want to fuck you." 

"Oh, ok, come in, you'll have to wait a few minutes. The room smelled like candied vanilla. "Oh well, I need a few minutes to prepare myself, and if that's what you want, it's going to cost you $40." 

"No problem."

She disappeared into the tiny bathroom carrying a vaginal douche with a rubber bulb attached and what looked like a plastic pitcher.

"Make your self comfy hon."

I took off my cloths, folded them and set them on a spare chair. I lay down on the bed watching that same old black and white TV. It was a movie with a Spanish speaking Van Johnson, as a GI in Germany driving one of those tiny Messerschmitt motorcycles with a plastic body surrounding it on his way to a date with some Fraulein, when the bathroom door creaked open and Michelle, wearing nothing but a pair of flip flops and a towel around her waist, came back into the room.

"Do you understand this I asked, pointing at the TV?"

"Yeah a little," she responded. 

I looked up at her, our eyes met. Her lips barely moved into a smile. She was tall, taller than I was, and she wasn't wearing heels. I guessed she was in her early thirties. She threw the towel somewhere into the corner and climbed into the bed. She was nude. Her breasts were full curved, just touching gently on her rib cage before exploding upwards. They were globes of the perfect size, and even her erect nipples pointed skywards. Masterful, who ever the surgeon was, he was a "da Vinci," The original Leo would have known what was fem, as Leonardo da Vinci was a Renaissance cross dresser that art experts think posed himself in drag in front of a mirror to painted himself as the real Mona Lisa. In those days most famous Florentine artists were closeted gays. Leo was run out of Florence on rumors of his taking it in the caboose long before he invented the steam locomotive. 

But to return to the subject at hand, Michelle was a beauty; long brunet hair, a perfect chin, slender boyish hips that I preferred at that time and the only blemish was the small remnants of childhood acne on her right cheek. It was she who smelled of a candied vanilla perfume that was both exotic and flattering. It made me forget we were in some Hollywood dive trying to escape reality. Other than the scent, she wore no makeup except a little eyeliner that set off her large dark eyes.

"I hope Michel doesn't get upset, he really liked you, but he is leaving at the end of the week anyway."

"He's a sweet kid but a little too boyish for me. You're more my style."

I kissed her hand and moved closer to kiss her lips. She turned her head away, "oh its too early for lip kissing."

I caressed her breasts and began to suck at her nipples. She seemed to enjoy that and my cock was hard the instant her nipple went into my mouth. I was thoroughly enjoying myself when she took my hard cock in hand and leaned forward to suck me. I relaxed and let her pleasure me. At that sexual moment a Tranny becomes a real woman to me, even better, certainly sexier. In those years, many of the Latin Trannies whom I had frequented distained cock play referring to their genitals as "that thing" as if to infer that only a gay male would take interest in a Tyranny's penis. Cross fucking was a gay thing and real men frequented trannies to fuck them, not to be fucked by them. To a Tranny, being penetrated anally by a straight male was a confirmation of her feminine sexuality. I didn't know what it was to reciprocate with my ass or even look at her genitals for fear it would spoil the illusion, and she had the knack of tucking her cock behind her so it was never a topic brought to light that detracted from her femininity. This seemed to work well for both of us, 

"Oh God, stop, I going to cum, but I want to fuck you." She released her lips and my cock sprung out of her mouth like a carnival puppet. She reached for a condom off the night table and carefully rolled it onto me, then turned over onto her belly. I mounted her, still erect, and apparently without need of lube, I entered her slowly, she moaned a bit and then settled down. I started to pump gently, then with more force, my belly smacking into her butt making a slapping sound, "Oh yes, fuck me baby, fuck me hard, fuck me nice"

I did just that, slowly and then picking up pace and unable to contain my excitement I uttered an "Ohhhoooo" and filled up that condom with cum as if it was a water pouch for the desert. I held onto the base of the condom as I withdrew my softening penis and lay on my back for a few moments.

"Go use the bathroom if you want."

I got up from the bed, went into the small bathroom leaving the door open and threw the brimming condom in the trash basket, and with the small bar of hotel soap washed myself. I dried myself off with a small face towel and went back to Michelle.

"I really enjoyed that, making love to you."

"No problem hon, come back when ever you want."

I left her a fifty-dollar bill on the night table, pulled on my pants, shirt and shoes and made my exit. I was happy to see my car was still there, undisturbed, and off I went.

I continued to frequent Michelle for the rest of the summer; Michael disappeared, just as she said he would and I was spared an embarrassing meeting, but in all fairness, I have to give credit to Michael as he had sponsored Michelle as one I would really like.

After our initial love making, I spent a lot of time with Michelle, with the hope that a relationship would evolve. We went out to eat often after our sex play and in the cumings and goings I got to meet a few of the other trannies that lived in the small hotel. They must have assumed Michelle and I were lovers. One girl, a rather masculine big blond thinking we were a couple, invited us into her apartment to have a threesome. 

"Maybe another time, I answered." 

"Thanks." said Michelle.

We laughed about it afterwards. I wasn't looking for a threesome.

We were also invited to a meth/crack party by some druggies in the hall, but that sacred me a little so I nixed that invitation.

I made love to Michelle countless times over the few months I knew her. We almost became lovers but more precisely I should say we were sex partners because it was obvious but she was never in love with me. Maybe because she was older or had more experiences than I did, including some bad ones. She once mentioned that she almost got "married" but never finished the story. There was always a missing spark in our relationship. We were friends but she was always a little distant, unlike Michael she had no stories to tell or ones she wished to share, she was warm but did not say much, as if her mind was somewhere in some other place and time. We were friends, we fucked, but we were not in love. It was a relationship based on sex and money and I was fully content. When things are going good sexually, you don't do anything to change it. "If it ain't broke, don't fix," as the Mexican shoe cobbler once told me. She made no demands on me, I paid the price of admission and the orgasms were fabulous. 

As for the sex, it was in retrospect somewhat vanilla. We just did a lot of great fucking, as the Beetles sing, "What's wrong with that, I'd like to know." I preferred when she rolled over and offered her plumb boyish ass in a traditional variation of the missionary style, but sometimes she wanted me to lift up her legs and fuck her as deep as possible. I would pump hard against her and reach down grabbing my penis at the base and rotate it to her satisfaction. On more than one occasion, depending on our position, after she got used to me, she would jerk her self off, saying, "Do you mind?" as I fucked her. Of course I never minded. This happened usually just before I was ready to cum, but I never watched, I just assumed that was what she was doing by the motion of her arm. Where the cum went, I had no idea, maybe she caught it in her hand?

We had good fun but she was always a little out of reach. I never even knew where she came from although from her slight accent I thought she was Italian American and had come from the East Coast. Truthfully, there never was a need to pursue conversations beyond the "uhs and ahs."

I was scheduled to go in for a hernia operation and had never discussed it with her. Foolishly fearful that the surgery would put an end to my sex life, I called her several days afterwards. I was totally exhausted and weak, it had been a serious intervention as I had put it off for a long time, necrosis had set in and to add to the problem, the interdural puncture had proved an ineffective anesthesia. I woke up in the middle of the surgery; saw the professor surgeon and several young doctors assisting him. As I was feeling nothing I said to the surgeon,

"I'm fine, continue."

" I can't operate on a moving target," replied the surgeon.

Everyone laughed and with that they intubated me halfway through the operation. When it was over I vomited some popcorn I had foolishly eaten late the night before the surgery.

As I started to say, I called Michelle up four days later and hearing her voice was enough to give me a happily vindicated hard on, but my voice was so weak and my breathing irregular so Michelle asked, 

"Are you jerking off as we talk."

"God no, I just had hernia surgery, not a chance."

I realized that a phone call mixed with masturbation was a trick that silent callers played on Trannies back then, but I was surprised she could have thought that of me. 

Once recovered, the next week I continued to make love to her even before all the stitches were removed. After proving that my cock still functioned nicely, I said to her,

"I'll see you in a few days."

"Listen hon, I'm thinking of going up to San Francisco to see if I like it there, if I do, I'll stay there for a while." 

"Ok, I'll miss you." 

"Then come up to see me, just call me on my cell." 

"Ok babe." Knowing how difficult a trip to San Fran would be for me, I kissed her and fucked her harder then I ever had before, left her a hundred dollar bill and she was out of my life and into my memories forever. She walked me to the door, threw her arms around me and as her naked magnificent breasts crushed against me, she whispered, 

"If only I had met you when I was younger, you always made me feel like a real woman." 

"Which you are," I added as she squeezed my hand.

Her comment made me feel so good. It was as close to a loving moment as we were ever going to get. As we disentangled from her impromptu embrace, I glanced down for the first time and thought, "Oh my God, Michael was right," she had an enormous circumcised cock with a large red tip, bigger than one of those large yellow squash that they sell in the Mexican grocery stores and her ball sack was so stretched by her large testicles that it hung behind her cock and was almost of an equal length. I don't know how, but seemingly without an order from my brain, my hand reached out and cradled her cock in my hand. It was warm and moist and swelled immediately from the slightest pressure. 

"We never played with that thing did we?" I said. 




Tranny Tales Ch. 02



"No."

"Maybe if I come up to San Fran you can teach me those games." 

She smiled as I released her, kissed her again on the cheek and left her embrace for the last time. 

I went out the door into the bright warm bright light of the afternoon. Before I could open the car door, still thinking of her, I realized that once more I had an obviously strong erection. I walked back up the stairs and knocked quietly at her door. She peeked out from behind.

"Yes hon, did you forget something?

"Yes, I want to fuck you again." 

"Sure, come on in," and she closed the door behind us.



Tranny Tales Ch. 03



Maxie: The Tale of the Exploding Penis

The use of the word Tranny is not meant to be disrespectful, it is used as it was in the past although not politically correct at this time.

*****

Did you ever see the old film, "The Tattooed Man" or maybe it was called" The Illustrated Man?" Was it Rod Steiger who stared in that film, I really can't recall anything but the tattoos coming to life and foretelling the future? Anyway, long story short, my brother Maxie looked a lot like the guy in that film. 

Maxie was somewhat of a celebrity in the world of "tattoo-auge," if that's the word? When the professional tattoo artists, I got'ta laugh but that's what they call themselves, "artists," would have tattoo festivals around the state and beyond at the local convention centers, Maxie would be invited and paid to go exhibit himself. He was covered with more "ink" than an old fashioned school desk, the kind that had the inkwell built it, of course I am dating myself, but when I went to school those things still did exist and some moron student was designated the ink monitor and it was his job to fill up the ink wells. I often got ink all over my fingers as well as slopping the ink all over the desk.

But I digress; Maxie was the original tattooed man. Well, maybe not the original but he was one colorful character. A few years out of high school he got this obsession for tattoos, I really never understood why. But that was his thing. He was exhibited at these Tattoo Conventions inside a makeshift cage wearing a leopard print thong that just about covered his big cock and balls that were quite grand in them selves. I was amused to hear that his most frequent request was from women, mostly housewives, who would pass him notes asking if his cock and balls were tattooed as well. Naturally they would add a phone number and the time to call when their husbands were not around. He would usually make arrangements for a private showing sometimes later that night at his motel. Obviously there was more happening in his motel room than a simple show and tell. I really don't know if his dick was tattooed, I haven't seen him pee since we were kids and cock peeking isn't a thing for youngsters do. We would just whip it out, hold it in hand and spray, maybe see who could piss the furthest.

As I've said, I have known my brother since Junior High School and a few years after when he started dating my younger sister. Maxie and I were both in our senior year when his Pop got sick. He didn't last too long. I was there in the hospital room on the days before his Dad died of prostate cancer and on his last day. It seemed Pop waited too long for the Doctors to do something about it. His dad, a notorious cocksman, worked most of his life as a traveling salesman for a factory that made custom bathroom shower doors. They were one of the biggest factories on the West Coast, located in Burbank where all the old airplane factories were located. They worked mostly in aluminum since it was rust free. They had converted over to a domestic industry when the Second World War was over, during the war they had made airplane window frames out of the lightweight metal for those old prop bombers, and they later developed those pop out sections in the canopies of jet planes. 

Pop traveled everywhere. It is fair to say, from the stories he told us, that there was no city within 300 miles where he didn't spill his sperm in more than one pussy. Young gals, old ones, married or divorced, if they had a pussy and even if they were seated in a wheelchair, Pop was into them like a bear climbing a honey tree or maybe more like a humming bird spreading his nectar. He loved women. He loved fucking women. He loved fucking. If he couldn't find a woman he still made do with whatever the alternative was. Without his cock in some new paramour, he felt like a dead man. I was holding his hand in his last moments there in the hospital over on Main Street when he turned his head with difficulty, looked at me and said, 

"It's up to you young guys to fuck for me, God damn it son, I can't even fuck no more, it's my time to go," 

And with that remark, his spirit took leave and left him a cold white corpse right there in the hospital room, just as Johnny Carson came strutting out onto the stage on that little TV hanging from the ceiling. I have to confess I watched the monologue before alerting the family to Pop's demise.

Even though Pop was busy fucking half the county, he still serviced his wife a few times a week. We knew this because we could hear her loud climaxes right after Pop left us while we were watching TV with a beer can in our hands. Clara, Maxie's Mom, was so use to having sex, it was no surprise to me that she soon became a fuck cushion for any guy who approached her within weeks of Pop's death. She was so used to being plowed that she could not live without a cock jammed up her receiver.

I think the local parish priest was the first one to "widow-fuck her" (that is the time most women are especially vulnerable). "Widow fucking" was Father Pete's specialty. I guess in all fairness to the church, it is better to have priests "widow fucking" then molesting little kids and I must say Father Pete also did a nice job officiating at her second wedding several years later. 

Once his Dad had passed on, I think Maxie saw more of his Mom's foot soles and her naked ass with her feet up in the air, then her face. Clara was still a good-looking woman. About five-three, blond dyed hair, a big curvy ass, big 40 inch tits and a pussy that needed fucking the way a gas guzzling Hummer needed gas. All the guys in town were busy pounding her home base on the living room couch. When Maxie would get home from football practice and for the few years afterwards when he had a paper route before the Mattress Factory job, he walk in on his Mom and the guy for the day. His only comment when he opened the door and saw them going at it was, "could you guys please take it in the bedroom." For some reason, the bedroom was still sacrosanct or maybe it was just because his Mom was such a lousy housekeeper.

If you ask me if Pop's stories of his conquests were true or if he was just a blowhard, I can tell you he wasn't a liar. He took Maxie and me with him a number of times and we both got sloppy seconds off his out of town girlfriends; Maxie's Dad was the real thing. We even got chased out of some married bitch's apartment down in San Pedro, when her longshoreman husband got home that night an hour too early. I was halfway finished fucking his sister against the front door when the bastard pushed the door open, knocked us over, came in and started shouting. Just before I began falling over, at that moment when my cock was unexpectedly yanked out of her tight cunt, my dick exploded with a cum shot that stopped him in his tracks. I don't think he cared about me fucking his wife's sister, but when he looked down and saw my cum dripping down his pants leg and saw Maxie and his Dad had just finished double teaming his wife, he let out a huge roar, as he ran by me he tripped over my leg and as he crashed into the wall and seemed half knocked out we took that occasion to ran like hell out the door.

When Pop was driving us back to the hotel, he asked how I felt and I said I was still horny after being so rudely disturbed in the middle of my passionate endeavor.

"That's called coitus interruptus, that's not supposed to happen, that's no good, can give you blue balls, we gotta' set that right."

Next thing I knew Pop was driving over to the South Side of town where somehow he knew there were a group of hookers parading around under a street lamp. 

"Pick any one you like, my treat," said Pop. Maxie had fallen asleep in the back seat. He obviously wasn't interested in the proceedings, but I certainly was. I picked out a young girl that looked a little like a famous French actress, nice tits, full lips, long legs and a short mini. Her face was nice until she started to smile. 

"Buck teeth make for a good blow job," said Pop, "open the door and let her in boys." 

Maxie woke up enough to open the back door and the whore got in filling the car with the smell of cheap perfume. I looked back and noticed her tights were ripped. She was grabbing at Maxie's cock but he just pointed forward at me. Pop asked her if she had a room. 

"No, but we can get one for $25 over on Broad Street"

"No need, this young sprout will fuck you standing up with you leaning on the car trunk."

He pulled the car into an abandoned parking lot that she directed him too. It was pitch black except for a lone street lamp. I got out with the girl and walked behind the car. She turned around, leaned forward onto the trunk lifting her ass into the air, rolled down her tight half way and lifted her mini skirt. 

"What are you doing," I foolishly asked. 

"Sweetheart, don't you know, I'm a Tranny, and this is the way we fuck."

At that she turned around, knelt and unbuckled my pants, my erection had shrunk in the cool air, 

"I think you are going to need a starter," she said, gave my soft cock a few hefty jerks as if it was the hand crank on a Model T, and when my dick came to life and started to blow me, then she stopped, "ewe, who have you been fucking, tastes like pussy." 

I didn't answer.

She turned around, still holding onto my now swollen cock, with an odd expression on her face, rolled a rubber over my stiffy and leaned forward on the car trunk again as she guided my dick right into her well lubed ass hole. I have to say, it was the best fuck I'd had up to that age. Back then my sperm production was so plentiful that it was like a running faucet.

When I completed the task at hand, a little to quickly to suit both of us, I pulled out. The condom was brim filled. I turned to see Maxie and his Dad grinning at me. 

"Well, you made up for the one that got away. Pussy is pussy anywhere you find it." 

By this time Maxie had worked up a full stroke hard-on watching me and the whore going at it, for a few bucks extra he got to go second. 

"Boys," said Pop, after Maxie was finished, and we were back in the car headed for a late night hamburger joint, 

"Remember this, when you share the same pussy, or whatever, you are brothers forever. Don't ever forget that!"

I guess we never did.

My brother stayed married to my sister for almost twenty years, enough to raise two daughters and then Sis started having an affair with her boss in the Real Estate office, I mean right in the office. Maxie walked in on them one afternoon when Rosie was bent over a desk, her dress over her back and the boss' cock buried in her snatch or her ass, we never knew for sure.

So Maxie and Sis divorced and Sis is still working in the Real Estate office for Clive Benson. She say's she's waiting for Benson's wife to die, fat chance of that happening any time soon. I remember Florence Benson, back when she was Florence Upchuck in high school; she was built like a fullback, but her Dad was the local real Estate Mogul and Clive fit right in to the office and into Florence's pussy as well. If it weren't for her Dad, I'd a bet Florence would have ended up a Nun with nothing in her puss but a candle or some old priest's bible bookmark.

Of course, through all this upheaval, Maxie and I remained good friends, why not? I had known him since we were kids and he still tried to be a good father to my nieces. He still kept in contact, called them frequently on the phone and tried to give them advice on keeping young guy's cocks out of their pussies. Meanwhile and to my surprise, Maxie's health began to rapidly deteriorate. In about three years he found he could no longer keep up with the other guys in the shipping room down at the Mattress Factory, so he was fired. Enough said for the fair labor practices of our dear American Industry. 

About that time Maxie, who had little to show for all his efforts, moved in with his Mom. Clara had just buried her second husband and was living in the Old Guy's home, so Maxie was a welcomed guest. He did what he could to keep the place up. Painting and fixing the leaking plumbing as best he was able, sweeping up the leaves, shoveling snow and what need attention. He worked slowly but he meant well. He'd often drop by my place to borrow a ladder or tools, which he took forever to return, and he loved to talk about old times, especially our adventures with his Dad.

I guess my Sis was entitled to getting her sex on the sly, like most married couples the desire to fuck dries up after the first ten years and Maxie was getting lots of fresh snatch back then with his tattooed cock or whatever. I got to admit the gals in my family are a good looking bunch of women, big tits, narrow waists and long legs and they keep fucking even in their old age because they like being fucked, unlike most other woman over forty that I've known. But, as fate would have it, before Maxie hit fifty, the same pox that hit his dad came after him, except 15 years sooner. Talk about the "Hand of God" or more appropriately "getting the finger?" 

By now the Doctor's had somewhat of a handle on prostate cancer, as well as a cold finger, but his tumor was so fast growing that they had to remove a lot of his gumbo just to keep him alive. When they were done slicing him up, he had no chance of getting a hard on, sounds familiar?...even with Viagra? But the Docs did have one trick up their sleeves, they installed one of these high tech penis pumps inside his empty ball sack that he could pump up and that would fill the sleeve they had inserted from one end of his penis to the other, with silicon or some damn fluid and vola', he had a boner!

My sister called it divine intervention and laughed at his "pre-dick-a-ment" as she called it, especially when he got amorous late one night when he was invited to share dinner with the kids and Maxie asked her, "For old times sake, please just let me fuck you one more time."

"And pump you up too?" she added. She peed right down her legs laughing at him. 

"You've fucked yourself, now live with it, you ain't fucking this pussy no more," and with that she lifted up her dress to show she wasn't wearing any panties and there where her cunt used to be unshaven, was a neatly shaved cunt with a tiny tattoo with the inscription, "Clive's". Sis could be so cruel.

Clara sort of inherited her second husband's house. According to the Probate Paper's, the home was classified as a Life Tenancy for Clara, which means she could live there the rest of her life but on her death the whole farm, furniture and all would revert to the Old Guy's kids. 

I met the Old Guy for the first time when he married Maxie's Mom. They had a nice reception at his home after the church service. I recall him saying that he'd raised four kids in that house and wondered aloud why the kids had not come to the wedding. He seemed a nice enough guy, told a bevy of fart jokes and to tell the truth he farted a lot, but when Joe died, Maxie's Mom made out like a bandit, which was her specialty, getting the house and a bunch of money in his bank account. When he keeled over three years later and it took four of us to lift him up and rushed him to the Cross County Hospital where he croaked the next day. When I say that was her specialty, by that I mean taking advantage of old men. By the time she married the old guy, Joe, she had started to slow down a bit. Maybe the fact that the Old Guy weighed over 340 pounds was part of the reason, and it was about time. How would you feel if you were Maxie and everywhere you'd go in town, guys would poke other guys in the gut and whisper, "I fucked that guy's Mom."

In any event, once the Old Guy was dead and buried, Maxie got the idea that he and his Mom should rent out the basement of the place and use the cash to pay the utility bills and other bills that papered up the mailbox. That was when Gwendolyn showed up and became a tenant, and I use that word loosely.

Guenn, as Maxie called her, was a Goth; when I asked Maxie what a Goth was, he said it's kids who hate the world but are deep into sex, drugs and booze. What I observed when I'd drop by to reclaim some tools Maxie had failed to return, was a twenty year old tall thin girl dressed in a short black skirt with too much black makeup, her long straggly hair was tied up behind her head but still damn near down to were waist and it was died jet black. In late October I came by and she was wearing red Vampire fangs. The nice thing about here was, and I mean always, she wore a tight transparent top with her tits showing. There was something funny about the way she talked, kinda' swallowed her words, maybe it was her bite but she had some great pair of bassoons. When a girl has tits like that you don't worry about a lisp, believe me!

Maxie believed me, he was the one who took her rental application and before you knew it, she was living there rent-free. I never heard or saw a penny collected from her, which didn't please his Mom very much. Even though Maxie's prostate was long gone, probably sitting in some jar in a medical school, he still found fucking was pleasurable and Maxie was no one if not a good time Charley, in fact that was his Dad's name, "Charley." 

Since he had no sperm there was no way he could get her pregnant, and so he began the marathon, every morning and every night Maxie fucked that Guenn Goth raw. He even had to go buy her special lubes and crèmes that a woman her age shouldn't need. But there is no question; Maxie and that pump-up dick of his were working overtime. 

Finally, on the day of the Super Bowl, Maxie got this crazy idea he called "A Marathon Fuck Day" with one fuck tied to each touch down; that is to say, every time a touch down was scored he would pump'er up and fuck Guenn. That day the score was 23 to 28. He fucked that poor girl silly during those 2 ½ hours or however long the game ran.

Next morning I got a phone call from his Mom. Maxie was in the hospital, it seems his state of the art pump up penis had exploded and he was out of commission for good. The doctors had never seen an exploding penis before; that cockamamie invention is warranted for 15 years. Naturally they got him a new one under the warranty but his surgery was not covered by his insurance and God knows when the Penis Pump factory was going to pay the medical bill. 

I was feeling lousy with a headache hang over from drinking too much beer at the Super Bowl After Party down at Clancy's when I got the call from his Mom filling me in on the news. That's how I ended up with the job of evicting Guenn. Since she had no rental contract and evidently had been hiding a new boyfriend, Mom said something about a dyed black haired skinny kid who been sneaking to visit her for some weeks when Maxie wasn't around, and to hear Guenn tell it, when I went over there to help arrange her departure, she was truly sick of being cluster fucked God knows how many times a month by his magical pump-up dick wand. So we negotiated and I gave her $500 out of my own pocket and she packed her lone suitcase and left her new boy friend was waiting outside in what looked like a converted funeral parlor hearse. Before she left she asked me,

"Could you make it an even $600 and I'll thrown in a fuck and a blow job." 

I'd rather not discuss my answer but I went home that night feeling relieved of all my tension and my headache was gone for good.

Oh yes, one other thing I learned that afternoon, Guenn wasn't even a real girl. That was a detail Maxie had left out, but nobody is perfect, except maybe Guenn. I say that after spending a few hours with her that afternoon, as we used to say in Brooklyn, "she was'a some-a tomato," but that will be a bareback story for another time. She was nice enough to leave me her cell phone number.



Tranny Tales Ch. 04: Franca - La Bolognese



Note - The term "Tranny" is used with the utmost respect, at the time of this story it was commonly used and not considered politically incorrect. Also, the conversations in Italian have been translated to make the dialogue easier to understand except where the expressions are obvious. These stories are based on true events.

***

I met Franca a long long time ago; she was what the Italians call a "Madonina," quite simply a tranny prostitute that worked the street. Not any street in this case, but on the corner of the street where I lived at that time. 

I was a young man attending The University in the Italian City of Bologna, studying for a professional degree. During the Vietnamese war, America was in turmoil and Italy seemed a safer place to be, particularly since military deferment was offered to graduate students in medical studies. When I saw many of my high school friends coming home dead from Viet Nam in yellowed pine boxes, I seriously considered continuing my studies and took off for Italia. I soon found out that besides academics, there was much to be learned about life. 

Being young, I was curious about the ways of the world. I thought it very entertaining to take a midnight espresso or a glass of Fernat Branca, the atrocious artichoke concoction they recommend you drink after a heavy Italian meal, down at the café on the corner of the Viale where I could observe what was going on. 

The old city is about two miles inside the Ciculvaladazioni, which of course is that section of the Autostrada that forms an outer the ring around the city. For those of us who lived within the ancient city walls, we were surrounded by another ring, called the Viale. During the day the Viale was circular thoroughfare, a wheel that circled the old walls and was intersecting by streets that formed spokes that took you to the center of the city. That was where the Ancient Towers still stood. The famous Towers, build in the 12th and 13th centuries, once numbered close to two hundred, but there are still some twenty that remain standing like erect penises jutting up here and there where you might not expect. They were erected as if entries in a contest, a pissing contest between competing families, to see whose tower was taller or better. The interiors were ancient wooden staircases, now mostly rotted away, with several exceptions, and since the towers serve no modern purpose and the families who once paid to construct them are long dead, it was rare that the city repaired them. Although you could look at them from the outside, there was no longer any way to climb up inside them; they just stood there in their impotency like much of Italy that remained from the past. 

Why was the Viale so important? At night it was a sea of sex and debauchery, a showcase where a every variety of sex workers, each with specialties of their own, station themselves at various corners awaiting their clients, curiosity seekers and as you might expect, nasty cat calls. I'm embarrassed to admit being in the back seat of an old Lancia with a group of Italian students who one night stopped at every corner and asked the puttanas if they would provide anal sex (ti voglio fotteri in culo?), to which the whores would yell back, "You fagots, go fuck your mothers." 

Of course if you wanted anal sex, the transsexuals were happy to accommodate in their apartments or your hotel room, although they mostly sucked cock for a modest fee on a darkened corner in your parked car. Be prepared, they always asked for a "fassoleto" (handkerchief) to spit the cum into. 

Bologna was famous for a night life filled with "Busoni or Finocchio (Gays)", "Puttanas (Whores)" and "Transessuale (Transsexuals)." Prostitution, though not a respected occupation, was quite legal and accepted by the populous as the way sexual deviates earned money. However, it was not unheard of for a street worker to save up enough to buy a bar or small restaurant. Even the great Julius Cesar supposedly started as a towel boy in the bathhouse where sex was gay sex was no secret. Men were meant for pleasure and woman for reproduction. The police only interceded on the Viale to break up catfights or to defend the code of decency, as when a Puttana went topless, something those of us who drove by were always looking for. 

At that period of my sexual infancy, my own sexual education had consisted mostly of missionary style mountings of a young college cheerleader in the back seat of my Uncle's Chevy on frozen nights on the back streets of the American Midwest. The wide variety of sexual coupling going on here in Bologna was unknown to me until I arrived here in the City of Red Earth, as the Bolognese liked to refer to their city. 

Let me return to the subject of this story, Franca. I had seen Franca several times working our busy street corner but also in the corner café. I tried my luck at befriending her one night by offering her a coffee. For some unknown reason I found her very attractive and quite sexy. It was a cool misty night when the fog was pea soup thick; you could hardly see ten feet in front of you. Certain times of year the warm Mediterranean air would push into the colder continental shelf and every thing would be shrouded in this dense fog. 

"Ti posso offrire un café Signorina?"

Franca smiled quite charmingly and to my delight accepted my invitation. She entered the café, her hair glistening from the condensation of the fog, opened her tan raincoat, folded it in two and laid it over a chair, seating herself at the little round table next to mine. 

"Tell the Barista what you like," I suggested. 

She ordered a double espresso restretta, which meant two shots of strong Italian coffee with very little water and she asked the barista to pour a shot of grappa in as well. Grappa, a alcohol made from the stems and seeds of grapes, a byproduct of the grape harvest, is an acquired taste but mixed with coffee and sugar it is very palatable and warms you up. She sipped the cup and asked if I had a cigarette, I didn't smoke, but before I could answer, an older guy materialized from out of nowhere and placed a cigarette in her mouth and lit it for her. 

"Garcia Giorgio," she said. I became aware of how feminine her voice was, and there was a slight huskiness like a Loren Bacall.

Looking at me through heavy false eyelashes and artful mascara, she said, "Francese?"

"No, Americano. Why did you think I was French?"

"Well," she laughed, flicking an ash on the coffee cup's saucer, "We're going to Paris this weekend." 

"Oh that should be nice."

"I'm going with my girl friend to get our tits done. No one does it like the French doctors."

"Oh, you must show them to me when you return."

"Oh non ti preoccupa (don't you worry), I most certainly will."

We continued to chat; I recommended an old and inexpensive hotel in Paris off the Rue de Carnot called the "Electric Hotel," 

I imagined it was probably one of the first hotels to be served by electricity. 

"Thank you," she replied, but we already are booked in a five star hotel."

That certainly put me in my place. When a Carabinari (a policeman in stylish 19th century costume) pushed opened the café door moments later, she bid me goodbye and disappeared into the night before the door could close.

About a month later, I was sitting again in the corner café, when in walked Franca with a fabulous pair of tits jutting out of her low cut red blouse. She wore a gold metallic mini and long knee length red patent leather high-heeled boots. The weather had turned cooler so she wore a mid-length stiff red leather jacket with a wide collar. 

"Ciao Caro (dear)," she whispered, although I'm sure everyone in the place heard her, I smiled and she sat down in the empty seat to my left. Once again that sexy voice excited me.

"How are you Dottore?"

In Italy it is a sign of respect to call university students Doctor in anticipation of their degree that might take as long as 6-12 years to accomplish. 

"Male," I said, (badly.) This is the year of the scopero (strike), every one is on strike. We can't even get into the University to take our exams. First the bidellos (janitors) were on strike, now the Chinese students are occupying several of the buildings where my exams were supposed to be taking place."

"Don't worry Caro, la vita passa in fretta (Time is on your side/ life passes quickly)"

"So how was your trip to Paris? I see you did not come back empty handed or should I say empty chested."

She moved closer to me, "Here," taking my hand, "feel my seni (tits), aren't they life like." 

As I reached to caress her pink skin my cock made a tent pole in my pants. 

"Oh, you like them," she said, noticing immediately the effect she had on me.

"I'm not working to night why don't you invite me a movie?"

"Well, I really should be studying for an exam, but what the hell, sure, let's go."

We walked down the covered portico to a small cinema, just before the twin towers. An Eastwood Western was playing. I generally went to the art cinema that was sponsored by the city and screened classic Italian films, but what the hell, if she liked westerns so be it. I bought two tickets and in we went just in time to see the pre-show commercials which featured a sexy redhead quaffing a bottle of Coca-cola with the bottle so deep in her mouth, her eyes opening so wide, that everyone in the place knew she was imitating a blow job on the bottle. Fellatio was a Bolognese specialty known as the "Bochino. (in dialect)," a practice that Bolognese women prided themselves as being expert. Mothers were sure to teach their daughters every nuance. The crowd had come to life with the Coke ad and amid smiles and shouts from all around, we sat down. The lights were still on, and Franca studied the crowd with an intensity that a woman would never have mustered. Women would have averted their eyes, but not a prostitute; she could have stared down the entire theater. At the same time I realized half the theater was staring at us, which meant me. They all knew by her makeup and outfit that she was a transsexual prostitute and whether it was curiosity or distain, they held us in their glance until the lights went off and the cinema news boomed on. 

The events of the world unfolded before our eyes; political happening in Rome, the Papa going to God knows where, a few rounds of a boxing match with Nino Benvenuti, the Italian champ and then it was on to the blood and guts western. Eastwood shot everyone in the dusty town except for the undertaker who took away the dead bodies in a wheel barrel. This lasted about an hour and thirty-five minutes and then it was over. 

"Let me show you my apartment," said Franca, as we rushed to get out ahead of the crowd, "it's not far from here."

"I didn't bring any big money with me," I said, "I'm just a student." I didn't want her to think I was in a position to pay for her services.

She smiled, "I'll pay you instead," she quipped taking me by surprise. 

Franca was tall for an Italian, about 5'10 in her stocking feet. She had rounded shoulders and the whitest alabaster skin with pink cheeks. Her thighs were plump but her legs were long. We walked another mile or more arriving at an ancient building. I followed her into the courtyard where she took off her high-heeled boots in order to climb the stairs,

"Excuse me Caro, but I could never make it in these heels."

I followed her up the narrow staircase that rounded every story until we reached the fourth floor of what must have been a construction of the 1600's. Of course with her short mini skirt I had a refreshing view of her intimate parts as she climbed in front of me. She had lovely graceful long legs, a heart shaped ass and transparent pink panties you could see right through. Since she was in front of me the view was surprisingly feminine. 

"It is a bit of a trek to get up here but with the rent control it costs very little to live here," she said, when we got to the top, "and it's right in Centro Citta'". 

She was carrying her high-heeled boots in her hands and wearing heavy mesh stockings; one of her toes had partially broken through the fabric. I reached out to steady myself and found her tits in my hands quite by accident.

"Don't be in rush sweetie." 

"Oh I'm sorry, I'm a little light headed after the trek up here, that's all."

"Piccinino," She threw her arms around me, "Do you feel better now, sweetie."

"I rested in her warm embrace, my head on her shoulder, her ear was right next to my lips, as the dizziness passed I started to chew on her ear lobe. 

"Oh, so now you are feeling better? Let's get inside."

She pulled a skeleton key on out of her blouse; it was on a chain around her neck, she unlatched the door and with a push of her hip the heavy door flung open. The place smelled like an Italian restaurant. 

"So you cook here."

" No, that's the smell of da Rosano, the expensive restaurant on the street below. Don't worry, they can't charge you for the smell." 

I smiled at her humor and looked around the small apartment, we had entered into what would have been a living room but there was a bed in the middle, and a door to what must have been the bathroom and an alcove with a sparse kitchen and a small refrigerator.

"It's home, I know it's not much, but it is la mia casatina."

"Oh it's very nice, except for that staircase to get up here. If you come up her a few times a day you don't have to exercise."

"You get used to it. Anyway come in, take off your coat, have a seat." 

She turned on the Filofusione, canned music that came out of a sleek aluminum box connected to the telephone line. There were five different types of music and no commercials. We sat there listening; I recognized some of the tunes were American pop songs being sung in Italian. Then Johnny Morandi came on crooning a love song. I looked into her eyes and something unexpected happened, she leaned forward and kissed me, taking a moment to gently chew on my lower lip.

"I want you." she said, "I want all of you."

"What do you mean," I asked innocently.

"You'll see. Have you ever made love to a transsexual?"

I shook my head. 

"Well tonight is your night." 

She unbuttoned her blouse, she was wearing no bra, and her tits were standing at attention. No scars were visible. 

"How did they get them so perfect?"

"Oh the French know what they are doing. They don't cut a slit under the tit like do here in Italy. They put the implant in at the nipple and then inflate it. Well, that's probably more than you really want to know, but they are beautiful aren't they."

"Yes," I had to agree, they were amazing. 

She undressed me while still wearing her mini, in moments I was completely nude, she leaned in kissing my penis,

"Oh che bello, la tua cazzo," she noted and took my cock into her mouth to gently suck the tip. Then she slowly advanced until the whole erection, all seven inches of it, were down her throat, and then with agility I'd never even imagined, her tongue swooped out and begin licking my balls. My heavy breathing must have indicated I was not far from cuming, so she slowed and released me from her lips, her saliva and the cool air of the apartment broke my concentration and my erection became tumescent. 

"Rest my darling," she stood up along side the bed and unhooked her mini skirt that she threw over the bed post, then she lifted off her long red hair, that startled me, it was a wig, and she rested it on the other bed post. 

"You look surprised," she said. "All of us wear wigs, it is looks more feminine then trying to grow your hair long." 

She looked more boyish without her sexy hair but her tits kept her in the feminine arena. She had a little bit of a belly under the tits and her ass was curved like a woman, like a large pear. 

"Come, you fuck me now," she got onto all fours on the bed and slapped her ass with her hand, took my hand and told me to slap her ass as well. I stood there next to the bed afraid to hurt her, but the pain was what she was looking for. 

"When you make my ass red it makes the fucking so much better."

I complied, smacking her ass so hard my hand stung. Now that her butt was a rosy red color she said, 

"Come, come inside me now," I knelt onto the bed behind her in doggy style and rubbed my cock against her ass without knowing where to put it when her hand came back, grabbed my cock and placed me into her and as I gently pushed forward it felt just like a woman's pussy but without the slightly gritty texture, it was smooth and tight, it opened little by little until I was all the way inside pumping away as if I'd been doing this all my life. The excitement was too much to bare and after several minutes I began to moan and it was obvious, I was cuming.

"Stay inside awhile, till your cock gets small." 

I did as I was told, at a certain point as I pulled out she caught my dick in what must have been a soft damp washcloth and wiped me clean. I was relaxed and relieved until she sat on my chest pinning me on the bed. She placed a small pillow under my head and her own cock, at first looking small and dimpled approached and sensing I should please her, my mouth opened and she lost not a moment before the entire cock was in my mouth. 

"Suck me caro, suck me," she whispered. 

Pinned to the bed I had little choice but I figured what is fair is fair and I tasted her cock, a little salty and at first a little bit of stale urine taste, but that seemed to dissolve and as I got into the rhythm, her cock swelled and she rocked back and forth for the longest time, even entering my throat. 

She suddenly dismounted and said, "it's hard for me to cum this way, come into the bathroom," she led me to the shower stall and instead of washing me she squirted the cold water onto my cock, then there was a tremendously loud "va vroom" as the tankless water heater ignited and hot water shot all over my waist, she swiveled the lever and the warm water shot out of second tube, she washed my cock and then she quickly washed my butt hole and then inserted the spray right into my rectum. In minutes the rush of warm water relaxed me and cleansed me, she swept the un-pleasantries down the large open drain and soaped up my feet. 

When she turned off the water I began to shiver, she wrapped me in two soft towels rubbed me down and brought me back into the bedroom. A few moments later the shivering stopped, the gas heater started to glow and she massaged me under her covers, fingering my butt hole. 

"Di, go on your belly."

I rolled over, her finger kept rubbing my ass hole and she introduced some oil,

"Guardi, this is silicon oil, the newest thing in Paris, I used to use Virgin Olive oil but this is much better."

"But I'm a virgin." 

She laughed, "Credimi. This is better and easy to wash out."

She rolled back the blanket and although I was flat on my belly she mounted me in a sitting position, and something firm pressed against my buttocks, "relax, don't resist," and little by little she had gotten what I later saw was a good 8 inches of a slender uncut Italian cock, all the way inside me. She stayed motionless as she stretched my anus to accommodated her cock, although I was able to bare up to take it, my ass hole felt on fire. 

"It burns, Franca," I whimpered. 

"It's ok if it burns, just relax, I'll put some more oil." And with the adjunct of more of this wonder fluid, the pain subsided and I must say what I expected was going to be an uncomfortable moment was becoming more agreeable and I began to enjoy her cock, her tight balls that drummed on my balls, the smacking wack of her belly against my ass and as I reached back to caress her I realized my hands were bound by tight leather straps and I was helpless to resist even though I welcomed every thrust. 




Tranny Tales Ch. 04: Franca - La Bolognese



"How did you tie me up?"

"It's ok pupa (little doll), I'll let you go whenever you want." 

I mumbled, "yes." but then I said, "it's ok Franca, do what you want to me, I trust you, teach me what to do and take your pleasure. I am yours completely tonight, don't stop, fuck me."

With my complete capitulation, she kissed my neck and began to bite me up and down my back, I was almost in tears but I said nothing. She paused to bit me all over my ass, then she plowed into me in one hard stroke that took my breath away. It seemed to take her forever to cum, but finally she began to thrust harder and from her deep breathing and the now brief series of thrusts alternated with a fierce pushing of her cock still deeper inside me, then she again started her rapid thrusting until I could feel her slow down and she began to moan and talk rapidly in a dialect I could not understand. Then I could feel her penis' rhythmic contractions and simultaneously I a warm secretion deep inside me that began to fill my ass hole. She stopped moving and held me tightly in her arms as her cum flowed into my virgin ass, or should I say what was my once virgin ass. Time passed, I don't know how long I lay in her arms, but we both fell asleep glued together like the lovers we would become.

In the weeks and months that followed I got used to climbing the long spiral staircase and the smells of the restaurant below. She taught me also taught me how to lick her ass to bring her to climax, 

"Fuck me now with your tongue," she would say, after she had fucked me 30 minutes before and she was still able to cum again. She loved to eat chocolate and her ass always tasted clean but also there was a distant flavor of chocolate. Sometimes she tied me up, other times she left my limbs free. I never argued with her. I let her guide me into her world I had never known. And yes, she taught me to swallow all her seed when she came in my mouth, to not do so she confided would bring bad luck. Her powers of endurance and sexuality were greater than mine, a half hour after she'd filled my throat with her prodigious cum stream, and she was erect again and wanting to fuck my ass. Not only fuck it but fill it with her hot liquid cum. Where she got this ability to recharge in such a short time I never knew.

When I was horny and asked to fuck her, she never refused me, asking only that I wear a Hatu condom (the Italian condom company's condoms were oh so tight) if it was a night she was working. She wanted her ass to be clean when she exited to earn her money selling her pear shaped ass to her customers and the many German tourists who frequented the "girls" out on the Bolognese Viale. 

She would play a little game with the foreign tourists. Knowing the men would leave their wives in the hotel, she would make sure her that her ruby lipstick would circle their cocks so when they went back to the hotel where their wives were no doubt waiting, the wives would know where the boys had been and what they were doing. She would laugh when the next night her same foreign customers would return and make a point of telling her not to wear lipstick, she'd act like she was wiping it off, but no matter how hard it looked like she was wiping, she still managed to leave a telltale ring on every cock she sucked, that was her mark, her pleasure and her fun. She never wore lipstick with me, she said her lips had drawn a circle around my heart, not my cock, and I could never escape. 

I asked her one-day what becomes of men who frequent the Madonina of the street, particularly those who search the transsexuals. 

"I tell you a story," she said. "I have a client, oh for a long time. He wanted me to come live with him but I didn't want to. So in time, his family insisted, he married a woman they picked for him. They had a big wedding, the reception was at "da Tonino's," that fancy restaurant near the Duomo (Cathedral) and he gets very drunk at the reception after the wedding. He wakes up in the dark, in bed with his wife and she is lying on her stomach and he sees her big ass and thinking it is me he gets hard. Next thing she knows he is fucking her in the ass. You can imagine the effect it had on her, obviously butt fucking was not what she was expecting. But according to Piero, she admitted to having a Greek boyfriend years back and like most Greeks, hi preference was the ass for fucking. After the first few months she let him have her any way he liked. I still see him on occasion but his wife keeps him busy and I must admit, satisfied."

***

Finally after two years I had to transfer to the University of Padova to finish certain courses for graduation. At that point we lost touch and I guess that is how I made my escape with my heart still intact. In my absence she no doubt found a new student to indoctrinate, I had no trouble with that; after all she still held a part of my heart forever. 

Funny thing, even as a kid I never cared much for chocolate. Now when I pass the Tabaccaio, I stop and buy a bar of the Italian Perugina chocolate like I used to bring to Franca. I must confess, sometimes I just can't get enough of that taste.



Tranny Tales Ch. 05



A Porto Rican Blow Job at the Zoo, Hogarth the Disco Star in Tel Aviv, Goldie, the Israeli Tranny and a brief mention of My 2nd Wife.

"They" say there is no pussy like Jewish pussy. That always seemed like a stupid thing to say, "They" must be idiots My second wife was a Jew and her pussy wasn't any different than any other woman's; there were better, there were worse. And yet her German lover complimented her by telling her that Jewish pussy smelled better than any other pussy on earth. He was another idiot, but smarter than me, she was still fucking him on the sly years after she married me. In fact one of my kids speaks English with a German accent, whatever that means.

I grew up in New York; I suppose I am a bit of an idiot also. I've fucked cunt and ass from all over the melting pot and I still like to shop in the Costco up in Spanish Harlem just to hear the Porto Rican sales girls speak their delightful brand of English. Always gives me a hard on. (Think Rosie Perez's voice...)

But it's been years since I've even dated a Porto Rican girl whose voice is music to my ears. One of my first jobs was working at the Bronx Zoo. I was trying to get animal experience, as I wanted to become to Veterinarian. So I became a pony boy. What is that? No it's not what you perverts are thinking. I didn't dress as a pony and get butt fucked, I was the kid who ran around the ring at the pony rides while some little kid, whose mom had paid a quarter or more, I don't really remember, I didn't sell tickets, got the thrill of riding a horse, well a pony. 

I guess it is in the nature of humans to want what they see before them, like the groupies who are thrilled to get fucked by some roustabout who works for a rock and roll band, when they can't even get near the band members. Of course my sister managed that over at the old Shay Stadium. She got fucked by both Paul Simon and Gar-fuckle; I mean Art Garfunkle of course, big fucking deal! Simon was a midget with a tiny cock and Art was a good-looking man with such terrible bad breath that she just closed her eyes and could not remember what his cock looked like.

So there I was, beating off every night and thank God, I didn't give up my day job. One day me and Georgie, he was my pal, worked there because he wanted to be a Herpetologist, he had a basement full of his beloved snakes, and being the observant type he noticed two cuties waving at us. Georgie wasn't into girls, maybe the extra fat he carried had slowed down his sex drive, although I wouldn't say as much for the majority of fat girls I've fucked, they seem to ooze sex hormones from every pore including their ass holes which them of all women are quick to offer. But as I had long ago begun nightly training of my youthful pecker, I was quite delighted abandon my sore wrist for the real thing. The two girls came from work at an Italian take-out stand right near the Subway; in the Bronx it is an elevated structure, not underground. Of the two, I wanted the short girl with the musical accent. 

Once I knew where to find Mia, I would stop in and get a deep fried eggplant wedge, God that was delicious. If the boss was out I got it for free. What ever they fried the breaded eggplant slices in was not the motor oil they use today. Mia was a year older than I was, had dropped out of high school to take that job and gave most of the money she earned to her family. She was petit, maybe five feet tall, slender but with two nice sweater cushions that caught my eye immediately. When she got off from work early or on her day off she would come by the pony rides an hour before we closed and sit and watch me running around the track. After we closed and put the ponies away for the night, she'd walk me to the subway station along the Safari Pathway. Georgie was a subscribed member of the zoo and would get us free bus tickets so we could ride the Safari Bus to the other end of the Zoo grounds near the elevated subway station, but Mia and I, hand in hand would walk the same route so as to have more time together.

That was when she led me on what she said was a short cut but in reality it was just a way to get us out of sight in case the bus was about to pass. Of course I encouraged her to talk, I just loved to hear her voice. She talked about her family, her relatives in Porto Rica and the silly things that young women talk about, like what the new hit songs were on the top forty that they'd announce on radio every night. Most of the kids would write the tunes down in a notebook as if it was something important.

On that occasion, Mia had other things in mind; she pulled me behind a tree and unzipped my fly. Before I knew what she was doing my erection was deep in her mouth. I wasn't going to argue with her and she kept pumping with her lips and moving her head back and forth till the inevitable happened, I shot my load right in her mouth, at which point she shifted her head so my jizz filled a pocket in her cheek Then she did something I have never experienced since that afternoon, she leaned back her head, her mouth full of cum and gargled making a loud gargling noise and then opening her mouth to show me the cum, and then she swallowed it all, choking a bit till she got it all down. Ever since that day, I have referred respectfully to that act as a "Porto Rican Blow Job."

But as usual, I digress; let me fast forward to the Jewish question. I have to approach it laterally because when I went to Tel Aviv in the 1970, doing electrical set up work for a disco show that toured Europe and the mid-east, I met Hogarth, an Israeli singer whose androgynous appearance caused his performances to be occasionally banned. The Disco fans loved him, but the people who were neither fans nor attendees were just not comfortable with the question of whether she was a he or if he was a she. In the case of Ziggy Stardust, no one seemed to care, perhaps because Bowie, a bi-sex was identified as a male. By the time we got to "Helga and the Angry Inch," a contemporary play (2015), people really don't seem to give a damn, at least in the sophisticated big cities. Of course it is still a topic of concern in some of the political campaigns that seem to be perpetually going on in the hinterlands where all the men have big cocks and all the women adore sucking/fucking them and bi-sex, try sex and homo-sex are unheard of, like in Iran. I'm sure you get the sarcasm intended.

Hogarth was a drug user, he was one of those people who could do cocaine every night and then give it up for month. That is the distinction between an addict and a user. I was introduced to Hogarth, who had a high-pitched falsetto voice but could also sing in a basso profundo. He had reworked some sexy songs that Amanda, a French/Italian pop star of questionable sexual equipment, although an Italian scandal sheet had claimed to have nude photos of her at a Yugoslavian nudist resort along the Adriatic Sea in Vaars. That was one edition that sold out in hour so I never got to see Amanda's pudendum. Hogarth had adapted some of those songs and he had specific ideas on how he wanted the lighting when he performed, so I was sent to his trailer to map out his requests.

At that time he was into cocaine and the trailer living room bar looked like it was covered in snow crystals. 

"Would you like a snort," said Hogarth, who looked a little like Alice Cooper, but taller and with a shaved head suited to wig changes during his act. 

"No, I'll pass."

He didn't pass, but he did remain quite coherent. We mapped out the lighting sequences and I retired to the office to transfer it to the primitive computers we used back then when a runner knocked on my dog and told me to return to Hogarth's trailer.

"Listen Honey Bunch," now he sounded like Betty Davis with a Jewish accent, I need a date for a gala party tonight and my escort just canceled on me. Come with me, it will be fun."

I didn't really want to go but I was aware that it was not a good idea to alienate the talent. 

"I've got some dud's here that should fit you," 

I wasn't quite as tall as Hogarth and a little fuller in the chest, but since his stuff all seemed to hang loosely I figured I could fit. 

He wanted to wear a white silky outfit with sequins and rather than pants, he wore a long dress that stopped just short of his platform heels. He wanted contrast so he dressed me in a sort of black lederhosen shorts that accented my groin and had suspender straps that he insisted I wear with a bare chest, something of a riff on Joel Grey in "Cabaret". Which as you probably know was based on Christopher Isherwood's book, "I am a Camera" whose title was stolen for one of Amanda's songs that Hogarth covered.

We took a limo down to the Davi Hotel where a crowd was waiting and cheering in English and Hebrew as we entered the red-carpeted runway. The paparazzi shouted to Hogarth while taking multiple rapid photo shots, the flashing lights blinded me, 

"Is that your new boyfriend, Ho?" 

He just smiled and kissed me on the cheek grabbing my crotch with his huge hands. I did get to see my picture several days later on the cover of one of those scandal sheets that are so popular on racks in the supermarkets. There has Hogarth kissing me, but his hand on my crotch had been edited out of the picture.

We danced and drank and drank and danced and at some point I snorted some of the cocaine that seemed to be freely distributed in the VIPs bathroom stall where some pretty boy kept offering to blow me. When Hogarth head that, he grabbed me and whisked me out of the bathroom.

"You are mine," he shouted and I was too stoned to argue.

I don't remember even getting into the limo, just getting out, being helped up the trailer stairs by Hogarth and ending up in his bed. I was out like a light. I woke early in the morning and there was Hogarth prancing around in the nude, except for a truss sort of athletic supporter. He kept singing and was obviously in a good mood, he also kept tugging on the jock and singing, "here is my secret, do you want to know my secret," over and over reworking the Beetle's tune. It became quite funny and I began to laugh. He approached the bed and thrust his arm, surprisingly muscular, under the covers and grabbed me by the balls, 

"Nobody laughs at me. When he saw how shocked my expression was, he smiled, "But with you it's ok." 

He hadn't released his hand and his fingers had curled around my cock shaft and I was getting hard, I would have though that his behavior would have shut me down, but Hogarth and my cock had different ideas. He pulled down his jock and instead of a penis there was a large vagina, 

"If you want to see my cock, I keep it in the refrigerator." And he started to laugh like crazy. I had no idea what he was talking about but my cock and his cunt seemed to be on a collisions course. He threw back the covers with his other hand, mounted me from above and shouted, "Now you get to fuck Jewish pussy," he said with an exaggerated accent and he laughed and laughed as I pumped him for all I was worth. I guess the cocaine from the night before gave me more staying power, because I fucked that Jewish pussy for at least an hour before cuming and I came so much that it leaked out of Hogarth and glued my pubic hair to my belly. My stomach muscles were sore for days afterwards.

The next day was all business. When I approached him casually he looked angry and said, "Yesterday never happened."

"Sure," I responded. "What happened yesterday? 

His frown turned into a grin and although we worked together for three more months that was the end of our fraternizing. I figured it out later, it wasn't that he was a real girl, he was a sex change, and if that was Jewish pussy, maybe the guys who rave about it are right. I certainly had no complaints. But I think if I ever meet a Jewish girl from Porto Rico, I will really be in pussy heaven.

While I was in Tel Aviv I did meet one Tranny who came into the hotel bar one night when I was quite horny. The bartender pointed out a blond piece of ass seated at a corner table and suggested if I wanted pay-for-play and didn't care which end was up, that she was my girl. Of course I understood his meaning and ran over to introduce myself. Her name was Goldie and she had an odd way of doing business. Seems her mother was Jewish and her father a Palestinian. If that isn't enough to cause problems, she was educated with both cultures and tried to find her way right down the middle without a sex change. Both the Old Testimate and the Koran are quite hard on transsexuals, the old bible sheep fuckers didn't mind getting wool in their mouths while "grooming their sheep" but any perversion of the natural order, meaning the missionary position with a man on a woman was deserving of stone pie sandwich. 

The religious zealots weren't too hip on masturbation either. Sophie was open about her sexual differences, but she would perform a prayer over your cock if it was not circumcised and if you refused, she might not invite you to enter into her plum pudding. Once you were washed and blessed, she would wrap a black robe around her ass, bend over and beckoned you forward, and with a helpful hand insert you into her very tight ass. All the time you fucked her she would keep her ass and your dick covered, out of sight of the Lord as she put it. She was a really tight assed Tranny and that and the mystical method actually paid off with a nice half hour of sex. During the entire time she would vibrate her ass with internal contractions much like a belly dancer until you could no longer resist and your cock would flow like Niagara. She did not do oral nor did she penetrate customers who liked to take it in the ass. I spent a number of happy evenings drilling her sacred spot and although I didn't hit oil, her ass was a lodestone for pleasure! If her ass qualifies as half Jewish Pussy, or perhaps 100% as the religion passes through the maternal line, I guess you can say I've had more than a kosher taste. 

And yet my second wife, a Jewess, thought she was Jacky O', the Kennedy broad, that believed sex was only used for reproduction. In a way I can't argue, she gave me five beautiful children and all of them, thank God, are quite normal, at least as far as I know. But you can't build a good marriage on five fucks and you don't get oral from a gal who refuses to bite the ends off a hot dog in Yankee Stadium, she'd pass it to me. That was my job.



Tranny Tales Ch. 06: Cumming in Sophia



Sophia of the Bourbon Wagon – a sex change?

I remember years back when coffee flavored liquor made its debut. Was it Kahlua? Maybe not. Anyway, they set up a stand inside a tent in Times Square and if you stopped and stuck your head inside, they shot an atomized spray, right through a hole in the bottom of a small paper cup; zap! –Right into your mouth. And it tasted good!

Well, the JFK Airport has improved on that skit. Last week, the King of Bourbon, a liquor company that produces several well-known brands, set up a bar and offered quarter shots of sample booze to any traveler over 18 with a few minutes to loose. A skinny black kid with reggae jerry curls was hustling up customers who were passing by. When I heard what he was selling or should I say, giving away; I climbed up the five stairs, lugging my heavy suitcase, up to the bar where a vixen that looked like Sophia Viagra was pouring shots. I asked if they had any reserve whiskey and Sophia, which strangely turned out to be her name, reached for a round bottle in the back and poured me a quarter shot, when I frowned she poured a little more in my glass, increasing it to a half shot. I drank it slowly, savoring the taste that was not really so remarkable, certainly not as remarkable as Sophia's tits and ass. I must admit when I took the hit of bourbon, and it rolled back into my throat, my eyes took in Sophia and I imagined I was drinking it out of her vagina.

"So how long have you been working here, hon?"

She opened her big eyes, her eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings on both sides of her tiny perfect nose. 

"Three months, just about, we're scheduled for six."

"Where do you call home?"

"I'm from Brazil originally." (I had figured that out from her wonderful accent that sounded like honey and raspberry syrup)

"I live in center Manhattan, they give me a hotel allowance so I'm staying with a friend, a girl friend who I used to waitress with and I'm saving a bit of money on that. Of course I help out with the rent. It is so expensive here to live in New York."

A few grammar errors aside, and that honey dripping Portuguese accent, my heart was doing flip-flops in my chest.

"How late is your gig?"

"I work till five, and then another girl, Lucie, comes in till 12pm. You would like Lucie, she is very beautiful and very sexy."

I stood there entranced. I could not take my eyes off he sparkling eyes and full glossy lips. Her breasts formed a shelf I wanted to lay my head upon. 

"I'm sure Lucy is fine but I can't imagine any one more beautiful that you. How about dinner at a great steak house, the same one Broadway Joe used to own."

"Who is that?"

"Well I can see I am showing my age but Joe Namath was the most famous footballer of his day, at least here in New York where he won the second football Super Bowl way back before you, honey, were probably born."

"I think I heard of Fran. Is he the guy who just died and was married to Kathy Lee?"

"No that was Frank Gifford, his wife had his brain sent out for lunch when his cock, excuse my French, was the healthiest part of his body."

"Oh my."

"Frank, not Fran got into trouble fucking an airline stew a few years back, Kathy Lee went crazy, as if she isn't crazy enough to start with. Anyway, what do you say to a good steak dinner out tonight?"

"Could you pick me up? I hate the subways."

"Sure, no problem, just tell me where."

So Sophia wrote her number and address on little card with the "King of Bourbon" logo. I smiled, did some sort of silly bow, turned and I bounced my suitcase down the 5 stairs and rolled it out to a taxi and on to the Crisco Hotel on 5th and 48th. No, the hotel is not named after that butterball from New Jersey who thinks he can be president when he can't even keep the traffic on the Geo Washington Bridge moving.

Around 8 o'clock, I gave Sophia a call, left the Crisco and headed over to her apartment with a driver I knew. The driver drove for Uber but turned off the i-phone app when he was privately employed so he didn't have to pass a commission on to Silicon Valley. His name is Olauf, but he is not a Swede, he's a Mexican. How he got that name I'm afraid to ask.

I called Sophia up when we got there, pulled up to the curb of a nice building on 38th Street, 

"I'll be right down," she answered.

I would have preferred to go upstairs but what ever worked for her was all right with me. She came out the front door wearing a large tangerine hat, dark Prada white rimed sunglasses and a low cut lace blouse. She carried a long coat in her arms knowing by nightfall it would be chilly. Instead of a dress she wore tangerine shorts and matching heels that set off her long beautiful legs. She was a knock out. Looked like a model, a Holly Golightly if I ever saw one. Tall, tight, tucked and oh my God, her breasts were just about tipping over the Magenot Line. (For those of you who are not History Buffs, the Magenot Line was a defensive wall the French built to separate Hitler's Germany from France. The Germans instead trespassed over Belgium in an end run, to conquer France in a matter of days; i.e. it's a line that hardly ever holds up.)

I jumped out of the black Mercedes to open the door; she stepped in with those 6-inch heels that made her a little taller than me, jumped in besides her and we were off.

Broadway Joe's is up on 47th and 8th. We got out at the corner and walked in a few feet because it's a one-way street like most of the odd numbered streets. Once inside Joe's, we were treated well as you might imagine and the whole restaurant turned around to check her out. I felt like a Prince escorting a Princess. The waiter lost no time in taking our order. 

"Would you like some crushed garlic on the steak?"

"No, I'll pass on that as I intend to make love to this young lady for most of the night after dinner."

Everyone laughed including those dinning near and around us. I then added, "It's our honeymoon." And everyone congratulated us; Sophia just smiled as her face turned red.

The steak house dinner for two was quite good; it came with two giant baked potatoes and creamed spinach. The meat was cut very thick and burnt crisp on the outside while being red rare in the center. You can never be sure if you will get the right thick T-bone for two, but we did just fine. We'd started off with old-fashioned Martinis, a bottle of Chianti Classico, a Florentine delight that is dry with a taste of terra that becomes sweeter as you drink it with the meal. Of course we finished off the meal from the rolling desert tray with a healthy portion of chocolate dripped whipped cream filled Profiteroles (tiny cream puff balls piled high) and a small cup of double espresso. 

After dinner, I phoned Olauf to meet us with his car. By now it was dark. The sky was obscured by the close-knit buildings and the chilled wind funneling up from the Hudson, a few blocks away, was cold. We got into Olauf's car as quickly as possible; he had the back seat heater running full blast.

"Have you ever been to the Sky View Motel?" I asked Sophia. "There is a view from there of Upper Manhattan that will take your breath away. Well it's just spectacular. Would you like to go?"

"Sure," my Sweet Sophia said, she was primed to trot. Olauf drove us up the curved route along the Hudson, past the Cloisters and then onto the west side highway as we made our way north, in the direction of the Tappan Zee Bridge where our Motel was located on the Westchester side. Of course I had reserved a room but they were quite empty that night. I told Olauf to get lost for a few hours and Sophia and I checked in.

When we got into the room it was cold as hell (an oxymoron) so I turned the heater up, which was one of those fancy gas units built to look like a fireplace. It ignited with a whoosh. We moved to look out the window and she could not believe her eyes. In the distance the George Washington Bridge dangled across the sky like a chain of pearls and the twinkling lights of Manhattan lay behind it. The sky was clear, the stars shone through and the half moon was bright and satisfying to look at. 

"Tell me about yourself," I asked.

She seemed very relaxed leaning on her elbows in her overfilled décolleté bra

"What is there to say? I was born in a small town south of Ipanema, maybe 45 minutes away by car, here there was not the rush or violence of the big city. I grew up in a community with many Italians in our neighborhood, strange to say, but there are various neighborhood enclaves for Italians and Germans throughout costal Brazil. Even as a child I picked up enough Italian to converse. Sure, I was a promiscuous little child, sucking the butcher's dick in the back freezer while his wife stood at the counter serving the customers, but I got free meat to bring home to my Mom. I studied English in school for several years. Having summer sex with English speaking tourists helped."

"I sucked and never missed a drop of cum and offered up my ass to any one who passed and showed interest. Just one caveat, every dick had to wear a condom, and I learned most men become generous after they cum. I've seen lots of friends die, if you wonder why check and you will see they left off the condom which are free in every gay bar or club. Of course you have to avoid the drugs because then you get sloppy. I come here to the US to work a few years ago."

Out of words for the moment, we started taste testing the mini bar. She would pick a bottle. Unscrew the cap and taste it, then pass it to me, it warmed us both up. By the time we got to tasting the tenth bottle, or was it the eighth, we were not only warm but before you knew it we were sitting on the bed in our underwear. She still had her lace blouse on and a thong. Of course I left the fireplace heater on 85 degrees, which facilitated the strip down.

"I just love this tasting game; she tilted her head back and smiled."

"So Sophia, you were saying you came here to work. What work did you do?" 

"I'm embarrassed to say I started as a hotel clerk but the work was so boring and my girlfriends suggested I try escorting. It paid much better and it was fun." 

"Really." 

"But you see I was fighting with my inner self."

"What do you mean?"

"I show you."

She stood up and dropped her thong to her ankles. Her shorts were lost some time earlier some time before. She rolled down her thong panties. "Look, you see?" revealing a nicely shaved vagina.

"I was surprised but she seemed perfectly in order."

"You look beautiful."

"No, no, no, no, you look closely you see my labia needs to be given its final touch up." 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, well, I thought you knew, I am a sex change," she pulled up her tiny thong. You didn't know?

"You mean you used to have..."

"A cock...yes, and balls but no more.

Now I am a girl."

"Oh my God, yes you are,"

I put my arms around her and embraced her.

"Yes you are my darling, yes you are."

As I released her green eyes glistened with tiny tears.

"Oh you make my eye makeup run," she said.

"I'm supposed to get the final plastic work to make my vagina perfect in a few weeks. They want you to wait a year after the surgery."

"That's great."

I kissed her on the check but she embraced me, pressing her beautiful perfect breasts into my chest.

"I feel like we are going to be friends for a very long time. I reached into my wallet and peeled of $500, this is spending money for your trip honey and I'd be happy to accompany you to the airport when you are ready to leave."

We were lost in kisses, my fingers outlining her plunging neck line. My cock was making an obvious tent pole in my shorts.

"Can we spend the night and wake up early to see the sun rise"

"Of course"

She kissed me warmly, letting her teeth nibble for the longest time on my lower lip.

Her lace blouse fell away, I took advantage of these moments to unhook her bra and when she released my lip I started to suck her nipples and when I felt she was aroused I dropped to my knees onto the floor, licking her through her thong panties until they became transparent. I started to play with her vagina but it didn't feel the same as other women. 

"Here, do it like this," and in a moment she'd instructed me in how to please a sex change, rubbing a little lower to the side of the vagina where the sexual sensation was most intense" 

Sensing from her breathing and how tightly she held my cock I knew we were headed down the right road, at which point she pulled her wet panties off. I worked my way back up to her breasts and when my cock was on the level of her vagina I positioned myself to enter her whispering, 

"I want to fuck you."

"Oh yes, please do" 

And with that I slipped my cock into paradise.

Fucking a sex change is the same as fucking any women but perhaps it is more exciting. Then there is the added bonus that she is as practiced at anal and will say as Sophia did, 

"You can fuck me in the ass as well if you like" 

"Who would say "No?"

After a brief period of recharge I lay my cum trail right up her butt tail, so glorious an ass that it's likes I may never fill again. This was God given perfection.

We fell asleep in each other's arms; my dick encrusted with cum residue and slept a night of utter blackness. I don't know if she left the bed to wash what must have been a liter of sperm I deposited in her sacred receptacles. 

I slept for a while and awakened to some slurping noise and light pouring in from the window. When my sleep filled eyes finally opened the room was filled with light and there was a soft gurgling sound. I awoke to see Olauf, our driver had returned and was standing on her side of the bed, his fat red dick protruding from his unzipped dark trousers and nestled in Sophia's red lips. She in sucked as he came at that moment, as he grabbed her hair and forced his cock ever deeper down her throat giving her no choice but to swallow all of his seed but that little that leaked from her lips when he pulled out, still red and hard.

"Oh my God, what are you doing to her and what the fuck are you doing?

"I'm sorry Sir. She offered and I accepted."

Seeing her on her knees, her ass so near my throbbing-ly erect cock, and as I was already aroused by what I had witnessed, I didn't hesitate, I entered her ass with one full swoop, in doggy style. She maneuvered me backwards until I fell onto my back and she sat on my chest, offering Olauf a second chance which he lost no time in penetrating her vagina, stuffing his red uncut cock wider and longer than mine into her vagina and in this manner we both exercised our dominion over her, at the same time we could feel the in and out of each others cock which added a separate motion and novel feeling. We became brothers as we fucked our sweet sister through her untold orgasms. My cock stayed the course, remaining firm in Sophia's tight ass while Olauf's cock flopped out spewing his prodigious cum over my ball sack, firming up in the cool morning air as if it were Elmer's glue. 

Embarrassed, Olauf took a hand towel and tried to wipe me off, 

"You don't have to give me nothing for the ride sir, give it to her instead."

"Yes you've had two rides already my brother," I murmured, as I pulled my softened cock from her ass as she stood up. 

"Excuse me," she said, "I have to shower."

"Wait for me," I ran after her before the bathroom door closed, "this guy's cum load is attacking my balls."

I followed her into the shower, from the bedroom I could smell smoke, Olauf was obviously smoking his after-fuck cigarette.

We washed each other in the warm shower water; I particularly scrubbed Olauf's stinging sperm off my balls. 

"Did his cum burn you too?"

"Oh I'm used to that. In Brazil we call it "Queima de esperma," or "hot cum" You know in Brazil and Mexico the men eat a lot of hot peppers and it makes their sperm burn but we kind of enjoy the tingle. "

"Well I can do without it." I continued running the water on my sac until the burning diminished. 

She leaned over and kissed me on my cheek, "I hope you don't mind I suck off your friend. His cock was so hard I thought it would break through his pants so I had to give him relief."

"Yes, you gave him relief twice, but that's ok, it's your right to do what ever you want to and he's a good man." 

"You should let him fuck you in the ass, he has a good sized cock." she said and she smiled, winking at me.

"Thanks, but I think I can manage with fucking your ass, mine is still a virgin and it's too late for you to penetrate me." 

"Oh, I could use a well lubed 12 inch giant fat dildo."

"No thank you, Olauf's cock would probably hurt less," we both laughed.

Sophia pranced nude from the shower into the bedroom, her tits jiggling as she toweled down. Nothing embarrassed her about sex or her body. She was gorgeous! She dressed quickly and we all exited. 

It was early morning and there was almost no traffic in sight. Olauf stopped a few blocks from the hotel at a McDonald's drive-through where we got their abundant pancake sausage breakfast and a hot cup of Mac java. It was a Sunday morning; the highway traffic was also light. We returned to Manhattan, Olauf dropped her at her apartment, me at mine and I still gave Olauf two crisp hundreds despite his protests. So ended the sexual escapade that blows my mind even today.

(More on cumming in Sophia to come)