Tranny Tales Ch. 01

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

"Thanks, Hugo. I owe you a bottle."

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

I stopped by several times during that month to get some word from Callista, but even after a bottle of vodka, Hugo didn't seem to know anything more. Callista hadn't returned.

Finally, thirty days, Callista was released. She called me and once more we were together in her room. She had put on weight and was not as gaunt as before, but nothing was quite the same. The dog, now clean and white, was at her feet. I looked around and saw the birdcages were empty.

"Where are the birds?"

"Hugo snapped their necks," she said, "The fuck said he didn't have time to take care of them."

That act was enough to put Hugo on my shit list for life.

"Oh yes," Callista said, "the Fuck Machine was also missing! and a lot of other stuff.”

We had sex a few times after that. I gave her extra money, and then without warning, she disappeared from Hugo's rented room. Her phone no longer worked.

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

Several months later, my phone rang, Callista called me.

"Where have you been? I've been worried sick over you."

"I have a new place. You said you loved me when you were fucking me. Well then, if that was true, come and see me!"

Much had changed in those months; being abandoned wasn't pleasant, and all this drug stuff and craziness were not attractive. Also, I had found a new girlfriend who took care of me sexually. Out of some sense of obligation or guilt, I still went to see Callista.

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, and her tits were now huge, and so was her belly.

I hardly recognized her behavior. She had become quite dominant. She pranced around the basement in a short skirt, 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," she said, and she lifted her skirt to show off a normal-sized penis.

Who is this person? I thought. She hardly bears a resemblance to the T-girl I knew.

"Here, blow me," she said, rubbing her cock to produce an erection.

"That's not what I had in mind," I said, as I sat beside her.

"I don't feel like being fucked today." she said kneeling on a cushion as she unzipped my fly, "I'll blow you instead."

"That will take a while," I said, not being anymore in the mood, but she started 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 told her as she wiped my dick with a damp washcloth.

I gave her some money and left, somewhat disappointed with her mutation.

I didn't return to see her after that, and Callista had stopped calling me. I was working hard and happy in my new relationship, fucking my new girlfriend, who was very fem and not unpredictable. Some months later, I got an email from Callista that read,

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

I didn't want to continue with Callista. The drugs and craziness had burned me out, and the physical attraction was gone. I still had feelings for her, but I was done. I sensed she meant trouble. Perhaps I was a bit too flippant,

"I am afraid that if I send you money, you will never get it or 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 to you safely. 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 back from her. I even got the $300 rolled up in my drawer with a red rubber band. But I never heard from her again, or from her sister, but I've remembered her name just now.

I wonder if my poor attempt at humor might have upset her, or more likely that something unexpected might have happened to her? I really don't want to guess. Occasionally, years ago out of curiosity, I looked for her easily identifiable Craig's ads and I've never seen them. I'm afraid I never will, but I can live with that.
I hardly recognized her behavior. She had become quite dominant. She pranced around the basement in a short skirt, 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," she said, and she lifted her skirt to show off a normal-sized penis.

Who is this person, I thought. She hardly bears a resemblance to the T-girl I knew.

"Here, blow me."

She was rubbing her cock, trying to produce an erection.

"That's not what I had in mind," I said and I sat beside her.

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

"That will take a while," I said, but she started 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 told her as she wiped my dick with a damp washcloth.

I gave her some money and left, somewhat disappointed with her mutation.

I didn't return to see her after that, and Callista had stopped calling me. I was working hard and happy in my new relationship, fucking my new girlfriend, who was very fem and not unpredictable. Some months later, I got an email from Callista that read,

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

I didn't want to continue with Callista. The drugs and craziness had burned me out, and the physical attraction was gone. I still had feelings for her, but I was done. I sensed she meant trouble. Perhaps I was a bit too flippant when I replied,

"I am afraid that if I send you money, you will never get it or 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 to you safely. 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 back from her. I even got the $300 rolled up in my drawer with a red rubber band. But I never heard from her again, or from her sister, but I've remembered her real name just now.

I wonder if my poor attempt at humor might have upset her, or more likely that something unexpected might have happened to her? I really don't want to guess. Occasionally, years after she disappeared, out of curiosity, I looked for her easily identifiable Craig's ads and I've never seen any. I'm afraid I never will, but I can live with that.