Free Sissy Godiva by Mykola Dementiuk

me.”
“Where is it, uptown? Downtown?
“Not far, 23 rd and Madison.” I nodded, feeling myself blush. “You know that old big building with the clock tower? I’m on the twelfth floor.”
I nodded again, and reddened still more. Mom was on the fourteenth floor.
We were silent a moment. “Hey, I’m sorry about Pips going like that.”
She shrugged. “I know, but he was an old man, an old jerking-off geezer,” she shrugged. “Anyway, it’s not my fault he had heart trouble. We each go our own way, we live and then we die, but life goes on.”
I looked at her and shook my head again. “Man, you’re hot! Hard to believe you’re getting away with it.”
She grinned and winked. “Yeah, I know. But we all get away with whatever we can, right?”
I grinned back at her. We were standing very close.
“And what about Blowjob Tonya, what happened to her?”
She nodded. “Bad smoke; she was in Bellevue a few days and then her Grandma put her on a plane back to Georgia. But she came back pretty soon after. Can’t keep a good fairy down, right?”
I looked at her. “Georgia? She was from Georgia?
“Uh-huh, but I’m sure that by now she has sucked a whole lot of New York City cocks, some three or four times.” She laughed. “As soon as she could walk again, she was giving blowjobs to every medic, orderly, and doctor in Bellevue, and showing off her big tits. I guess it takes all kinds, don’t it? After all, she’s Blowjob Tonya—Tony’s her real name. But I think Blowjob Tonya has more pizzazz, don’t you?” She giggled and lit a cigarette. “How’s things with you?”
“The usual, always trying to find a job but never finding one, you know how that goes.” I shrugged. “I look and look and go home, day in, day out. That’s my life. Nothing, really.”
She nodded. “Don’t I know it. But hey, you ever go to the Giddy Up! Bar on Avenue A? That’s one swinging club, gay guys all over the place just picking up what they want.” The Giddy Up! was a cowboy bar on Avenue A in the East Village. It didn’t promote itself as a cowboy bar, because there weren’t any real cowboys in New York City, but it was a transvestite bar that attracted brawlers who fought it out for the pretty pseudo-ladies who sat around the bar.
I shook my head. “Nah, I stay away from those queer clubs. Too weird and kinky for me. Anyway, I’m not gay, like you.”
She burst out laughing. “But you were in that famous gay fire in the East Village, even the Village Voice had a drawing on the front page of you carrying a naked me out of the blaze.” She threw her cigarette away.
“They did that? I never saw it.”
She shrugged. “Must be around somewhere, we’ll have to find you a copy. Of course, we knew it was mostly smoke, but who’s going to tell the press that?” She nodded. “They write about those blazes burning up apartments, think smoke and fires are everywhere. Uh-huh, leave it to the Village Voice to report the truth, they know better. Bullshit!” She flicked her cigarette away. “Anyway, you should come by the Giddy Up! You never know who you might meet.” She winked a mascaraed and turquoise-shadowed eye at me. And I’m sure if that if I was Pips, I would have ejaculated right then.
“Maybe. I’ll see.”
We said goodbye on 2 nd Avenue, promising to meet at the Giddy Up! I walked home, thinking, transvestite? But I’m not queer! But my aching hard-on said I was.
Chapter 19
    The Lower East Side was crawling with drunks and party people going after whatever they could get on Friday nights. No bar turned a drinker away—they might check some kid’s phony ID—but after glancing at it they’d let you in, as long as you had some kind of ID.
    So one Friday I stood outside the Giddy Up! on Avenue A. I stood looking at the women, transvestites really, some dressed like hookers, others like elegant movie stars, as they went inside. As usual, my dick was stiff and eager for satisfaction. I stood in a nearby doorway