Sissy Godiva (8 page)

one. Faggot whore? So what. Wasn’t I one, too?
I smiled at the man, feeling myself blush, and reached out to turn the page. He leered at me and flipped the page, our fingers touching.
Both transvestites’ cocks were out, their faces glued together, their hands buried in each other’s bosoms. I felt weak and I was sweating.
“Whew,” I said, “it’s hot in here.” Wiping my forehead I turned from the man and took a step away. He was right after me.
“I was thinking of getting this magazine. You think it’s a good one?”
I shrugged and he seemed worried. “They’ve lowered the price,” I said. The printed price of five dollars had been crossed out, and a buck twenty-five had been written in. “Can’t go wrong with that, if you’re into that kind of stuff.” I shrugged again, taking another step away.
But he was after me again. “Yes, I think I’ll get this one,” he said, closing the magazine and holding it to his chest. “You want to see more? I do.” I saw the clerk glance at us.
I nodded and the man brightened. The clerk had stood up from his stool and was watching us. We approached the counter, the man holding the trannie magazine and me just a step behind him. It was obvious what we were planning to do.
Two queer guys meeting up and going off for the night.
“I’ll wait for you outside,” I whispered.
“Oh, yes,” he answered. I took one last look at the store clerk, then left the store.
I had no intention of meeting him. I darted across Broadway and ran into Union Square Park, where I disappeared along the tree-lined paths. I came out on 4
^th
Avenue, just before S. Klein’s Department Store on 14
^th
Street. I hurried home, looking behind me the whole time.
Whew, no one was after me. Still, I almost regretted there wasn’t.

Mom had already gone to bed, but she called out, asking if I was okay.
“Yes, Mom, couldn’t be better,” I lied.
“You want anything to eat?”
“Nope, I’ll get it,” I answered, pouring a glass of milk and cutting into some cheesecake. It was delicious!
Hope she doesn’t come out and talk about me being queer.
I put the rest of the cheesecake back and went to my room. The ejaculation had me puzzled. I’d cum on a crowded subway once when a man who’d been standing next to me had pressed his hard crotch against me accidentally. Or not so accidentally. Then he’d fingered my crotch. I knew I was redfaced, and I ejaculated just as the train pulled into the station, with people shoving and pushing to get on and off. In my ecstatic haze, I saw the man disappear into the crowd. I let the commuters carry me onto the platform where I stood confused, looking for him, but I never saw him. Just like now. The man in the bookstore didn’t touch me and I didn’t touch myself, but I’d cum suddenly. How did it happen all by itself?
Was I that horny and hot? Yes, if I was a pervert!
I finished my food and looked at my hard-on straining my jeans. Was Sissy Godiva doing the same? Oh, to hell with her. But I wondered if she was continuously jerking off. Could she be? What do horny fags do with their free time except jerk off, like Pips used to do?
I came again, bent over and panting.
Whew, that was a good one!
Pervert or not, ejaculation was the best. I yawned, sighed, and crawled into bed.
Even Mom was sleeping in, having a lazy Sunday morning. I went out and made my slow way down to Avenue C.
What was I doing, going back? As if she really cared for me?
The streets were quiet. Interesting how they’d named Avenues A, B, C, and D and stretching up from Houston Street for just fourteen blocks north and ending on 14
^th
Street. What purpose was there in this grand design—if there was a purpose besides just naming street after street, then moving on to the next? This had all been laid out some time in the 1800’s, building by building, stone by stone, brick by brick, reaching as high as they could in those days, the fourth or fifth floor, and it was high enough for them.
I stopped on Avenue C. A few pushcarts were out already, laden with pots and kitchen tools and little gadgets that only someone who really needed them would bother to buy. I couldn’t even tell what some of the gadgets were supposed to do. I headed a few streets down to Sissy Godiva’s apartment building.
A man was sitting on the stairs reading an old paper and smoking a cigarette. A beatnik, you could tell by his sloppy clothes. He was wearing those big black-framed eyeglasses. There was something humorous about the way they looked on him, a phony seriousness. An “intellectual,” I suspected. I smirked at him as he looked up from his newspaper to watch me go up the stairs. But I recognized that look, the same look the man with the magazine had given me last night, and like the one that subway groper had given me as he pressed himself into me. I don’t know why, but I felt myself growing hard.
The man licked his lips. There was a glint in his eye, a sign of recognition as he winked at me. I nodded back at him, then winked. I decided to sit on a stair above him.
He turned around and looked up at me. I looked down at him. “Gonna be a hot day,” I said, for want of something to say. “Just like yesterday.”
He shrugged. “What do you expect? It’s summer.”
I chuckled. “That it is,” remembering the Joplin song. I started humming it softly.
He smiled and joined in with me. We laughed and he beckoned me down to join him on his stair. I gladly did so.
“You live here?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“Nah,” I said. “Just coming to see my friend.” I looked at him.
Who? Sissy Godiva, or her real name, Joey?
I lowered my voice, “Sissy Godiva.”
He sat up, folding his paper. “Sissy
who?”
I knew I’d said too much. “Sissy
Godiva
. She sometimes goes by Joey.”
“Oh, Joey,” he said, and began to rub himself. “Yes, that Polish
boy
. He’s a very nice
boy
. Didn’t know he calls himself that. Interesting.”
I looked at him, sure he was hard. “Yes, Joey. I prefer ‘Sissy Godiva’ but I don’t know if she’ll be dressed up today or not.” I chuckled. “Women, who can make sense of them? Or women wannabees.” The door opened and I turned, seeing the beautiful Sissy Godiva scowling at me as she started down the stairs. Almost simultaneously the man and I rubbed our crotches as we watched her. She was wearing her purple halter top again, with yellow leggings today. Her hair was teased up and there was no doubt what she was, a beautiful woman!
“Good morning, Mr. Allen,” she said coyly to the beatnik.
I stood up, doing nothing to hide my erection bulging in my jeans.
“Morning, Joey,” he stuttered, looking between Sissy and me. “So you’re
Sissy Godiva
? Wow!” He rubbed himself again, openly, not caring who could see. “Man, what a piece!” He glanced back at me. “I’m always trying to get her into my apartment but she always refuses. I don’t know why.” He rubbed himself again.
Sissy laughed and winked at him. “Oh, Mr. Allen,” she said, “because I
live
here,
that’s
why. I don’t do business where I live, you should know that.” She took my arm. “Say
toodle-oo
to Mr. Allen. Oh, and Mr. Allen, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Or should I say, do everything I’d do, and then some!” She burst out laughing as Allen rubbed himself again, his mouth open a little. She pulled me up the street.
“Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday. I was a fool.”
“Oh, forget it,” she said, squeezing my arm.
“A neighbor of yours?” I asked, looking back at Allen.
She nodded. “Uh-huh, some kind of poet but I never heard of him. But then I don’t know any beatnik poets, that’s all beyond me. He’s supposed to be sort of famous, but who the hell knows.”
We’d walked about a block when I asked her what happened yesterday. After all, I’d left her sleeping at dawn in East River Park.
“Oh, so-so, nothing much, you know? Just spent the day walking around, looking at the river, you know?”
I gritted my teeth and looked the other way.
“The raincoat fit?”
“Yeah, I threw it away. But it fit for the moment, you know?”
I rubbed my face. “Lots of baseball players in the park. Did you meet any?”
“I suppose,” she shrugged. “But I stayed around the handball courts under the bridge. It’s loud there with the traffic, but you’re pretty much alone. Until someone comes over.” In all the times I’d been in the park, I’d never seen anyone use the handball courts for handball. I supposed the traffic was distracting.
“You were alone?” I asked.
She chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sometimes I was, sometimes I wasn’t. You know how it goes.”
What was the point of asking what she’d been doing? As if I didn’t know. That was yesterday; today’s a different day. Wherever she was the previous day, she was with me now!
I squeezed her hand, smiled, and let her take me wherever she wanted.
We headed east, past Tompkins Square Park, turning onto St. Marks Place and walking past 1
^st
and 2
^nd
Avenues. We looked in the windows of clothing stores, record shops, book stores, hippie stores filled with things like little hash pipes. I knew she’d been taking drugs—what kind? I didn’t really know.
“Man, I’d do anything for a joint,” she said. We were still holding hands. “That’s my dream, to be stoned all the time.”
I’d heard about pot, mostly from blacks and musicians. Some of the beatniks took whatever they could get. But I still hadn’t tried it.
“That’ll kill you,” I said. “It’ll waste you before you even know what’s happening. No, thanks!”
“But that’s the whole point. Why feel anything? Just get stoned.”
We walked away from the head shops, heading up 8
^th
Street into Washington Square Park, the heart of Greenwich Village. On Sundays, the park was quiet. A few people were walking, but most were sitting on the benches, reading the big
New York Times
or just staring into space.
“They’re probably stoned all ready, don’t you think?” I said, laughing at the
stoned
people in the park.
She shook her head. “You’re an idiot,” she said, lighting up a cigarette. “But I love you, anyway.” She cuddled closer.
As we’d walked up 8
^th
Street to the park, men had stared at us. But mainly at Sissy, with her flat-chested halter top and her pretty face, looking like a horny and hard-up under-aged kid. Those were the sexiest years, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Grown men took girls that age and used them like they were ten years older. And they always
said
they thought the girls were older. Occasionally, I saw some grown guy rub himself as we passed them. At first it made me angry, but then I realized that she was with
me,
and they could only drool after her. I squeezed her tighter and let my hands rove into places that made her giggle and try to resist me.
Look all you want, buddy, but only
I
can touch!
I felt very proud as I saw some guy grab himself.
Did any of them suspect what they were looking at, a teen boy dressed as a girl? Or did they just see a seductive, hard-on-inducing girl? Ah, fantasy.
I rubbed my stiff dick as we sat on a bench, positioning my hard-on a little more comfortably. She laughed.
“You’re hard as always,” she winked. “I like that.”
We sat there a while. It was nice being in the park with Sissy.
“Hey, I just had an idea.” She jumped up. Let’s drop in at Tonya’s house, how about it?”
I disliked the idea. “Don’t you think it’s too early to pay a visit?”
“Oh bullshit, so we wake her up, what’s the big deal? She’s gotta get up, anyway. Her place is real close.” She pulled me up and we headed out of the park, north on 5
^th
Avenue.
It was a short walk to 11
^th
Street off 6
^th
Avenue—the Avenue of the Americas as it was marked on maps and street signs, but most people still called it 6
^th
Avenue.
We paused at a three-story building. Sissy took the steps leading down under the stairway to the basement apartment. She knocked loudly and called, “Tonya! Tonya, you up or what?!”
After Sissy’d knocked and called for a while, the curtain next to the door was lifted aside and an elderly black man looked out at us. He seemed puzzled to see us, and a black-skinned woman joined him. It was Blowjob Tonya with her large breasts. But she was naked and, when I saw her penis, I felt myself blush. There was a sign of disapproving recognition on Tonya’s face as the curtain dropped back. A moment later we heard the locks rattling and the door opened.
“Girl, are you crazy? What are you doing here? It’s not even eleven o’clock?” Tonya yawned. Her penis was stiffening. “What’s wrong with you, Sissy? Don’t you know I need my beauty sleep?” But she stood aside and let Sissy in, with me sheepishly trailing after. The old black man was standing in the middle of the room with a blanket wrapped around him. He was leering at us, looking right at my hard crotch.
“Introduce me,” the man said, licking his lips. “Your young friends look mighty appetizing.”
Tonya took him by the arm and pulled him onto the bed in the center of the room.
“You get back in bed, Big Daddy,” she said. “You know what too much excitement does to you.”
“Oh, rats,” Big Daddy said, but followed her to the bed, taking off his blanket before he lay down.
My God, his penis was huge!
The thickest and the longest I’d ever seen on any man, black or white. Maybe thirteen, fourteen inches or more. I wished I could touch it. I wiped my mouth. Sissy said, “this is Vinnie, the one who carried me out of the fire and saved my life.”
“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Tonya said. “I met him last year and yesterday, too. Girl, what’s wrong with you? You have no memory?” She sat on the bed next to Big Daddy.
“What fire is that?” Big Daddy asked. He’d pulled the covers up to his neck.
Sissy blushed. “His house caught fire on 1
^st
Avenue last year.” She sniffled and looked down. “But poor, poor Pips didn’t make it.”
“Why, yes, I remember,” Big Daddy said, his eyes going wide. “You knew Pips? It really was a tragedy. Pips was a lovely gay fellow, a pity he wasn’t able to have sex with anyone. Just wanted to jerk and jerk.”
“Hmm. Why is that, Daddy?” Tonya asked. I couldn’t take my eyes off her lovely naked breasts.
“I have no idea,” Daddy said. “It’s a big world out there, guess it takes all kinds.”
My eyes were glued to Tonya’s bosom. I tried looking everywhere else, but my eyes always returned to each orb as if it was manna from heaven, there for my nourishment and enjoyment. My mouth was hanging open and I was salivating. Tonya had noticed me staring at her breasts and edged nearer to me. She winked and said tenderly, “you can touch them, I don’t mind.” She smiled seductively.
I was highly uncertain that I’d heard correctly.
“I really don’t mind,” she said.
“Oh, my God. You’re kidding, right?”
Her dark nipples had gotten bigger and firmer, as if aching for my touch. I raised my hands and touched her skin. She seemed to melt. Her eyes drifted shut and her bottom lip quivered. Her penis shot out and she came, a flood of semen shooting out and a satisfied look on her face. I watched greedily, hungrily, and my own semen shot so powerfully it threw me off. I realized I was squeezing her breasts painfully tight.
“Hey fella,” she squirmed, “easy with those hands, all right?” She moved away.
I shook my head as if coming to.
“So sorry.” But Tonya moved farther back, closer to Big Daddy.
I glanced sheepishly at Sissy. She looked dreamy.
Had everyone ejaculated?
Not Big Daddy; he was slowly rubbing his hard dick, and it sure was a huge one!
“I gotta pee,” I said, looking around.
“There’s a john down the hall,” Tonya said, snuggling up on the bed with Big Daddy.
I sheepishly left the room. Pissing felt great: a whoosh sprayed out of me, relaxing me, making me feel serene. I heard a footstep behind me. Big-dicked Daddy was standing outside the bathroom looking at me. He didn’t say anything, just kept licking his lips and clutching his enormous prick. Amazing how something could be so big. His penis was huge, spectacular, immense, a
real
penis! No doubt about that!