Sissy Godiva

by Mykola Dementiuk

  “Now tell me about your friend who called me Pips.” he said, blowing out smoke and watching me. “What’s her name? I’d really like to know who she could be.”

  I felt myself blush but took a chair, too. “Pips,” I said, “what’s Pips mean? Why that name?”

  He chuckled. “It’s a mispronunciation of Phillips. One young boy couldn’t say it, so he called me Pips. It was rather cute, I must say.”

  “A young boy?”

  “Well, he wasn’t that young, even back then. But I haven’t seen him in some time.”

  We looked at each other. He was totally at ease sitting naked and smoking, as if this was a sauna. I cleared my throat.

  “Well, I have this old school friend, Joseph—Joey—who has a hard time saying certain words, too. But that’s because he’s a queer faggot, who likes to lisp and squeal. All faggots do that.” I felt myself redden even more. “Goes under the name of Sissy Godiva, how perverted can you get? Not that I’m into that kind of faggot stuff, but she’s crazy—I mean, he’s crazy.” My face was burning now.

  He chuckled and puffed his cigarette, spread his legs wider.

  “No, of course you’re not. But, c’mon, you like some faggot stuff, don’t you? You enjoy being in a room as a faggot jerks off for you?” He leered at me and licked his lips. I wished he wasn’t saying those things. He’s the queer, not me! “We do that all the time, don’t we?” He leaned over and patted my knee, gently squeezing it. “You like it, admit it. Makes you hard, just thinking about her or him. Why deny it? Go out and get it while you’re still young,” he shook his head but held on to my knee. “Old age comes very fast, much too fast. Before you know it you won’t be able to get it up.”

  I smiled back at him, “Get what up, Mr. Phillips?”

  He smirked back. “You know, your big, hard dick. It’ll be like a tadpole, just squiggling uselessly as you lie there and jerk off endlessly.”

  “Oh, you’re not that old, Mr. Phillips. Why, just now I met a woman who thought she knew you, at the diner on the corner, big-titted Polish woman who goes by the name of Sophie. She asked me to mention her to you. A woman can’t want to be remembered to you if you’re too old, right?”

  “Sophie said that? She mentioned my name? Delightful!” he beamed, squeezing my knee again.

  I felt very embarrassed. He’d shifted his legs and I saw the tip of his limp, cut penis, wet and shining up at me. I wished he had a towel on or something. I started to stand up. “Well, you got your cigarettes—”

  He gripped my knee.

  “Oh, don’t go. Aren’t we having a lovely time just chatting? We can make things up as we go along, wouldn’t that be lovely?”

  I settled back in my seat.

  “What do you mean, make things up?” I leered back at him. Thinking about Sissy and Sophie had made me hard and I’d spread my legs, just like him, the bulge of my erection showing through my jeans.

  He winked at me.

  “Make things up, that you’re after—what was her name again?”

  “You mean Sissy Godiva?”

  “That’s it, Sissy Godiva. We’ll make believe that she’s in the other room just waiting for us.” He winked. “You want to try it?”

  “That’s crazy.” I frowned. “And perverted, too. She’s a he, you know, not a she, and a lot of good that’ll do me. Just some girly clothes, that’s all it is.”

  Again he chuckled and said, “Pretend, just pretend, you know that masturbation’s all pretense, make believe, fantasy, imagination, right? You ever jerk while thinking of her? Missy Godiva?” I felt myself turn red again.

  “You mean Sissy Godiva.”

  “That’s right, Sissy Godiva. You ever do that? Of course you have. What young man goes through his life without jerking off? It’s as natural as Mom and apple pie, a good jerk-off session. I’m too old to get hard any more. But I still grab my old cock and give myself a nice jerk off.” He leered at me. “Don’t you want to beat that hard-on?” He grabbed it through my pants and squeezed. I looked down at his hand, not doing anything. “In the other room,” he whispered, “you can lie down. You don’t have to do anything, just masturbate. But you already know that, sweetie; we’ve been through it before.” And he winked, taking my hand and leading me toward his bedroom. I followed without a word, unzipping my pants and bringing out my stiff, hungry, eager penis.

  Chapter 5 “Tell me about your sweet friend,” he hissed as we entered the bedroom. “The one that’s making you so very hard.”

  We stood close. I could feel his breath on my face, and I knew he felt mine on his.

  “That’s Sissy Godiva. Today she’s wearing a pink halter top with a long, fluttery front, with black leggings. But her long hair was pulled up, that’s what caught my attention. I love girls, I mean boys,” I blushed red, “oh, you know what I mean, with long hair piled up high, like that group, the Ronettes, Be My Baby. You know that song?”

  “Sure,” he grinned. “That used to blast out of radios everywhere.” By then I’d eased my shirt and T-shirt off and was undoing my trousers. My hard-on was poking up past the waistband of my underpants. I kept talking and singing little bits of tunes I liked, The Ronettes, The Shangri-Las, The Crystals, all those girl-groups’ hits. It only made me harder. I fell back onto the bed, totally naked. He looked down at me.

  “Jerk off, sweetie. Give yourself a nice stroking.”

  What the hell? I thought, and proceeded to do just that. That’s what I liked about being with Mr. Phillips. You could jerk off as he stood by and jerked himself off too. No hugging, no caressing, no kissing or lovey-dovey faggot crap, just two grown men masturbating and watching each other doing it. What’s wrong with that? We’d been doing it almost weekly, when I’d stop in with the cigarettes he’d given me money for. What could be better than that?

  “Very nice that she has long hair,” he breathed out. “Boys and girls wear that now, I see.”

  “I don’t,” I shrugged, brushing my crew cut.

  He stood at the foot of the bed, stroking his limp, useless penis. Two grown men naked in a room together. Now who’s to say that’s kinky?

  “Can’t get it up?” I asked him, nervously holding my stiff penis. “When was the last time you got it hard?” I’d asked him a few times before, but he’d never answered. I suspected it was a very long time.

  “Keep jerking, baby, don’t mind me. I’ll just keep on rubbing myself and looking at you. You know I love looking at young men.”

  “You get many young men up here?”

  He frowned, shaking his head. “Not as many as I used to. They must have forgotten their dear old Pips,” he said. “But you’re still here. You come as often as you like and that’ll make me very happy.”

  I had been here many times before, stroking my dick while he watched. Our jerk-off sessions had become our weekly pastime. And it didn’t take long before I felt my orgasm surging, pushing up and spewing out of my cock-head. It splashed my throat and face as I groaned, screwing my eyes shut. Oh, God, it was heavenly!

  I let go of the pillow I’d clutched to my face and slowly opened my eyes. He was still at the foot of the bed, looking down at me and feverishly jerking his limp penis. I wondered what pleasure there could’ve been in that when his body tensed and shook, and weak semen, if you can call it that, strained out of his limp cock and splashed onto me. He’d cum right on me. My body was sprinkled in his futile ejaculate and I felt a bit sad for him.

  He tottered closer and fell into an armchair beside the bed.

  “Oh, my, sorry,” he breathed out. “Did I get any on you?”

  I felt his stickiness on my legs but shook my head.

  “Wasn’t much,” I pretended, pushing myself up off the bed. “Think I’d better go.”

  “Oh, but why?” he sat up. “Don’t you like me? It’s not as we had a homosexual affair. I did nothing to you and you did nothing to me.” He shrugged. “We’re two grown men, each doing what he had to, end of story. That’s
all it was. Don’t you agree?”

  I heard these denials weekly and, as if washing his hands of a sordid affair, he wiped his fingers briskly on a faded towel and leered at me. I thought about what he’d said. And he was absolutely right! What did we do, anyway? Who’d have the nerve to say we’re two homosexuals who slink and hide just because we’re doing something sexy and dirty? What rot!

  He was smiling at me and I smiled back at him. I’d never felt closer to Mr. Phillips than I did at that moment. It was as if we’d become one. I blushed looking at him, and he blushed in return.

  Chapter 6

  “But I really have to go,” I said again, getting off the bed. 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.

  Chapter 7 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 7th 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 love
rs. “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.