tagTranssexuals & CrossdressersTranny Tales Ch. 01

Tranny Tales Ch. 01

byerectus123©

The use of the word Tranny is not meant to be disrespectful, it is used as it was in the past although not politically correct at this time.

*****

This tale took place a good while ago, but most of the details remain quite clear in my memory. Yet, strangely, at this moment I can't remember her name, maybe because she changed her name every month? She was a Tranny or pre-op T-girl if you please, about 19 years old. She complained that her competitors would cancel her ads in Craig's List. She thought changing her name frequently would slow them down. But anyone could easily see, even with the name change, the ad was the same person, because she always included the description, "Young ripe Filipina, transsexual, seeks tender companions, open to all requests." Who knows if the name changes really had any effect? The point is she had a lot of names.

Let me describe her to you; she was a young Philippine born in the US, her skin was almost white, a little creamy, she was fairly tall for one of Asian descent, her long black hair cascaded down her naked back or fell forward covering her pert breasts, she was always nude in her bedroom, she had a full sized oval face with moderate Asian eyes, her fingers were long and graceful, her nails long and always polished, she was slender with small boobs and erect well defined nipples, and a nice oval cushioned ass that seed to beg me to mount. She seemed to have no hair on her body, just a few pubic wisps. Her cock and balls were so small as to be almost invisible, hidden between her thighs making her all the more fem. How she managed to be so well groomed in that place she lived in, I really don't know, but she was always clean and smelled and tasted good.

She loved animals. Had a little dog, a white poodle she called "Tinkerbelle" and two yellow canaries, so domesticated they would fly around the room and alight on her hand. Like most members of the third sex, she was at odds with her family. They were Evangelical Christians and very disapproving of her life style.

"They say God will punish me for what I do," she said on more than one occasion, "and punish them as well." Her family saw her as the scourge of civilization and believed the biblical destruction of this world was right on her shoulders. She saw her parents only on rare family occasions, although they too lived in Los Angeles. Having moved out of their home, she now lived in a rented room around the corner from the McDonald's.

I didn't meet her as a result of her ads in Craig's. The first time I saw I her was in the small supermarket near where I lived. I saw her as she passed and knew immediately she was a T-girl. I found her so attractive I backtracked to look at her again and to my disappointment, before I could approach, she was gone. When I saw her several months later I recognized her immediately. She was walking along the bus stop near the Mac's in a short black mini skirt and an orange coral frilly blouse wearing dark sunglasses, looking very much like a young Hollywood girl who had lost her way, cute and shy. I certainly wasn't going to let her disappear this time so I walked right up to her, started a conversation, asking her if she lived in my neighborhood and telling her I had seen her in the market.

"Oh, I used to live over there, but now I live over here" and within a few minutes she had given me new address and her phone number.

It was a summer holiday weekend and as it happens in the summer in Los Angeles, the streets were empty. I called her repeatedly the next day, but only in the afternoon did I get through.

"I had to go get the Sim card recharged, don't call me so much, they charge for every call even if I don't pick up."

"I'll give you money for a recharge, can I come bye."

Soon afterwards, I was at the door of a small tumbled down dirty wood clapboard house on a side street. Scraps of wood and construction material littered the tiny front yard surrounded by an ancient rusty wire chain link fence. Her landlord, Hugo (he surely was the Lord of the Land if not of the Flies), was a tall skinny probably 50 something older hairy gay guy, with a craggy beard who always looked dirty, but also dangerous. Her room was at the back of the house, since I had to knock at the front door it was as if Hugo was Cerberus, the Gatekeeper of Hell, he would open the door to let me in and point me down the hall to her room. I never saw him without his being semi nude or wearing a wife beater while his genitals remained in plain view. He was hung like a horse but I was told he was more interested in being ridden than in riding. He worked part-time in the early afternoon for a sandwich shop around the corner, doing deliveries on an old bicycle. He would put his arm around me on occasion, squeezing my muscle and ask if I would come in to visit him, have a drink or a smoke. When he said, "smoke" he lifted his hand to wave his fingers, indicating he had in mind "special smokes" if you know what I mean (this was of course years before the legalization of pot). With his other hand he'd pat my ass or grab for my cock. I did my best to avoid Hugo. He was obviously interested in more than a gay hello.

That first time I visited, I didn't yet know who Hugo was. He appeared at the door as a tall lanky half dressed guy. When I asked for her, he looked disappointed, then smiled and pointed down the hall. I walked down the corridor and knocked on a door that opened into a pink room with a large bed. There she sat truly like a Princess with a white tiny poodle on her lap.

As I love dogs, I immediately started to play with the tiny dog and that broke the ice. We talked briefly before she pulled me down on the bed, where I undressed what few clothes she was wearing. The dog jumped off the bed and scampered away, disappearing under some piece of furniture. Two yellow canaries in separate cages sang happily as the afternoon sun filled their window. The room seemed filled with the heady aroma of "Channel No. 5" which she must have splashed over herself just before my head went between her small breasts to suck her nipples. She grabbed me by my cock and pulled me over her, so I was much like a wrestler pinning an opponent. This position gave her easy access to my cock that was able to enter her open mouth. She rapidly sucked me but I whispered, "I want to fuck you" and she stopped and rolled over belly down, moved to all fours spreading her long slender legs. I fit myself over her doggy style. Her plump little ass was a welcomed target I was quick to penetrate after applying a dab of lube that she had handed me from a shelf.

I entered her tight vortex bareback. She moaned and I gently fucked her for what must have been fifteen minutes, she kept saying things like "Fuck me Poppy" (Which is what the Latino T-girls say) until I could no longer contain myself and with my arms around her, holding each of her small pert breasts, I came copiously, moaning and mumbling primal sounds. Unfortunately I didn't speak Tagalog or I might have said something meaningful but there was no escaping I was well pleasured.

We lay together a while, I was so relaxed and relieved that I fell asleep momentarily and then realizing my stupor, I stirred to awaken. She too had fallen asleep but as my flaccid penis withdrew she began to awaken and I took her hand in mine and whispered,

"Rest my darling, rest," hoping to make my get away. After a few moments I arose, left her some money on her night table and found my way out. I didn't know, at that point, where the bathroom was, so I wasn't able to wash my dick off. I just put my underwear on and left, smelling of her perfume. It was at that moment, after our first love making session, that she said the oddest thing, I still remember. I arose from her bed to leave, she said mater of factly, "Do you want some lotion for your cock?" As if that was what I should need. She obviously meant well, but it seemed strange. Maybe it was a good idea, but no one else had ever made such a suggestion. But as I've gotten older, I wash my cock after urinating and apply a dab of lotion, often thinking of her.

After our first love session, I would frequently return to see her early in the morning. Then I'd go for breakfast at Mac's, order the $3 breakfast with coffee, pancakes, sausage and some yellow fluffy soggy mass that passed as scrambled eggs. If she was still awake I'd invite her to accompany me, but usually she fell back to sleep after sex, my cum leaking out of her ass and puddling onto the bed sheet as she turned sideways to shield herself from the hall light when I opened the door to leave. She never asked for much money, compared to others T-girls I had frequented; she was a cheap lay, I say that with respect, but she was a good lay and a nice one. I certainly kept coming back for more.

With time we became close and she began to open up to me. She talked about her past, her ex and sometimes her family. Her phone was always going on the blink, seems she'd forget to recharge her sim card, whatever that was, over at the 7-11 Store. She said her sister was always mad at her because the phone failed. I never met her sister but she spoke often of her, though not always in a loving way.

She also mentioned a black guy, Slicker, whom she said was just a friend.

"Boyfriend?" I said.

"No," just a friend."

I saw him several times over the course of our relationship, either arriving or departing book ending our fuck sessions. He was about my height, very dark skinned with white sparking teeth, wore an oversized brown leather jacket and a blue Dodger cap pulled down so you never saw his eyes. Later I found out just what the relationship was.

She always promised me she would make other clients wear rubbers, but who really ever knows what your sex partner does when she's fucking other guys. You try not to think of it and tread the path between life and death without really knowing which was the high road. Such is the lure of complete pleasure. It is safe to say, there is no comparison for either partner wearing a rubber compared to barebacking, although I always fervently suggest the use condoms, at least until an HIV test and a monogamous relationship are established, if such a thing is ever possible, baring accidental condom failures.

When I first met her she seemed rather passive on most topics. She was apolitical, pro-fashion, pro-sex and she loved Filipino food. She was young and she was fun.

What I liked the most about her was she had few if any clients, just a wealthy boyfriend from a previous serious relationship, whom she had lived with for a short time. She thought she would have married him and been on easy street, although this was years before same sex marriage was legalized. Of course, had he footed the bill, she might have become a sex change, or perhaps as I learned more about him, maybe he was the better candidate for sex change surgery than she. In any case, marriage was not yet a viable option and their romance seemed to have run its course, with occasional fits and starts, marriage was out of the question. For some reason I assumed he was the son of a rich Asian from Orange County but I never was quite sure. All I knew of him I had learned from her. He was about her age and had been very generous, buying her entire wardrobe and he had gifted her the dog that she chose from some expensive breeder.

At the time she had become a part of my life, her ex become a sort of phantasm who would enter into her life for a few days and then disappear, leaving her with some new clothes, perfumes and various expensive sexual devices; for example, a Fuck Machine. Don't know what that is? Neither did I.

This Fuck Machine was a black plywood box about one and a half feet long, a foot high, with a rod that came out of the side onto which you screwed in rubber dildo dicks of various sizes. When plugged in and turned on it did he old "in and out" quite nicely. She described whipping the boyfriend with a riding crop while the machine fucked him and she wanted to do the same with me. She insisted I try it, and on one occasion I let her have her way, the dildo was much too large to penetrate my lubed ass so she screwed on a medium size cock and embarrassed me completely, striking me with the sting of the riding crop on my bare butt from time to time. After the machine ground away at my ass for about fifteen minutes, an exudate that looked like cum, but was actually mucus from the irritation, dripped out of me.

"Oh good, you are cuming," she exclaimed happily. I didn't argue with her, but that was the first and last time I had a date with the Fuck Machine and her as a chaperone. It wasn't for me at all. I'm still totally embarrassed by my acquiescence and that she saw me like that with my naked ass up in the air being dildo raped by that damn machine.

Other than the occasional weirdo boyfriend, she catered to me on a daily or every other day basis. What I specifically enjoyed was that she let me fuck her bareback. Most trannies would never have done that as only a year or two earlier they were dying in droves from HIV. What I didn't know was she was getting high on amphetamines every afternoon, probably with the money I gave her.

Like any one whom you fuck on a regular basis, you tend to fall in love or at least become very fond of them. The more I fucked her, the more she sucked my cock, the more I fell in love her and I made the mistake of telling her so as I made love to her.

Before I knew it, I was bringing her lunch, taking her out to Philippine fast food restaurants, giving her gifts and extra money; all seemed fine on the surface. Then the proverbial shit hit the fan.

Sunday I could not reach her by phone so suspecting the "Sim Card thing," I stopped by in early Monday morning and there was her gay landlord Hugo. He and some Mexican boy were hanging some sexual device with chains from the ceiling. Eyeing the pile of plaster on the floor I surmised they had missed the studs the first time around and it had collapsed under the weight of who ever had been hanging there. They were still were busy at work.

"Where is she, your tenant?" I asked, not suspecting what had happened.

Hugo stopped rattling the chains, bent over to pick up a long screw and responded,

"You're her boyfriend, you should know."

"Cut the shit Hugo, where is she?"

"Where is the little slut? I'll tell you."

My hand was tightly clenching the small Beretta pistol I always carried in my jacket pocket.

"Ok sweetheart, it's like this, two days ago the little bitch went crazy, freaked out on her drugs and I had to call the police. The Judge had her committed for 30 days. Maybe that will do the silly bitch some good?"

I spotted Tinkerbelle; the white poodle was still running around although she was so dirty she looked black. She ran to me and I picked her up to comfort her.

I sat down in the nearest chair, holding the dog. I felt as if the wind had been kicked out of me, I put my hand to my head and thought out loud,

"Where'd she get the drugs?"

"Oh that nigger drug dealer Slicker, you probably saw him 'round here. He's her supplier, but his weed is not bad either."

Hugo looked at the young Mexican boy and mumbled something in Spanish and they both laughed.

"Can I see her?"

"Nah, they won't let anyone but her Mom or sister visit her in the place. Don't worry hon, she'll be back here in thirty days and you can always swing by here if you want to get off before then."

The boy must have understood that comment as he immediately tugged on Hugo's arm. I didn't respond,

"Thanks Hugo, I owe you a bottle."

"Vodka please," he instantly replied and I left.

I stopped by several times during that month to get some word but Hugo didn't seem to know anything else. She hadn't yet returned.

Finally thirty days had passed and there we were, together again, in her room. She had put on a little weight and was not as gaunt as before. I looked around, the birdcages were empty and the birds were gone,

"Hugo snapped their necks," she said, "The fuck said he didn't have time to take care of them." That was enough to put Hugo on my shit list for life. Oh yes, the Fuck Machine was also missing!

We had sex a few times after that, I gave her extra money, then without warning she was gone and her phone no longer worked.

Hugo said, "She flew the coup," and owed him rent money.

After more than several months she called me,

"You said you loved me. Well then, come and see me!"

Much had changed in those months; being abandoned wasn't pleasant, and all this drug stuff and craziness were not in the least attractive. I had a new girlfriend, but out of some sense of obligation, I still went to see her. She had rented a small basement apartment on the other side of town in a private home from a family who lived upstairs. She was giddy and had put on a lot of weight. Her tits were big and so was her belly. I hardly recognized her behavior. She had become quite dominant. She pranced around the basement room, almost hitting her head on a low hanging pipe. As she bent over I could see she had no panties on.

"If you love me, here, suck my cock," and she lifted he dress to show off a fairly normal sized penis.

"That's not really what I had in mind."

"I don't feel like fucking today," she said as she knelt on a cushion and unzipped my fly, "I'll blow you instead."

"That will take a while," but she started in enthusiastically and after a while she reached that trigger point and I filled her mouth with cum that she quaffed like a shot of Jell-O.

"Look, I gotta' go."

I gave her some money and left rather disappointed with her mutation.

I didn't return to see her after that. I was working hard and happy in my new relationship, fucking my new girlfriend who was very fem and not as unpredictable. Then some months later I got an email that read,

"Hi, my family sent me back to the Philippines, I wanna' come back to America. Please send me $300. I'll pay you back. You said you loved me."

I really didn't want to continue with her. The drugs and craziness had burned me out. I still had feelings for her but I was done. Perhaps I was a bit too flippant when I did reply,

"I am afraid that if I send you money you will never get it or you will use it for drugs (I'd had bad experiences sending money to T-girls). Tell your sister to contact me, I will give her the money, and I don't know how to send it safely to you. I'm sure she can do that. How many guys would you have to blow in the Philippines to earn $300?"

Knowing her sense of humor, I thought that would make her laugh. I waited to hear from her, even got together the $300, rolled up with a red rubber band but I never heard from her again, or her sister; but just now I've remembered her name...and I'm wondering if it was not my poor attempt at humor that might have upset her, but that something might have happened to her? I've looked for her easy identifiable Craig's ads for several years and never saw them. I'm afraid I will never will.

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by erectus12302/21/18

I thank all who have favored this story. New readers, if you enjoyed the story please be kind enough to favor it also.

Truth is stranger than friction, especially the friction one feels inserted into a beautiful t-girl. Think for a minute of the courage these girls have to affront a hostile society with the exception ofmore...

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