Sissy Godiva (3 page)

He gripped my hand, clutching it near his face. “I thought we were having a lovely time together. You want to try jerking off again? I can do it, though it doesn’t look it. Please?”

I shook my head and pulled my hand away.
“I don’t think so,” but I smiled at him. “Have to go out and find Sissy Godiva and bring her up here,” I nodded. “I’m sure we can convince her to join our
sessions.”
I blushed again.
What the hell was I saying?
“That way we’ll have a real jerk-off session, the three of us together.” He leered back at me and grabbed my hand again.
“Oh, God, yes, yes! Can you get her? It’ll be just like old times.”
He leaned against me, pressing his face into my belly, and took his cock in his hand, moaning and ejaculating again, his semen spurting out. I quickly stepped back, away from his spray. He let go of my hand and collapsed into the chair. He was wasted, spent. He’d cum twice in a row. I didn’t think that was easy for someone his age. I stared at him a moment, then picked up my clothes and left the room, my erection leading me. I grinned, thinking,
sure am glad he didn’t get any on me that time.
I stopped in his kitchen and began to dress, looking at the two packs of Newports. He staggered into the room after me. He looked lost as he dropped into a kitchen chair and opened a pack. The hairy skin at his crotch was damp and sticky. Interesting that he could do that. Even at my age, the second or third time always took that much longer. But I guess continuous ejaculations were natural with him—or was it his perversion?
“You mentioned ‘old times.’ What old times?” I asked.
He sighed. “Back in the days when I lived in Greenwich Village, people would stop by to masturbate. Quite a few came over and it was nice.” He lit his cigarette and blew out the smoke, then started rubbing his penis again.
I stepped into my shoes. “In the Village? Must have been a hot spot,” I said, and I meant it, too.
He took a deep drag and shrugged. “I usually do a lot now, you know, jerking off. At my age, what else is there to do?” He shrugged. “Ejaculating makes me feel very much alive. It’s the best feeling.”
I laughed. “I know it is. Hey, you know that musical out now,
Camelot?
I just heard that song this morning. I think I’ll name you after it—but in our little world it’ll be
Cumalot
, C-U-M. That’d be perfect for you. What do you think,
Prince Cumalot
?”
He grinned back at me, looking dreamy-eyed. “It’s perfect! Ideal!
Cumalot!
Now why didn’t I think of that? I love it!”
I laughed as he grabbed my waist, pressing his face to my belly.
“I thought you would,” I grinned down at him, stroking his almost hairless head.
What was I doing?
“Yes, well,” I said, pushing myself away. “Think I’ll go and find Sissy Godiva. If not today, then tomorrow.” I glanced at the small wall clock. Twoforty-five. “Certainly by tomorrow. But remember,” I bit my lip, “we act like always, you hardly know me and I hardly know you. We’re just neighbors—strangers. Mom doesn’t have to know anything we do here, okay?”
He smiled at me, still dreamy-eyed.
“Do here?” He snapped to attention. “We don’t do anything. I have no idea what you’re talking about, young man.” He winked and smiled. “We have a deal, sister.” He offered his hand and I took it, feeling its clammy stickiness.
“Sister?” I frowned. “I can’t be your sister.”
He thoughtfully looked at me and brightened.
“All right, if I’m your
Cumalot
then you can be my—what’s her name, Queen Guenevere in the musical, isn’t it? Yes, the perfect pair!”
I frowned again.
I’m not a sissy girl, what the hell was he talking about? Oh, to hell with it, it’s only fantasy here. What’s the harm in that?
“Okay, it’s a deal. You’re
Cumalot
and I’m—” But it was hard to say.
“
Queen Guenevere”
he insisted gently. “You know what they do up on Broadway, Times Square?” and his hand was pulsing against my own, mimicking masturbation.
“I never go there, I wouldn’t know. That’s a screwy place. It isn’t my kind of place.”
“You mean that that
queer
place is a
sissy
place, don’t you?”
I glared at him.
“Hey, I just come here with your cigarettes, isn’t that enough? I don’t even have to that, you know—”
“Now don’t get mad, I was only playing, it’s good to pretend. Pretty please?” He lowered his head and looked shyly at me through his lashes. I smiled faintly.
“Queen Guenevere, you like me being a Queen, huh?” I mumbled. Then, a little louder, “Alright, I’m your Queen,
Sweet Cumalot
.” I leered at him, then got out of the way as he ejaculated for the third time.
Man, where was it coming from?
I didn’t look back at him but darted out of his place and down the stairs, rushing out into the sweltering summer heat.
“Prince Cumalot
,” I said to myself, then I started laughing.

Damn, I didn’t know old men could come that much!
I wandered into Tompkins Square Park, where you could sit and relax.

It was around 3:30 P.M. when I drifted through the park, passing the band shell on 7
^th
Street. Long-haired workers were wiring amplifiers for that night’s rock show. It’d certainly bring in crowds from outside the neighborhood. I liked some of the new rock music, but still I preferred the oldies, like The Ronettes and those groups. They were my favorites!

I took a bench near the band shell and watched the people walking by. Some were barefoot and carried flowers or guitars. Some necktied workers hurried, looking determined. Others sauntered slowly, as if looking for something to do.

I sat a while thinking about Mr. Phillips. Was he right that we weren’t homosexuals even though we jerked off in front of each other? Just because there wasn’t any touching or feeling up? We were aloof, not involved in a relationship, just doing what we had to do, pleasing ourselves. What could be wrong about that? We weren’t faggots. Well, at least I wasn’t, that’s for sure!

I heard loud, raucous laughter and turned to see a group of girls on the path, pushing and shouting at each other. There was something about them; they weren’t like other girls. They were loud and bold. Then I saw Sissy Godiva at the center of the group, spitting out snide remarks.

It was Sissy with three of her obnoxious trannie friends. They were all wearing tight girly clothes, and their tiny shorts did nothing to disguise their hard-ons. But by the late sixties, transvestites wouldn’t stay in the well-known gay spots in Times Square or Greenwich Village any more. They went pretty much anywhere they wanted in New York City. The rock music in Tompkins Square Park always drew them into the Lower East Side.

I sat quietly, pretending to look the other way as they approached.
What would I do if one of them taunted me, like they were taunting other people in the park?
I looked down, wishing I had a newspaper or a paperback to bury my head in.

“Hey!” I heard Sissy Godiva shout. “It’s my sissy friend from high school. I knew him when were in school together. You remember me, Vinnie?” she said, fluttering her eyelids and falling onto the bench beside me.

I looked up, nervously biting my lips, my face a deep, dark crimson.
“Of course I do,” I said, trying not to look at her friends. “Saw you just yesterday, remember?”
Sissy Godiva put her arm around my shoulders like we were old lovers. “Oh yeah, I do, I just forgot,” she shrugged, cuddling next to me. I didn’t make a move to hide my erection. I just sat on the bench with her beside me. For a moment it was nice.
“Meet my loud friends,” Sissy laughed. “Smug Penny,” who had a conceited look on her face, “Bitter and Angry Lois,” who looked very angry, “and, of course, Blowjob Tonya. I don’t have to tell you what she loves to do or doesn’t do.” She laughed again. “That’s my whole sissy bunch!”
“Glad to meet you,” I grunted. I was embarrassed to look at them, but I kept staring at Blowjob Tonya. She was simply beautiful, the most beautiful black transvestite I’d ever seen. Besides, she had real-looking whopper breasts.
They studied me for a moment, then Angry Lois waved her hand dismissively. “Well, I’m outta here.” The four hugged and fake-kissed as Lois took Smug Penny’s arm and traipsed away with her, their hips swaying and buttocks bouncing.
“Oh, screw them,” Blowjob Tonya said, lighting a cigarette. “They’re a bunch of conceited fairies, good they left.” Tonya looked me up and down, blowing smoke into my face. “What you think, Sissy? He’s a handsome looker, isn’t he?” She fluttered her eyelids and licked her lips, staring at me. “I like his cute short hair, very sexy these days. I’d go to bed with him in an instant.”
I was stunned. She’d said that out loud?
Sissy looked bored and yawned, but she watched as Blowjob Tonya flapped the front of her T-shirt to cool herself. The neckline barely covered her nipples. And her shorts were so little they looked like bikini bottoms.
“It’s too hot here in the park,” Tonya said, still fanning herself and staring at me. “I’m gonna go to the East River Park, find someone waiting there for me,” she smirked. “Or else just take my clothes off and stop traffic. Ta ta, you bitches!” She winked and wiggled her nice round ass, then walked away down the path.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Sissy laughed, “that’s my line, taking off your clothes! They don’t call me Godiva for nothing!” She grinned at me. “Those are my friends. They’re a bunch of conceited sissies, but I love them anyway.” She shrugged.
“It takes all kinds,” I said, now trying to hide my hard-on. Then I remembered. “Hey, you know my neighbor, Mr. Phillips? I told you about him and you said you knew him. Well, he suggested I bring you around so he can see for himself.”
She looked at me. “He does? What does he look like, is he a good looker?”
I laughed. “Well, Mr. Phillips is elderly—”
“Oh, you mean old man Pips? Sure, I’d like to see him. When can we do that?”
“How about tomorrow morning?”
“In the morning?”
“We can go later.”
“No, that’s cool. Is he nice and gay, like you are?”
I felt my mouth tighten. “I’m not gay!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she shrugged. Then she sat up and asked, “but then why are you around gays so much?” She smirked and winked. “And holding hands with one, tsk, tsk.” I felt her fingers threading through mine. I tried throwing her off but she held on. “Okay, okay. What time tomorrow?”
She was still holding my hand. There was nothing wrong with that, I thought
. A feminine girl holding a masculine hand—
but I frowned and said, “In the morning, he’s always up then. Around 9 A.M. is the best time.”
“I guess I’ll be there around nine, or close to it.” She crossed her legs, looked around. “I wonder if they’re gonna have a cool band here tonight. Maybe even the Grateful Dead, you think? Or the Jefferson Airplane? Man, that would be so cool, those bands are from San Francisco, you know.”
I shook my head. “Wouldn’t know, I’m not into that crazy drug rock, I like the old groups, The Ronettes, The Shangri-Las. You know, groups that make sense, not that druggie crap.”
She shook her head.
“You’re an idiot,” she said, “but I like you anyway. Don’t know why, I just do.” She stood up. “Hey, I’ll be in front of your building around nine. You still live somewhere on 1
^st
Avenue, right?”
I nodded. “Seventy-six 1
^st
Avenue, off 5
^th
Street.”
“Wow, my mom works on 1
^st
Avenue, too. I think it’s ninety-four, but I don’t really know for sure. Just better not let her see me going into your building. She’ll think we’re doing something dirty, that we’re both queer.”
I was pissed and shook her hand off. “I’m not queer, I told you!”
She laughed but she bent down, pecked my cheek, and walked down the path as more and more people started coming into the park.
I watched her walk away, then sat a while, mostly waiting for my hard-on to go down. But it wasn’t going down. I needed to jerk off.
“Fuck it!” I stood up and started for home.
I walked over to 1
^st
Avenue and went into my building. The dim hallway lights always made it feel like winter, even in the worst of a New York City summer. I slowly unzipped my pants as I went up to my floor. On the fourth floor, I pulled out my dick and stood at the railing, looking at the stairs below. A few strokes and I froze at a sound. But it was only Mr. Phillips opening his door and looking at me; as usual, he was naked. I shrugged and continued beating my dick while he did it with his. I turned and we masturbated while looking at each other. Almost out of breath, I said, “I saw Sissy Godiva, she said she’d come by tomorrow morning to see if she knows you or not.” My semen was bubbling, very close to exploding.
“So sweet,” he breathed, jerking his limp cock. “You’re my
bestest
friend.” He smiled wickedly. “I might even say I love you,” he said, then looked away. “Can I say that?”
I frowned but nodded, looking down at my dick and beating it a little faster when my semen surged and spat out towards him.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” I shouted, “motherfucker!” My semen spat out again but not as powerfully, just a weak spurt. But it was still satisfying. “Whew, that was a good one,” I panted. He was still jerking his limp dick. “Ain’t you gonna cum?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Can’t. It takes longer and longer as the day goes by. I was jerking off just before. Think of this as just for you.” And he smiled.
I stared at him. “Doing it for me? That’s nuts!”
“But it certainly helped you, didn’t it? Seeing—just knowing—someone else is jerking off at the same time, it sure helps the come blast that much faster, don’t you think?”
He looked down at his limp dick, still holding it.
“I suppose,” I whispered and felt myself redden. “I suppose it was nice of you to do—”
What the fuck was I saying?
He looked up at me. “You know I love you, don’t you?” he said softly. “I have no one else to say that to. Do you love me?”
Ah shit, here it goes. Remember, it’s only words whispered in a dark hallway. Meaningless.
“Sure, I love you,” I sighed and shrugged. “I love you.”
I went into my apartment. I heard him shut his door behind him.
He must have gone to jerk off again.
I shrugged and smiled. He really wasn’t such a bad old man.
As usual, Mom was exhausted from work that evening but still insisted on making me dinner.
“You’re my son, I
have
to make you dinner.”
“No, Mom, I’m not hungry,” I’d usually stress as she looked at me until she finally collapsed her comfortable chair.
She hated her job, shuffling papers and stamping forms all day. And they called her a secretary—
my ass, she was!
Totally meaningless work that she struggled through, sitting blindly in front of the television set every night, watching show after boring show, hoping something good would come on, though it hardly ever did. I watched with her for a while but got bored by the repetitive programs.
I went to my room and sat in my chair in front of the mirror. Mom was still amazed that I’d struggled up four flights with it, but I still felt great about it! I sat there and wondered what Pips was doing in his apartment across the hall. I smirked. Most likely jerking off, what else could he do? He was in his fifties, or maybe it was his sixties? Living alone, with no visitors. He’d had visitors for years, but in the past year or so no one really came by. I’d get him cigarettes just about every week, and a woman brought him some groceries—not much, just essentials. We’d sit and talk—well, kind of talk. He liked to masturbate, and what could be better to a kid, I liked it, too. We masturbated together, over and over and over.
I grinned. Have fun, you old faggot!
I tweaked my cock and stroked it.
So tomorrow I’d jerk off with Sissy Godiva. Wouldn’t that be something! Boy!
I stroked a little faster and more firmly.
It was like a date we’d set up, wasn’t it?
The image of Sissy in her leggings and halter top had permeated my entire being. If only I could see her
without
any clothes. If she got married, that would be the perfect trousseau for her, black leggings and pink halter top, or any other color she wanted, with nothing else, except for my hard-on sticking up and out, a sort of bridal veil for her.
Here cums the bride—
I ejaculated.
Oh, damn, that was good! But I wasn’t gay, so why was I thinking of her?
My cum splashed up onto my face, cascading down to my lips, mouth and chin, with a final drop of scum splashing onto my belly. It was beautiful, relaxing, comfortable.
If only I could cum like that, man, that would be divine, oh, yes!
I shook my head.
It’s crazy to think I’m gay. I’m not gay!
I got up, pulled my pants back on and got into bed. I yawned. Man, I was beat. I was out quickly.
My clock read 8:15 A.M. I hadn’t heard Mom get up and leave for work, which she would have done half an hour ago.
Boy, that was some deep sleep, that’s for sure.
I yawned, groaned, stretched, scratched my balls and staggered into the bathroom.
Heading into the kitchen, I saw that Mom had made my favorite breakfast, scrambled eggs and bacon, still in the pan. I grabbed a fork and ate the eggs and bacon right out of the pan. They were delicious, even cold.
I put the pan in the sink and went back to my room. I wasn’t sure what the weather would do. It was cool this morning, but I suspected it would get hot again later. Summer weather is changeable, nothing you can do about it. I dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and looked at myself in the mirror. Boy, if I had the urge to dress as a girl, I’d have to get up pretty early to do it properly. Sissy Godiva was probably dressing at that moment. I smirked, rubbed my hardening cock through my jeans as I went to the front door.
Man, just thinking of her little dick in tight leggings had me hard.
I peered through the peephole. The solitary light bulb always made the hall dim. Everything was still. I opened the door and turned around to lock it. As if he’d been waiting for hours, Mr. Phillips, Pips, sprang out.
“Good morning, sweetie,” he whispered. “Have a relaxing night? Not too much jerking off, I hope.”
I frowned.
I’m not like you
, I thought. He was totally naked, his large cock drooping, and he was winking at me. I turned back to finish locking my door.
“Not bad,” I said, starting down the stairs.
He came out and grabbed the stair railing by his door.
“Hope you’re going to meet your friend, Missy Godiva, and bring her up here,” he leered at me. “That would be heavenly.”
“You mean
Sissy
Godiva. Yeah, I’ll bring her up. That is, if I find her.” I trotted down the stairs.
“I’ll be waiting, dearie,” he called after me.
I winced. What’s with these lovey-dovey faggot terms, “dearie?” Does he think we’ve gotten close? All I do is go to his house and jerk off, what’s the big deal? I opened the building door, stepping out onto 1
^st
Avenue.
The sun was shining and it was already sweltering. There’d be no rain to relieve the weather today.
The sidewalks were packed. Some sauntered while others hurried, going to work on the subway, or something they seemed to be late for.
Was my date going to be on time? Because it was a date, no question about it. And meeting me right at my own front door, wow! A real date!
I felt myself blush thinking about it. An old beatnik was walking toward me, looking right at me, and what was I doing? Rubbing my hard-on for him to see while thinking of Sissy Godiva—but if he knew how cute she was, he’d be jerking off, too! Damned beatnik, they think their goatees make them look better and smarter than everyone else. What crap, they don’t know shit!
I turned toward the building, embarrassed. I watched the beatnik after he passed me, wondering if he was too old to get it up, just like Pips.
Too old—too old for what?
I stepped away from the doorway and checked the time. Where the hell was Sissy, anyway? She did say after nine, but it’s nine-thirty now, and still no Sissy. Had she passed me while I daydreamed about her? That would be horrible! She’d never look my way again. But she’s a he, why did I keep calling her a she! Damn it, what’s wrong with me?
I walked to the corner, looking up and down the street, but Sissy wasn’t there. I paced back and forth to the ends of the block, trying to work off my energy. By ten, I knew she wasn’t going to come. By ten-thirty, I was almost certain. By eleven, I was positive, and by eleven-thirty, I wondered what the point of all this waiting was. I knew she wasn’t going to show up no matter what time it was.
What a fool I am!
I flung the building door open and started back up the dark stairway.
Bitch. But what if she comes right now?
I spun around and surged through the door. The sidewalk was still full of people, but there was no Sissy in her black halter top and pink leggings. Wait, were they pink or were they black? Aw, hell, I had no idea what color leggings she’d wear, but she’d be colorful, that’s for sure.