Tranny Tales Ch. 05

Story Info
Blow Jobs, Disco Sex, Goldie the Tranny & My 2nd Wife.
2.8k words
3.52
12.1k
3

Part 5 of the 11 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 11/01/2015
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erectus123
erectus123
463 Followers

This is not the usual long story, instead this submission has shorter stories woven into it. These random notes include myths of Sex with Jewish Women, a "Puerto Rican Blow Job," "Hogarth the Disco Star in Tel Aviv," "Goldie the Israeli Tranny," and a brief mention of My 2nd Wife's mental problem related to cock sucking.

All characters are over the age of 18 and all sexual acts are non-violent and consensual.

*************************************************

"They," say there is no pussy like Jewish pussy, 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 I've fucked; not better and not worse. Her German lover, whom she passed off as her friend, complimented her, saying that Jewish pussy smelled better than any other pussy on earth. Fritz was another idiot but more intelligent than me; she was still fucking him on the sly years after she married me. One of my kids speaks English with a German accent. What does that mean?

I grew up in New York City, and I am also an idiot. I've fucked cunt and ass from all over the melting pot, but I still like to shop in the Costco in Spanish Harlem to hear the Puerto Rican sales girls speak their delightful English. It always gives me a hard-on. It's been years since I've dated a Puerto Rican girl. Rosie's voice was music to my ears.

My first job was working at the Bronx Zoo. I was trying to get experience working with large animals. That was a requirement for Veterinary School, so I became a ponyboy.

What is a ponyboy? It's not what you perverts are thinking. I didn't dress as a pony and get butt fucked. I ran around a ring leading the pony while some little kid's mom paid for the ride. I don't remember how much it cost, I didn't sell tickets, but the kids got the thrill of riding a horse, well, a pony. What little kid would turn down that offer? At the beginning and end of the day, we curried and cared for the animals.

I never understood how groupies after a concert end up being fucked by a roustabout. That's as close as the groupies get to the band members. Maybe it's some form of transference? My sister was a more successful groupie. At the old Shay Stadium, Rhonda got fucked by Paul Simon and Gar-fuckle; I mean Art Garfunkle. Big fucking deal! Simon had a tiny cock, and Art was good-looking with terrible bad breath. Rhondas just closed her eyes and could not remember if his dick was small or large.

So there I was a hormonal teenager just over 18, beating off every night. Thank God I didn't give up my day job because things were finally looking better, we'd acquired two groupies. My pal Georgie, who worked at the zoo, wanted to be a Herpetologist, and Georgie had a basement full of snakes.

Being observant, he noticed two cute girls waving at us from outside the fence. Georgie wasn't into girls. Maybe the extra fat he carried 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 they are quicker than most women to offer up as a bonus.

I had long ago begun the nightly training of my young pecker by aiming for the ceiling. I was delighted to abandon my sore wrist for the real thing. The two girls came from work at an Italian take-out stand right near the Subway; the Metro in the Bronx is an elevated structure, not underground as in New York City. Of the two, I wanted to have sex with Mia, the short Puerto Rican girl with a musical accent.

Once I knew where to find Mia, I would stop in the store where she worked and order a deep-fried eggplant wedge. God, that was delicious. If the boss was out, I got it for free. What they fried the breaded 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 sizable sweater cushions that caught my eye immediately.

When Mia got off early from work, 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. Mia and I usually didn't ride the bus. We would walk hand in hand over the same route so we'd have more time together.

That was when Mia led me on a shortcut, but it was just a way to get together, out of sight, if the bus was passing. I encouraged her to talk, and I loved hearing her voice. She was a typical American teen (18 years). Mia talked about her family, her relatives in Puerto Rico, and the silly things that young women talk about, like what the new hit songs were on the top forty the DJ would announce on the radio every night. Most of the kids would write the tunes down in a notebook as if it was something important.

But Mia had other things in mind besides talking. She pulled me behind a tree, unzipped my fly, and fell to her knees. Before I knew what she was doing, my erection was deep in her mouth. I wasn't going to argue with Mia. She kept pumping with her lips and moving her head back and forth until the inevitable happened. I shot my load right in her mouth. She shifted her head, so my jizz filled a pocket in her cheek and then she did something I had never experienced before that afternoon. She leaned back her head, making a loud gurgling noise from her cum filled mouth. Then Mia opened wide to show me the white sperms and proceeded to swallow it all, partly choking until she got it all down. Ever since that day, I have respectfully referred to that act as a "Puerto Rican Blow Job,"a wonderful Island tradition.

Lest I digress; let me fast forward to the Jewish pussy question. I have to approach that question diplomatically. I went to Tel Aviv in 1970, doing electrical 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 frequently banned. The Disco fans loved him, but the people who were neither fans nor attendees were 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-sexual, was usually dressed like a male. By the time we got to "Helga and the Angry Inch '' (2015), people didn't seem to be offended, at least in the big cities. It is still a topic of concern in some of the hinterland political campaigns where all the men have big cocks, and all the women adore sucking and fucking them. Bi-sex, tri-sex, and homo-sex, they like to think, are unheard of in the heartland, much like in Iran, where the Ayatotalla informs us,

"Sexual deviates do not exist." (I'm sure you get my sarcasm.)

Hogarth was a drug user. He could do cocaine every night and then give it up for a month. That is the distinction between an addict and a user. Hogarth was a talented singer, 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, had sung with some success.

An Italian scandal sheet had claimed to have nude photos of Amanda's cock when she visited a Yugoslavian nudist resort. That edition sold out in an hour but I was late to the news stand that day and never got to view Amanda's pudendum. Hogarth had adapted some of her sexy songs, had specific ideas on how he wanted the lighting during his performance. The show manager sent me to Hogarth's trailer to map out his requests.

At that juncture, Hogarth was heavily into cocaine. The trailer living room bar looked like it was covered in snow crystals.

"Mr. Electrician, would you like a snort," said Hogarth, who looked a little like Alice Cooper but taller and with a shaved head that made wig changes easy during his act.

"No, I'll pass."

Hogarth didn't pass. He took a line off the counter but he remained coherent. Over the next hour we mapped out the lighting sequences, and I retired to my office to transfer it to the primitive lighting computers we used. Before I'd completed the programming, a runner knocked on my door and told me to return to Hogarth's trailer.

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

I didn't want to go, but I knew it was not a good idea to alienate the talent.

"I've got some dud's here that should fit you," said the singer.

I wasn't as tall as Hogarth and a little stockier in the chest, but I figured I could fit into some of his wardrobe since his clothing was loosely hung.

Hogarth wore a white silk outfit with sequins. Rather than pants, he wore a long dress that stopped just short of his platform heels. He wanted contrast, so he dressed me in black lederhosen 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." That film was based on Christopher Isherwood's book, "I am a Camera," whose title was also stolen for one of Amanda's throaty songs that Hogarth covered.

A limo arrived. "Take us to the Davi Hotel," said Hogarth. A crowd was waiting there and cheered our arrival in English and Hebrew. As we entered the red-carpeted runway, the paparazzi shouted to Hogarth while taking multiple rapid photo shots. The flashing strobe lights blinded me,

One of the newsmen shouted, "Is that your new boyfriend, Ho?"

He smiled and kissed me on the cheek, grabbing my crotch with his huge hands. Several days later, I got to see my picture on the cover of one of those scandal sheets so popular in the supermarkets. Hogarth was kissing me, but his hand on my dick had been edited out.

We danced and drank and drank and danced. I snorted some of the cocaine that was freely available in the VIPs' bathroom stall, where some pretty curly-headed boy kept offering to blow me. When Hogarth heard that, he grabbed me and whisked me out of the bathroom.

"You are mine," he shouted.

I was too stoned to argue.

I don't remember getting into the limo, but I recall getting out and being helped up the trailer stairs by Hogarth. I ended up in his bed, 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 was in a good mood and continued singing as he tugged on the jock, singing,

"Do you want to know my secret,"

Over and over, reworking the Beetle's tune. It became 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 thought that his outlandish behavior would have shut me down, but Hogarth had different ideas for my dick. He pulled down his jock. Instead of a penis, there was a giant vagina,

"If you want to see my cock, I keep it in the refrigerator," Hogarth said as he started to laugh like a crazy person. I had no idea what he was talking about, but my cock and his cunt seemed to be on a collision 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 ethnic accent.

Hogarth laughed as I pumped up into his big cunt for all I was worth. The cocaine from the night before gave me staying power because I fucked that Jewish pussy for at least an hour before cuming. 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 afterward.

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. Although we worked together for three more months, that was the end of our sexual 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 correct. I have no complaints, but I think if I ever meet a Jewish girl from Puerto Rico, I will be in pussy heaven.

While in Tel Aviv, I met one Tranny who came into the hotel bar one night and made me horny. The bartender had 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, then 'Goldie' was my girl."

I understood his meaning was coded for anal and I ran over to introduce myself. Goldie had an odd way of doing business. Since her mother was Jewish and her father a Palestinian, if that isn't enough to cause problems, she was educated about both cultures and tried to find her way down the middle aisle without undergoing a sex change.

The Old Testament and the Koran are pretty hard on transsexuals, and the holy books suggest stoning them. Old bible sheep fuckers didn't mind getting wool on their shmucks while "grooming their sheep," but any perversion of the missionary position was deserving of a stone pie sandwich.

Religious zealots aren't too hip on masturbation, considering it a sin to waste the milky stuff. Some bible ancient, called, 'Onan,' got snuffed for his bad habits.

Sophie was open about her sexual differences, but she would perform a prayer over your cock if it was not circumcised. If you objected, she might not invite you to share her plum pudding. Once you were washed and blessed, Sophie would wrap a black robe around her ass, bend over and beckon you forward, offering a helping hand to insert your penis into her very tight ass hole.

All the time you were fucking her, Sophie would keep her ass and your dick covered,

"Out of sight of the Lord,"

as she put it. Sophie was a tight-assed Tranny, and her mystical method paid off with a half-hour of unforgettable sex. During coitus, Sophie would vibrate her ass with a series of internal contractions, much like a belly dancer, until you could no longer resist and your cock would shoot like a geyser.

Sophie did not do oral,

"Da schmuck ain't kosha,"

nor did she penetrate customers who liked to take it up the ass. I spent many happy evenings drilling her sacred spot. Although I didn't hit oil, her rear end was a fountain 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.

My second wife, a Jewess, thought she was 'Jacky O', the Kennedy broad, who only provided sex for reproduction. I can't argue, my wife gave me five beautiful children, and all of them are pretty normal, at least as far. But you can't build a good marriage on only 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 passes it to me, that is my job! I call that the "hot dog aversion to oral sex."

erectus123
erectus123
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erectus123erectus123about 6 years agoAuthor
OY VAY GUY

THANKS FOR YOUR EMAIL . I accept your apology. We are all here to have some fun. I know being snarky is yours but that's ok. Thanks again. I understand that if you are a bottom player with an empty tush it can make you nervous. So head on out.

Thanks for the Mickey comment, love it.

erectus123erectus123about 8 years agoAuthor
n.b. Goldie's

last name was Sophie, it is one and the same person

erectus123erectus123over 8 years agoAuthor
re porto vs puerto

One thing to note is that Spanish permits both "portorriqueño" and "puertorriqueño." This makes sense considering the fact that historically, Spanish <ue> (phonetically [we]) only occurs in stressed syllables in Spanish (from historical /O/ which is 95% of such cases...words like "frecuentar" are peripheral exceptions since they're not from historical /O/ like "puerto" is). Since the vowel in "puerto" is stressed but the one in the adjectival form of "Puerto Rico" is not, it's not surprising that it can receive /o/. It's probably been the power of analogy and reanalysis that has led to the other form, "puertorriqueño."

AnonymousAnonymousover 8 years ago
Oy vay!

No, I think YOU are "Jacky O," as in "Jack-OFF."

You also can't spell. "Puerto Rican," not "Porto Rican."

If you think posting crap like this makes you a "player," it proves you're only playing with yourself.

Take your pseudo Mickey Spillane style and shove it up your ass after you remove the most recent cock.

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