“Hey, wait a minute,” Sissy laughed, “that’s my line, taking off your clothes! They don’t call me Godiva for nothing!” She grinned at me. “Those are my friends. They’re a bunch of conceited sissies, but I love them anyway.” She shrugged.
“It takes all kinds,” I said, now trying to hide my hard-on. Then I remembered. “Hey, you know my neighbor, Mr. Phillips? I told you about him and you said you knew him. Well, he suggested I bring you around so he can see for himself.”
She looked at me. “He does? What does he look like, is he a good looker?”
I laughed. “Well, Mr. Phillips is elderly—”
“Oh, you mean old man Pips? Sure, I’d like to see him. When can we do that?”
“How about tomorrow morning?”
“In the morning?”
“We can go later.”
“No, that’s cool. Is he nice and gay, like you are?”
I felt my mouth tighten. “I’m not gay!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she shrugged. Then she sat up and asked, “but then why are you around gays so much?” She smirked and winked. “And holding hands with one, tsk, tsk.” I felt her fingers threading through mine. I tried throwing her off but she held on. “Okay, okay. What time tomorrow?”
She was still holding my hand. There was nothing wrong with that, I thought. A feminine girl holding a masculine hand— but I frowned and said, “In the morning, he’s always up then. Around 9 A.M. is the best time.”
“I guess I’ll be there around nine, or close to it.” She crossed her legs, looked around. “I wonder if they’re gonna have a cool band here tonight. Maybe even the Grateful Dead, you think? Or the Jefferson Airplane? Man, that would be so cool, those bands are from San Francisco, you know.”
I shook my head. “Wouldn’t know, I’m not into that crazy drug rock, I like the old groups, The Ronettes, The Shangri-Las. You know, groups that make sense, not that druggie crap.”
She shook her head.
“You’re an idiot,” she said, “but I like you anyway. Don’t know why, I just do.” She stood up. “Hey, I’ll be in front of your building around nine. You still live somewhere on 1st Avenue, right?”
I nodded. “Seventy-six 1st Avenue, off 5th Street.”
“Wow, my mom works on 1st Avenue, too. I think it’s ninety-four, but I don’t really know for sure. Just better not let her see me going into your building. She’ll think we’re doing something dirty, that we’re both queer.”
I was pissed and shook her hand off. “I’m not queer, I told you!”
She laughed but she bent down, pecked my cheek, and walked down the path as more and more people started coming into the park.
I watched her walk away, then sat a while, mostly waiting for my hard-on to go down. But it wasn’t going down. I needed to jerk off.
“Fuck it!” I stood up and started for home.
I walked over to 1st Avenue and went into my building. The dim hallway lights always made it feel like winter, even in the worst of a New York City summer. I slowly unzipped my pants as I went up to my floor. On the fourth floor, I pulled out my dick and stood at the railing, looking at the stairs below. A few strokes and I froze at a sound. But it was only Mr. Phillips opening his door and looking at me; as usual, he was naked. I shrugged and continued beating my dick while he did it with his. I turned and we masturbated while looking at each other. Almost out of breath, I said, “I saw Sissy Godiva, she said she’d come by tomorrow morning to see if she knows you or not.” My semen was bubbling, very close to exploding.
“So sweet,” he breathed, jerking his limp cock. “You’re my bestest friend.” He smiled wickedly. “I might even say I love you,” he said, then looked away. “Can I say that?”
I frowned but nodded, looking down at my dick and beating it a little faster when my semen surged and spat out towards him.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” I shouted, “motherfucker!” My semen spat out again but not as powerfully, just a weak spurt. But it was still satisfying. “Whew, that was a good one,” I panted. He was still jerking his limp dick. “Ain’t you gonna cum?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Can’t. It takes longer and longer as the day goes by. I was jerking off just before. Think of this as just for you.” And he smiled.
I stared at him. “Doing it for me? That’s nuts!”
“But it certainly helped you, didn’t it? Seeing—just knowing—someone else is jerking off at the same time, it sure helps the come blast that much faster, don’t you think?”
He looked down at his limp dick, still holding it.
“I suppose,” I whispered and felt myself redden. “I suppose it was nice of you to do—” What the fuck was I saying?
He looked up at me. “You know I love you, don’t you?” he said softly. “I have no one else to say that to. Do you love me?”
Ah shit, here it goes. Remember, it’s only words whispered in a dark hallway. Meaningless.
“Sure, I love you,” I sighed and shrugged. “I love you.”
I went into my apartment. I heard him shut his door behind him. He must have gone to jerk off again. I shrugged and smiled. He really wasn’t such a bad old man.
As usual, Mom was exhausted from work that evening but still insisted on making me dinner.
“You’re my son, I have to make you dinner.”
“No, Mom, I’m not hungry,” I’d usually stress as she looked at me until she finally collapsed her comfortable chair.
She hated her job, shuffling papers and stamping forms all day. And they called her a secretary—my ass, she was! Totally meaningless work that she struggled through, sitting blindly in front of the television set every night, watching show after boring show, hoping something good would come on, though it hardly ever did. I watched with her for a while but got bored by the repetitive programs.
I went to my room and sat in my chair in front of the mirror. Mom was still amazed that I’d struggled up four flights with it, but I still felt great about it! I sat there and wondered what Pips was doing in his apartment across the hall. I smirked. Most likely jerking off, what else could he do? He was in his fifties, or maybe it was his sixties? Living alone, with no visitors. He’d had visitors for years, but in the past year or so no one really came by. I’d get him cigarettes just about every week, and a woman brought him some groceries—not much, just essentials. We’d sit and talk—well, kind of talk. He liked to masturbate, and what could be better to a kid, I liked it, too. We masturbated together, over and over and over.
I grinned. Have fun, you old faggot!
I tweaked my cock and stroked it. So tomorrow I’d jerk off with Sissy Godiva. Wouldn’t that be something! Boy! I stroked a little faster and more firmly. It was like a date we’d set up, wasn’t it? The image of Sissy in her leggings and halter top had permeated my entire being. If only I could see her without any clothes. If she got married, that would be the perfect trousseau for her, black leggings and pink halter top, or any other color she wanted, with nothing else, except for my hard-on sticking up and out, a sort of bridal veil for her. Here cums the bride—
I ejaculated. Oh, damn, that was good! But I wasn’t gay, so why was I thinking of her? My cum splashed up onto my face, cascading down to my lips, mouth and chin, with a final drop of scum splashing onto my belly. It was beautiful, relaxing, comfortable. If only I could cum like that, man, that would be divine, oh, yes! I shook my head. It’s crazy to think I’m gay. I’m not gay!
I got up, pulled my pants back on and got into bed. I yawned. Man, I was beat. I was out quickly.
My clock read 8:15 A.M. I hadn’t heard Mom get up and leave for work, which she would have done half an hour ago. Boy, that was some deep sleep, that’s for sure. I yawned, groaned, stretched, scratched my balls and staggered into the bathroom.
Heading into the kitchen, I saw that Mom had made my favorite breakfast, scrambled eggs and bacon, still in the pan. I grabbed a fork and ate the eggs and bacon right out of the pan. They were de
licious, even cold.
I put the pan in the sink and went back to my room. I wasn’t sure what the weather would do. It was cool this morning, but I suspected it would get hot again later. Summer weather is changeable, nothing you can do about it. I dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and looked at myself in the mirror. Boy, if I had the urge to dress as a girl, I’d have to get up pretty early to do it properly. Sissy Godiva was probably dressing at that moment. I smirked, rubbed my hardening cock through my jeans as I went to the front door. Man, just thinking of her little dick in tight leggings had me hard.
I peered through the peephole. The solitary light bulb always made the hall dim. Everything was still. I opened the door and turned around to lock it. As if he’d been waiting for hours, Mr. Phillips, Pips, sprang out.
“Good morning, sweetie,” he whispered. “Have a relaxing night? Not too much jerking off, I hope.”
I frowned. I’m not like you, I thought. He was totally naked, his large cock drooping, and he was winking at me. I turned back to finish locking my door.
“Not bad,” I said, starting down the stairs.
He came out and grabbed the stair railing by his door.
“Hope you’re going to meet your friend, Missy Godiva, and bring her up here,” he leered at me. “That would be heavenly.”
“You mean Sissy Godiva. Yeah, I’ll bring her up. That is, if I find her.” I trotted down the stairs.
“I’ll be waiting, dearie,” he called after me.
I winced. What’s with these lovey-dovey faggot terms, “dearie?” Does he think we’ve gotten close? All I do is go to his house and jerk off, what’s the big deal? I opened the building door, stepping out onto 1st Avenue.
The sun was shining and it was already sweltering. There’d be no rain to relieve the weather today.
The sidewalks were packed. Some sauntered while others hurried, going to work on the subway, or something they seemed to be late for. Was my date going to be on time? Because it was a date, no question about it. And meeting me right at my own front door, wow! A real date!
I felt myself blush thinking about it. An old beatnik was walking toward me, looking right at me, and what was I doing? Rubbing my hard-on for him to see while thinking of Sissy Godiva—but if he knew how cute she was, he’d be jerking off, too! Damned beatnik, they think their goatees make them look better and smarter than everyone else. What crap, they don’t know shit!
I turned toward the building, embarrassed. I watched the beatnik after he passed me, wondering if he was too old to get it up, just like Pips. Too old—too old for what?
I stepped away from the doorway and checked the time. Where the hell was Sissy, anyway? She did say after nine, but it’s nine-thirty now, and still no Sissy. Had she passed me while I daydreamed about her? That would be horrible! She’d never look my way again. But she’s a he, why did I keep calling her a she! Damn it, what’s wrong with me?
I walked to the corner, looking up and down the street, but Sissy wasn’t there. I paced back and forth to the ends of the block, trying to work off my energy. By ten, I knew she wasn’t going to come. By ten-thirty, I was almost certain. By eleven, I was positive, and by eleven-thirty, I wondered what the point of all this waiting was. I knew she wasn’t going to show up no matter what time it was. What a fool I am!
I flung the building door open and started back up the dark stairway. Bitch. But what if she comes right now? I spun around and surged through the door. The sidewalk was still full of people, but there was no Sissy in her black halter top and pink leggings. Wait, were they pink or were they black? Aw, hell, I had no idea what color leggings she’d wear, but she’d be colorful, that’s for sure.
* * * * It was eleven-forty-five and I was positive she wasn’t going to come. As a matter of fact, I was angry, pissed that she was with someone else instead of being with me. The slut, faggot, whore! Stinking fake bitch, that’s what she was! A woman, my ass!
But I kept looking for her as I walked to Avenue A and went into Tompkins Square Park. A few people sat on shaded benches and, as the hot sunshine slid over them, they moved to other shady spots.
Near Avenue B, I paused under a little tree that looked like it had been recently planted. I saw a girl walking along a path, wearing a purple halter top with white leggings.
My God, it’s Sissy Godiva! My anger flowed away and I felt myself relax. All I wanted to do was rush to her and put my arms around her.
She sat down on a sunny bench and started to fumble a cigarette out of her pack. I smirked. Probably Newports, just like Pips smoked. Those sissy cigarettes.
I shook my head to clear it and rushed up to her. She’d looked so pretty when I first saw her, but when I got nearer, she looked drained and pretty wasted. Whatever she’d taken last night, whether she was drunk or stoned, she was still plastered.
She didn’t look like she recognized me.
“It’s Vinnie,” I said, pointing at myself. “We met yesterday. We made a date to meet this morning in front of my apartment on 1st Avenue. Don’t you remember?”
She stared at me and scowled for a moment.
“We did?” she said.
“Uh-huh, we talked about my neighbor, Mr. Phillips,” I reminded her. “You said you might know him.”
“What neighbor? I don’t know any neighbor,” she scowled again, shaking her head.
“Pips, you called him, you said it might be him, Pips. We agreed to meet so you could see for yourself if it was or wasn’t.”
She sucked on her cigarette and looked at me. Her eyes flew open as if she suddenly remembered.
“Oh, yeah, Pips, I forgot about him. How the hell is he?”
I frowned but sat down on the bench next to her.
“You said you were going to meet me after nine, and I waited and waited but you never came.”
She sat up. “Hey, I’m sorry, I totally forgot. Anyway, I was pretty stoned last night. That rock band they had was pretty awesome. Psycho, I think they call it, that you don’t know what you’re doing and you don’t care.” She took a deep drag on her cigarette. “Wasn’t the Jefferson Airplane or the Grateful Dead like I thought it was, but they weren’t bad.” Her speech was slowing and she’d started to lean away from me. She looked like she was nodding off.
“You take something?” I interrupted, trying to get her come to.
She blinked and shrugged. “Who knows? Some kind of pill. Knocked the shit out of me. But the psycho music helped.”
“It’s psycho music?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“I think it’s ‘psychedelic.’ You don’t remember much, do you?”
She shrugged. “I remember coming into the park, but after I took that pill it’s all hazy.”
I shook my head. “Were you with those friends I saw you with yesterday?”
She shrugged. “Who knows. Anyway, it was a free concert, free love, you know? Get stoned, get high, drop out,” she grinned at me and sat up. “Hey, can we get some cigarettes? I’m all out,” she said, crinkling up her empty pack and tossing it away.
I suddenly brightened, staring at the crumpled Newports pack.
“My neighbor Pips, he smokes the exact same brand. I just bought him two packs yesterday. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you had a few.”
“Hmm, you bought them,” she drawled. “I wonder what you got in return.”
“I bought them because he asked me to,” I said, feeling defensive. “He gave me the money. That’s all.”
She giggled and stood up. “Take me to your leader.” She started walking like a movie robot, step by step by step.
I laughed and stood up, too, not resisting when she put her arm around my back. I put my arm around her and we walked out of the park as if we were two lovers on their way to bed.
My hard-on was stiff and pulsing in my pants, as I’m sure hers was in her white leggings. But she started clinging tighter to my waist as we walked, going more slowly, her head drooping with every step. On Avenue A, whi
le we waited for a truck to pass, her arm fell from my waist and she almost collapsed.
“Sissy. Sissy,” I said, pulling her back up and trying to steady her. “Are you all right?”
She caught herself, straightening and yawning, again putting her arm around my waist.
“Wow, I didn’t know I was that wasted. I’m really tired.” She yawned again and giggled. “Hope Pips has a bed. I sure could use a little sleep.”
I blushed and looked away, trying not to recall lying on Pips’ bed and jerking off.
“Where is it, anyway?”
“First Avenue, we’re almost there.”
“Shit, my mom works on 1st Avenue, around 7th Street. I don’t want her to see me. She was pretty pissed at me for coming home stoned.” She hunched over and looked down, and we got to my building very quickly after that.
“This is it,” I said steering her in. “He’s on the top floor, just like me.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow, you live together? Cool.”
I shook my head. “No, no, we’re just neighbors, but on the same floor. It’s nothing like that.”
“Uh-huh, sure, sure. Oh, wow, it’s dark in here.”
I frowned. “My stupid landlord doesn’t believe in spending money on lighting. He’s a jerk.”
“Yeah, most are.” She shrugged and let go of my waist, but clutched my hand as we climbed the stairs. On the first floorlanding, just as we turned to take the next flight, she looked down at my crotch. “Man, are you big!” She made a grab at my erection. “Can I see it, mister?”
I stared at her, amazed that she was trying to grab me. “Only if you show me yours, pretty miss.”
What the hell was I saying! I’m not a queer!
She pawed my crotch another moment, then lifted the bottom of her halter top, showing me the sizable bulge in her leggings. I reached for it and squeezed it. She pushed my hand off.
What the hell was I doing, feeling her erection! Jesus, what’s wrong with me!
Sissy Godiva Page 3