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Tranny Tales Ch. 05

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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 ankarakazan.com 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.

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