The Christmas Whore

 

Photograph of the Belmore Cafeteria 28 St & Park Ave South 1974 is courtesy of Steve Baldwin.

The Christmas Whore

by Mykola Mick Dementiuk

Synergy Press 2011

ed/pbl Sally Miller

ON CHRISTMAS MORNING I walked out on Judy, instantly remembering I didn’t buy her anything but saying the hell with her! I thought she would come running after me, but I glimpsed her just looking sadly at me as I turned the stairway corner and heard her door close. 

 

“Screw the bitch!” 

I really didn’t want to go: I needed the sleep, and her apartment was big and roomy for that. Hell, it was big and roomy enough for a museum exhibit meant for displaying paintings and sculptures by Van Gogh and Michelangelo and not me sleeping there. 

 

“Fucking bitch!” I cursed again. 

Out on the street an early light snow had fallen and traffic was very sparse. A delivery truck and a cab passed by, but I ignored them and walked on in the windy, chilly morning. 

I knew it was stupid to get into an argument with Judy, especially over what we were arguing about. I thought nothing of the fact I was disappearing into the streets again; how I had lived on the streets was my business. But she wanted to change that and have me live in what she thought was the proper role for me: she wanted to bring the 42nd Street world to a close and have me coming up in a prim and decent way. 

Well, no thanks! 

When Judy started hinting to me about changing, at first I thought she was kidding and paid her no mind, laughing and shrugging it off. It was clear from the start that I was a bit flaky and uncaring, but when I confessed to Judy that my excursions to 42nd Street were more than just movie viewing and involved actual stroking and bed-hopping with various men, whom I called my clients, she resolved to bring it to an end. 

“Do it for me,” she’d say. “I’m important to you, aren’t I?” 

I’d nod, knowing we’d go to bed and she’d forget for a while. It was the late sixties, when gay rights were still a dormant dream. I never considered myself as gay or dreamed that one day I would be carrying a flag or banner in some parade or demonstration somewhere, it was just my quest for something different, just to meet someone, pull my dick out, and let him get to work stroking or sucking, until I came, or he came, or we’d both come and go our separate ways. No love, little connection, and Adios! Mañana! What did she expect from me? Marriage vows of eternal love? Screw that shit! 

I fumed up cold windy 4th Avenue until I came to the Belmore Cafeteria on 28th Street, a 24- hour place, where I could get out of the chilly morning. A hot cup of coffee would certainly help. 

I peered through the windows and saw the customers scattered at tables, sitting there like old forgotten Christmas decorations slowly going to waste. I took a deep breath and walked in. The place was warm, like a gentle caress holding you in and not letting you go. Strangely, I always felt right at home in the fake welcoming atmosphere. 

I pulled a ticket stub at the entrance turnstile and took a tray to hold my morning meal, coffee and donuts. I wasn’t much of an eater and one donut would satisfy me for hours. 

“That’s all you want?” the attendant asked, as if on Christmas morning I was supposed to get some more. 

“Yeah, that’s all.” 

He shrugged and rang up the meal on the ticket and I went to a table. I noticed a few old people sitting and eyeing me with 5 half-awake eyes, as if I had disturbed them from their morning sleep; I even saw a few stretch out and settle back to their dreams. Pleasant dreams, I thought, but the Belmore was like that, they never closed and people ran up their tabs for days on end. 

I took a seat at an empty table and got to chewing my whole wheat donut when I caught the eye of a woman at a table close by. Like the other denizens of the place she looked a mess, her hair and make-up undone — that is, if she wore any — and it didn’t take much imagination to envision what her panties and bra looked like, probably falling apart in human dirt and sweat. I smirked and took a slurp of coffee. 

She got up from her table and came to mine. “Is this seat taken?” 

I looked at her — probably late twenties, early thirties — compared to my age of nineteen. Judy was twenty-eight, a world of difference. I shrugged my head, intending to ignore her. 

“Thank you, you’re a gentleman.” 

I frowned; I wasn’t used to being called a gentleman. She put her jacket and purse on the seat next to her and sat there just looking at me slowly eating my donut. 

In a way I was feeling a little bit pissed, as if she were interrupting me — which she was. I wanted to stew over Judy and how that fell apart. Self-pity is a good time killer, and I had plenty of that. 

“It looks good,” she said softly. Her wet drooling mouth just stared at the donut I was nibbling on. 

I shrugged and popped the last morsel in my mouth. “Sorry, there ain’t no more,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. Will she comment on that, too? But she just looked down and scratched the top of her head. In the early morning light I could see flecks of dandruff weaving and falling to her white blouse. I snorted. Good thing she’s wearing white or there’d be definite marks of the dandruff she’s leaving behind. 

I smiled; she looked at me and blushed but also smiled. I suddenly looked away. Her teeth were filthy! A creamy brown that looked like they hadn’t been brushed or even rinsed in days. I could just imagine how many days she had spent in the Belmore . . . probably all week.  

“What are you doing up so early?” she asked curiously. Again I smiled, hoping she kept her mouth closed, but she smiled back at me, once again showing her filthy mouth. 

“Just stopped in for coffee,” I said, not looking at her. “And a donut,” gesturing to my empty tray. 

She looked at me seriously. “Is that enough?” she asked. “I mean, you’re a young man, you need your strength. You never know . . . ” 

I looked at her. What the hell was she talking about, the bum lady? Because it was obvious that’s what she was, a real tramp, and I don’t mean a whore, but a bum, a real down and outer on the skids, just a step away from life on the Bowery, if she hadn’t been there already. 

I grinned. “No, I’m fine. A donut is plenty for me.” 

I was surprised at how fast she lost her smile, and I wondered how long it had been since she last ate, even if she was in a cafeteria. “How about you?” I asked, trying to repeat her words to me. “You’re a young lady, you never know? . . . ” I smirked. 

“Yes,” she blushed, and dreamily added, “A lady . . . ” 

I wondered how long it’d been since anyone called her a lady; probably a long time, if ever.

What the hell? I thought. How much could it be? A dollar or two at the most? “Does . . . the lady want something to eat?” I asked, winking at her. 

She sadly shook her head. “I can’t,” she said quietly. “I’m kind of running out of my tab, you know.” She held out her ticket for being in the cafeteria; almost $3, the limit you could carry without paying. 

I looked at her. “That’s all right,” I said, shrugging. “Use my ticket, charge it on mine.” 

Carefully she eyed me, as if trying to read something in my face, but with her eyes glowing and wide open she said, “You’re not just saying that, or are you? You never know about guys anymore . . . ” 

I laughed. “What am I gonna do, run away? You know damned well they won’t let me go without paying. I know their damned policy.”  

 

She nodded and joined in my chuckle. “Yes, I know their dumb policy.” 

I gave her my ticket. “Just get me another cup of coffee, okay?” 

She looked at me very warmly and blushed again. I wondered what her thoughts were as I watched her shuffle to the breakfast counter. What’s that, slippers she’s wearing? I shrugged. Must have been released from Bellevue. I took a final sip of my remaining coffee, hoping she didn’t spend too much. 

SHE CAME BACK WITH EGGS, ham, and home fries, plus two cups of coffee. “Thank you very much,” she said, and set down my cup of coffee before me. “That’s very kind of you.” She sat back down. “It’s hard to meet a nice man anymore,” she blushed, and sank her mouth into her eggs and fries. 

I smiled back and watched her hungrily eat the food. It was good to see her enjoy it, and I had to wonder how long it’d been since someone treated her nicely and she ate without a care; every meal must have been a torment of not having enough money to pay for it or what she had to do to get it. She probably spent days drinking coffee and surreptitiously eating leftovers, praying they didn’t find out what she was doing and boot her out for it. 

Looking at her again I decided she wasn’t a bad looker at that; not too ugly like I had seen others. Oh sure, a bit skinny and dirty, but not as fat as Judy was, who always said she was pleasantly plump and not too fat, like I always thought she was but never said it. Maybe that’s why she had me stay at her place; the fat pig couldn’t get a boyfriend otherwise! 

“Thanks,” I heard her say after she finished. “That was good.” 

I came out of my thoughts and smiled. “Had enough?” She seemed more relaxed now that she had eaten, but I couldn’t help but look away from her — the teeth were too horrible! 

“Well, okay,” I said, pushing myself up from the table. “Gotta go, I guess.” 

I immediately saw her face drop and her smile vanish. As a matter of fact, she instantly seemed to shrink into herself; here is a woman with problems, that’s for sure. 

“Go where?” she almost whispered. 

“To work,” I lied, but something didn’t make me leave and I sat back down. 

“You work around here?” she asked. 

I nodded my head. I didn’t want to start talking: I’d only end up lying. 

“Wow! You have to work today? That’s something.” 

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “It really sucks!” 

I lit a cigarette and she just said “No, thanks,” at my offer of giving her one. Good! A damn broad that doesn’t smoke, I like that! 

“How about you?” I asked. “Any plans?” I looked around the almost empty cafeteria. 

“No,” she mumbled faintly, and shook her lowered head. 

“Where do you live, near here?” I asked, not expecting much of an answer. 

“The Madison Hotel,” she said, naming a shabby hotel on Madison and 27th Street. “Well, at least that was my home until they threw me out a few days ago.” I figured I knew the story of too many days on credit until management had enough; it always happens that way, had happened to me, too. 

“So where are you staying?” I asked. 

“Right here,” she snorted, and looked around. “Where do you think?”   

I looked around at the scattered tables, thinking how Judy had kept me up most of the night, complaining and complaining. Hell, I could use some sleep, I just won’t look at her mouth. 

“How much is a room?” I asked. 

“Six dollars,” she said. “Six fifty, with soap and a towel. I think it’s too much.” She started scratching her itching head again. “Over at the Paradise it’s cheaper but you get only towels. No soap. What’s the big deal?” 

“They got weekly rates?” I asked. 

 “Madison does, I don’t know how much Paradise charges.” 

Paradise on 26th Street, off 4th Avenue, that was good a place as any and it was very close. 

“Okay, I think I’ll try the Paradise.” I smiled. “You’re welcome to come with me.” 

She looked at me sadly and frowned. “I can’t leave,” she said, her face a deep red. “I’ve no money to pay my bill.” 

“How much do you owe?” I asked. She readily showed me her bill of fare — $2.75 — maybe enough for a cup of coffee before they demanded payment. I figured, what the hell? I had stolen the money out of Judy’s purse and there’d be hell to pay once she found it was gone . . . and I was gone too . . . with something like over fifty, sixty dollars of her money. 

I took a look at the lady, unwashed, probably needing sleep and a change of fresh clothes and makeup — and a toothbrush. “You’re welcome to come with me to the hotel,” I said. “I’ll pay your bill here.” 

Without a thought or convincing on my part, she scratched her head and looked curiously at me. “Okay, that sounds good . . . but don’t you have to go to work?” 

I looked at her and snorted. “I lied.” I stood up. “Work tomorrow . . . c’mon, let’s get out of this dump. By the way, what’s your name?”  

“Sunny,” she said quietly. “It’s really Sondra, but they call me Sunny.” 

OUTSIDE IT WAS AS COLD as hell, though it had stopped snowing. December was very cold that year. The temperature had dropped quite a bit in the past few days; it wasn’t like a New York winter at all. My winter coat and fake-fur Ranger hat came in handy, but all she had on was a thin raincoat with no kerchief or hat or gloves, her coat unbuttoned and open at her skinny bosom like it was April or May or something. Jesus! I thought. What a flake! 

“Ain’t you cold?” I asked, regretting I didn’t have something warmer to give her to wear. 

She shrugged. “Yeah,” she said. “A little, I guess.” 

I could see she was cold no matter what she said. Her nose had quickly gone from a rosy peach-like tint to a pale and almost brittle ashy hue. Day and nights at the Belmore, I thought. I was glad we were at the doorway of the Paradise Hotel. 

Yet even at that time of morning two obvious prostitutes misread what Sunny was doing with me and must have thought that here was a pathetic prostitute out to make a few easy bucks. Almost together they snorted as we walked by. I glanced at Sunny and saw she had her head down, trying to ignore them. I had seen this before; girls can be such enemies, leave it to them to destroy you especially if you’re a female standing in their way. I bit my lip, staring at them, then looked away shamefacedly as we walked into the hotel. 

There was no problem in getting a room. The clerk didn’t even ask if we were mother and son or if we were married, normal hotel questions they still asked in those days. Maybe Christmas had put a stop to those hotel inquisitions. 

“We want a room for the whole week, seven days,” I said. 

He looked at me, as if undecided what to make of us.   

“That’ll be thirty eight dollars,” he said, looking at me as if he knew I couldn’t afford it. I counted out the money. Just made it! That would leave me with nine bucks and a few coins for the rest of the week; aw hell, but something will come up, it always does. 

We took the elevator up. The prostitutes’ rooms were on the second floor, but we went past them and got off on the third. I looked at Sunny, her color coming back slowly, and she began to look more natural. I don’t know what she needed, sleep or rest, probably both, but I’m sure the warmth was already doing her good. 

The room was just a room, a bed against the wall as soon as you entered, with a chair next to the shut and sealed curtain-less window facing a blank wall. Well, it certainly isn’t going to be my home, but I guess it will have to do for a while. 

“Go take your bath,” I said to Sunny. 

She just stood there, making no move to take off her raincoat, and looking more uneasy, biting her lower lip more than she did as we walked along 4th Avenue. 

“There’s the soap,” I said, pointing to the towels and little soap bars the hotel custodian had sold us just moment before. “You can clean your teeth while you’re at it,” I added, grinning. 

She blushed and again bit the bottom of her lips and scratched her head. 

I knew she wanted to say something. “You know,” she said, biting her lower lip. “I’ve never done this.” 

I smiled. Where had I heard this, a country & western ballad or some boring movie cliché? 

“Yeah,” I said. “Me, either.” I fell on the bed. “But there’s got to be a first time, right?” I winked. 

She looked at me and frowned. “No, you don’t understand, I’m serious. I’ve never been with a man in a hotel room.” 

I smiled. “Yeah so? . . . ” 

She looked at me and again bit her bottom lip. “I’m a virgin,” she whispered. 

I grimaced but had to chuckle. “Yeah, me, too.” 

 She looked at me. “But I am. Please believe me . . . ” 

I thought a moment and got up from the bed to remove my coat and hat. “Well, you’re just going to have to prove it,” I said. “I’m willing to do it if you are, too.” I winked and leered at her. 

“No, no,” she shook her head. “It’s the truth, I’m not lying.” 

I blushed. “Yeah, I know.” I looked at her and said, “Go and take your bath. You’ll feel better when you come out.” She stared at me, then turned and went to the bathroom. 

I CURSED THAT THERE WAS no radio or television to pass the time, not even a newspaper or magazine to look at. What do they think, I’m going to steal everything? Damned people always think the worst of me. 

I undressed and lay back down, smoking a cigarette. When she returned, she was still dressed but had a towel around her head, so at least she washed her dandruff-filled head and her mouth — it still looked wet and moist. 

“You look better,” I lied. I guess it was a good head washing she needed with the prospect of some real, relaxing sleep in a bed, but she still looked like a tired mess. She didn’t say anything, so I held out the blanket, inviting her into bed. 

“C’mon, get in,” I said. I had kept my underwear on but I saw that she turned red and looked the other way. I smirked. What game is she playing here? I wanted to know, but kept the blanket open for her. 

 “Do you mind that I keep my skirt on?” she asked. 

“Suit yourself,” I shrugged, lighting another cigarette. The way things were going, how was I going to get her to go out and buy some more cigarettes? 

In bed with her, just inches away, my hard-on was slowly growing. I leaned over and tried to kiss her. 

She instantly leaped out of bed. “No, I told you, I’m a virgin; I can’t do what you want me to. No way! Sorry.” She shook her head resolutely and decisively. By then I’d had enough. 

“Virgin, my ass!” I flared, also leaping out of bed. “You knew what was going on even before we left the cafeteria!” 

“No, I didn’t!” she protested. “I thought you were a nice man; that you wouldn’t make me . . . do that.” 

She lowered her head like she was about to cry. 

I winced. What the hell is the matter with me? I should knock her out and fuck her, then throw her in the garbage where she belongs. 

But I didn’t. Instead I said, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want, okay?” I smiled, and carefully touched the bottom of her face, bringing it up to meet my look. “Okay?” I asked again. She nodded and gave me a little smile that made me feel better. It was a weird feeling, this Mister Nice Guy, like I believed in my honest smile. Maybe I did. What the hell? Get her later, there’s time . . . 

Again I lay on the bed and she got in next to me. Almost instantly she was asleep, a gentle little breathing snore coming from her. I remembered when Judy snored it was like she was trying to wake the dead. Shit! Many times I had been awakened by her snoring that kept on and on until I succeeded in rousing her. 

“Wake up, you bitch! Jesus fucking Christ! Wake up!” That was one of the points of me not getting along with Judy — her loud snoring, amongst others. 

I finished my cigarette and also drifted off to sleep . . . at least I knew Sunny wasn’t going to disturb me with her snoring like Judy had. Thank God! I slept on. 

IT MUST HAVE BEEN A FEW HOURS later that I awoke from the sound of a door closing. I figured it was Sunny leaving me for good, but she was just returning from the bathroom. I lay still, with shut eyes, and listened to her. 

She unzipped her skirt and pulled it off, as well as a slip she had on, leaving just the shabby panties. The blouse came off, as did her bra, and through half-shut eyes I gazed at her little girlish breasts. Breasts always got me hard, whether they were big like Judy’s or little ones like Sunny’s; the breast jiggle of a woman was one I always admired . . . it was something I couldn’t do . . . 

 I coughed but didn’t open my eyes, and rolled over to the side, pretending to sleep. She had grabbed the blouse and pulled it back around her shoulders. Looking at me, she carefully returned to bed and also rolled on her side. I grinned; we lay in a perfect position for ass-fucking and my prick was getting hard and solid. Very quickly it inched to her panty-covered cunt and she jumped up in shock. Seeing that I just lay there asleep she must have assumed it was a dream-induced urge that had made my erection seem so alive. She moved a few inches away from me and lay back down. I mentally smirked to myself. Hell, there’ll be enough time to fuck her. I’ll do that later, whether she lets me or not. 

I dozed off again and got a few more hours of sleep, which was great, because I needed it. I pushed myself up and gazed at her, my dick quickly rising to a hardness I hadn’t had in some time — at least a day before in Times Square. She lay on the bed, the blanket shifted off her little teenage breasts clearly exposed, but most off all, her panty was skewered to one side revealing her hairy but lush virgin cunt. Nice bitch! 

I smirked. I pulled my underwear off and was on her in a second, feeling my prick sliding in her cunt. I thought there would be massive resistance from her virginity but there was little. I felt myself easily going in as her eyes gaped open, disbelieving what was happening. 

“Oh, no, please don’t!” she stuttered, but her hands and arm went around my back and gripped me. I smirked at the virgin whore and pulled slightly back, then easily plunged back in. Over and over I did it until I felt the tinge of explosion tearing at my balls and crotch and spewing out deep into her. A few pulsations, in and out, and I was spent, drained but feeling very good. I jerked my cock out of her and fell back exhausted. 

For a virgin, I thought, she wasn’t bad. Then I looked at her to see the bloodied mess I had made . . . nothing, just my scummy moisture sticking and clinging to her hairy crotch. I snorted. Virgin, my ass! 

“You’re not nice!” she whispered, then rolled on her side in a fetal position. I thought nothing of it and went to the sink to take a piss. I love pissing after sex; it feels so right and good, especially into a sink. If I could be like an animal, just piss and shit and fuck and I guess eat — all my problems would be over. But I wasn’t an animal, I was a somewhat man, or so I faked myself to be . . . 

I returned to bed, lighting my last cigarette, when I heard her whimpering and sobbing. 

Shit! I thought. Here we go, another lost virginity crap! I didn’t say anything. Just let her cry it out, if she feels that way. 

I lay a bit, then started putting on my shirt, pants, and socks, figuring I’d go for a pack of cigarettes since she wasn’t going to go, when she turned over and looked at me through teary eyes. 

“You want some coffee or something?” I asked, feeling a bit uneasy. 

She sniffled and shook her head. 

I looked at her, then shrugged and put on my shoes. 

“That’s not a nice thing you did,” she said. 

I wanted to laugh. What the fuck is she talking about, because I fucked her? 

“So I fucked you? Big deal,” I said loudly. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” I smirked, and knew I had one over on her. 

She said nothing, just kept looking down and sobbing. I ignored her and put on my shirt and sweater and reached for my coat. 

“Where you going?” she asked suddenly, her eyes wide open. 

“Out,” I said. I didn’t feel like telling her anything, even if it was only for a pack of cigarettes. 

She sniffled again. 

Stupid virgin, I thought, smirking again. 

 “Guys always leave me,” she said quietly. “Always . . . ” 

I wrinkled my eyes. “But I just met you. I ain’t leaving you, I’m just going for a pack of cigarettes.” 

Again she looked at me, her face going through a mass of changes. “Really?” 

I nodded my head. “Be right back.” 

“Promise?” she said apprehensively. She seemed so desperate for reassurance. 

I smiled, and again nodded my head. 

She looked at me very sadly. “Guys always leave me,” she repeated. “And they don’t come back.” 

I wondered how many times that had happened. “But I paid for this room,” I chuckled. “I’m not giving it up.” I sat down in a corner of the bed, gently holding her hand. “Who left you?” I asked. 

She looked at me. “Well,” she paused, “the guy I was married to . . . ” she whispered. “He left me for my girlfriend four months ago,” she gushed, but her face fell apart in tears and sobs and she turned very red. 

“There, there,” I said, holding her in my arms. I hated these emotional talks filled with go-nowhere sobbing gibberish, because that’s what it always was, like saying I feel sorry for myself, feel sorry with me, too, please? What crap! “There, there,” I repeated. 

 She took a deep breath, and looked at me, sniffling. “I’m all right,” she said. “Go and get your cigarettes.” 

I looked at her; Judy was like that too, sobbing and suicidal, or at least she was threatening to be suicidal. I knew that this self-pitying crap was just that, nothing but crap, and I refused to be a part of it. 

“Honey,” I winked. “Be right back, okay?”

She smiled weakly, resigned to whatever fate might befall her. 

THE STREET WAS COLD AND EMPTY of people but I spotted a girl prostitute standing on the corner, shivering. She wore a fake fur jacket that reached around her waist and a little short skirt that did little to cover her up in the freezing cold. She glanced expectantly at me, as if pleading for some gentle warmth, but I just licked my lips and did nothing to approach her. She looked away to the little used avenue. I bit my lips thinking, Hope she gets something on Christmas Day, I really do . . . 

I walked down 4th Avenue — though the rich called it Park Avenue South — passing a few solitary guys every now and then, with stores shut and locked and not a cigarette seller in sight. At 23rd Street was an old newsstand on the corner, and I could see someone inside, huddled against the cold. Good, they probably have cigarettes! 

An old guy sat bundled up in there, coat, scarf, gloves and an Army hat with ear-muffs, chewing faintly on a bent, unlit De Nobili cigar, an old-fashioned Italian stinker if there ever was one. 

“Marlboro, please,” I said. He looked at me through the sliding glass but made no move to open up. “Marlboro,” I repeated, a little louder. 

As if coming to with open eyes, he slowly shook his chest and narrowed his glance at me. Is he asleep or something? I wondered. Old guys can do that, sleep with their eyes open, getting ready to play dead for keeps. I sniggered. 

Again I said, “Marlboro,” but all he did was sort of frown and mumble something I didn’t get. “What?” I asked. 

He came out with a jumble of words and syllables, and only after a moment did I understand what he was saying in his muffled and guttural tone of voice: “Lucky Strikes or Camels?” 

Shit! I thought, taking a look around me; if I walked some more I was sure I’d find something, but hell, it was too fucking cold for that! “Luckies,” I said, in some disappointment. Luckies were certainly better than Camels, but too strong for me, in any case. At least I could smoke them, that is, until I got a pack of Marlboros once again. 

I was pocketing my change when out of the corner of my eye I spied someone familiar — Judy (Wow, holy shit!) looking at a newspaper and catching a taxicab. What the fuck? I looked twice. Is that her? Shit! Isn’t she supposed to be gone? 

Yeah, that was it, one of the arguments we had was that her brother, who was a professor at Columbia or something like that, invited his kid sister and boyfriend to have dinner with him and his wife on Christmas Day. I suppose I could have made it up there, even if I was going to have to talk with some college professor jerk . . . 

That’s the kind of world Judy wanted me to fit into, a proper world, with barely any distinctions except the line that separated us, meaning her the correct kind, from them the crude low-life scum, meaning me and the people I hung out with. Well, no thanks baby, here it was 11 o’clock on Christmas morning, I had a girl in a room a few blocks away, and an ex-girlfriend, also close by and riding off in a cab, with nowhere to go but back to my room and my new current girlfriend. 

I walked quickly back to the Paradise, smoking those little Lucky Strikes — I must have smoked three in rapid succession — and saw on the corner of 26th Street another shivering short-skirted girl, desperately looking for a quick customer to warm her up a bit. 

Good. I had no money left for whores, but I could’ve used her — plus the two I had passed by earlier when I was with Sunny. Maybe if Sunny put on a little weight, I thought, we could get her on the streets too. . . . It was just a thought. 

I went up to the room; Sunny was all dressed and worried waiting there. I could see it in her eyes, that nervous look of a 21 woman left alone and waiting . . . and waiting . . . and waiting. Judy was like that too, but she had no patience waiting, would tear the room apart rather than just sit there as I took my time in getting to her. Being delayed wasn’t a big thing for Judy, but she acted like I was doing it on purpose, and sometimes when I was out walking instead of taking a cab to meet her, she would get enraged and bitter. Hell, even before I knew her, I walked everywhere I was going to and got there with more than enough time to spare. 

I offered Sunny a cigarette. “He only had Luckies.” 

She just shook her head. “No thanks, gave them up a long time ago.” 

We looked at each other. “Good,” I shrugged. “Bad habit, anyway.” 

I didn’t take off my coat or hat, but instead said, “Hey, think I’ll go to . . . my sister’s house and get my radio there. Wanna come?” Figured I’d call Judy my sister and save myself a heck of a lot of trouble in trying to explain Judy to Sunny. 

“Is she there?” she asked, looking at me. 

“Nope,” I lied, “her boyfriend took her out for Christmas.” This is going to be a snap. “And you know,” I continued, “she has a lot of clothes that you might use. Wouldn’t that be great?” 

She looked at me angrily. “I don’t want your sister’s clothes, or anyone else’s. Mine will do just fine, thank you.” With that she sat on the bed, obviously determined not to go to my sister’s house. 

Again I shrugged. She’s a real pest, I thought. A god damned obnoxious fucking pest! “Do what you want, go or not. I ain’t ordering you.” 

“Where does she live?” she asked. 

“19th Street, off 3rd. Not too far from here.” I frowned. “You know, she’s too big, too heavy, her clothes wouldn’t fit you anyway.” 

“Good,” she interrupted. “I told you; I don’t want them.” 

Again I shrugged and was about to leave when she stood up; I grinned. It didn’t take us long to leave the Paradise — another short-skirted girl was shivering outside; I bit my lips — and headed over to my sister Judy’s apartment. 

IT WAS NOTHING TO GET to Judy’s place — it being so nearby — and the spare key that Judy had stashed under some neighbor’s 3rd floor doorway carpet was still there, dusty but ready to be used. It was a snap entering Judy’s 5th floor apartment. Why she kept a spare hidden two floors down, I never knew. Bet you she thought it was cunning cleverness . . . 

She had a big place but didn’t believe in too much furniture, just what was needed, and that made for a lot of room. “Barely furnished apartments are so chic,” she said one day while throwing some furniture out. “Shows that you don’t need the trash most people accumulate.” I just shrugged. 

The front room had a couch for sitting, two end tables that held lamps, and a coffee table for her magazines, all neatly aligned just for show. Architectural Digest, Paris Review, Barron’s and other rich girl readings that she held on to so visitors could see her tastes. But shit! Where was Reader’s Digest or the Daily News, stuff I could understand? 

Across this huge room was the bedroom, containing two beds, which for some reason she never told me about or explained. As usual, I shrugged it off as one of her quirky tastes, whatever the hell they might be . . . 

In another room was her dressing room where she kept her clothes all folded and neatly arranged like they have in stores as if for sale — I was sure somewhere she also kept the labels and price tags for safe keeping just to show off and boast one day. 

This led into the kitchen, with her pots and pans hanging from a cylindrical brace on the ceiling, like in restaurants. She hardly ever cooked, preferring to eat out with people around her for some kind of safety or assurance that all was well in her little world. 

I saw my radio right away, on the floor by a window where Judy let me keep it with some resentment. In Judy’s world she got her news and entertainment from the outside rather than broadcast in. Besides the time we spent fucking — if it was that — we were always going out for eating, for socializing, for chit chat. It was anathema to be inside when life was going on outside, so Judy and I rushed around after work looking for the next party, meeting, or social gathering. 

Of course, I went along with her at the start, but after months of this I had started secretly revisiting Times Square movie houses, which were more real, and definitely not as phony as Judy’s world was. Anyway, by then, due to her stress, she also started putting on makeup more and more till she looked like one of those phony plastic Madison Avenue mannequins that lined the store fronts on her way to work. Lots of women still wore tons of makeup, but the fashion was slowly dying out for most; sadly, Judy wasn’t one of them. 

We started getting into little arguments and resentments and I knew that our relationship was slowly coming apart. I didn’t really care — well, the warm apartment was nice — but the relationship with Judy was bitter. It was only a matter of time before I left for good, and I guess Christmas Day was as good as any. 

I UNPLUGGED MY RADIO, went to the bedroom to get my few shirts and pants, and saw Sunny admiring Judy’s clothes in her dressing room. I smirked. No matter what she said, it was a woman’s trait to study and appraise the clothes she 24 was looking at. I saw a great longing in her eyes and mouth, like she was slowly biting her lower lip in appreciation. 

I coughed. Didn’t want to interrupt her. “You like them?” I asked. 

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. Anyway, they’re your sister’s.” 

I shrugged. “So what, you can try them on, just for show, you know?” 

She shook her head again. 

I opened the closet door, revealing coats, dresses, skirts, and blouses, all on hangers just waiting to be worn. As if this were a store, I thought, and saw that Sunny was probably thinking the same. “Try them on,” I said. Why did I keep hinting that she do this thing if she said she didn’t want to? 

“They won’t fit,” she said quietly. 

“You won’t know that unless you try them on,” I said, turning around and smirking. What kind of weird kick was I getting out of this? I knew my dick had grown hard, but why? Did I expect to see her little clothed or even momentarily naked? No, that wasn’t it; I think it was that Judy cherished her clothes very much, like they were a separate entity from her and deserved special respect if not ardor. 

I turned back to Sunny and saw her standing with her blouse removed and fumbling with the skirt zipper at her waist. 

How many times had I dreamed of trying on Judy’s clothes? Countless times, even dreamed of being dressed in them as I was pretending to fuck her and play my role as a man while I lived my life as a fake man. . . . Because that’s what I was, too cowardly to stand up in Times Square and play the role I always dreamed of — of being a girl, of being picked up and used by men, however they wanted . . . like a whore standing outside on the cold street . . . and waiting . . . waiting for a trick . . . 

“Here, let me,” I said quietly. 

She was surprised but moved aside as I went to the clothes, all neatly and primly dangling from hangers, and pulled a blouse down. It was a bright red blouse, long sleeved but with frilly puffs in the front which seemingly expanded the bosom. 

“Yes, it’ll fit just perfectly,” I said, my dick throbbing from the touch of a woman’s clothes. 

THE THING ABOUT JUDY WAS that I used to adore her clothes, and I think it wasn’t her that made me hot but her beautiful clothes. How many times did I dress her up in her lovely clothes as she lay there naked, while I slipped a panty and bra on her chubby body, topped off with a garter belt and nylons? Then would come a skirt and blouse or a dress, shoes or boots and it didn’t take long for me to have a massive hard-on. Like she was my chubby little doll and often I was like a dumb love-struck teenage kid, masturbating whenever I could. Of course Judy had a slight smile on her lips as I shot off on her clothes. In one night I could come maybe three or four times, but it got harder to do as the night progressed. Still our lovemaking was nothing but soft fucking, dry humping, like hard-up teenagers pretending to act like fucking adults, just not knowing how. 

“Get undressed,” I said softly to Sunny. I could feel my erection pulsing in my pants. 

She looked at me as if trying to decide what to do. I thought it best and offered to leave the room, but she shook her head slightly and went on with removing the skirt from her waist. I wanted to turn around but she quickly pulled her panty down like it was nothing to be ashamed of, revealing her dark pubic-haired bulge that I was dying to put a tight panty on. Almost instantly her bra came off, showing off her two little girl breasts that I wanted to suck on. Though Judy was way bigger, I always gagged when I sucked on her long-haired nipples as if I were sucking a thick cock. Judy never said a thing about her nipples being so hairy and neither did I, but I’m sure she must have wondered why I gagged — or maybe she secretly enjoyed it. Who knows? 

Sunny frowned and pulled on Judy’s panties — maybe two sizes too big — and they drooped around her, hanging like they were frayed confetti still awaiting some kind of celebration. She shook her head as she held up one of Judy’s bras. 

“This isn’t going to fit,” she said, gesturing to the bra. It’s way too big, just like these panties are . . . ” 

“What you mean, it ain’t gonna fit?” I said. “You gotta adjust the straps . . . ”

I took the bra from her and tightened the metal clasp to fit tightly and snuggly. “Here,” I said, handing her the altered bra. “This’ll fit, I’m sure.” 

It went over her shoulders perfectly, but her tits were still a little too small to compete with Judy’s oversize. By then she wasn’t very enthused about trying any more clothes. 

“It’s not the straps,” said Sunny, looking at the large panty around her, “Oh, what’s the point? Your sister is obviously a big girl and I don’t want to muss up her clothes too much.” 

I frowned, slightly disappointed. “Please, just a blouse,” I said. “This blouse is you, I’m sure of it.” 

She took the bright red blouse, studied it for a second, and pulled it over her shoulders. 

My penis was stiff and erect, beginning to pulse with longing for satisfaction and release. “A skirt and nylons and you’ll be perfect,” I said softly. 

“No,” she said. “You said the blouse — well, I already have that on. 

I rubbed my hard crotch. “Please,” I begged. “You look incredibly sexy; I just want the complete image I have of you.” 

She looked at me, then held the skirt and stepped into it. The skirt fell below her knees but a twist around the waistband brought the skirt to above her knees. At any second I could have come, but instead I whispered to her to get the nylons and put them on also. 

“This is too much,” she said, ready to take off the clothes she had just put on. “Nylons are a personal thing, you know, I can’t put them on.” 

I looked at her. I guess panties and bra don’t count as personal? . . . 

“But . . . my sister has new ones, see?” I said, reaching above the hangers and retrieving a slim box which contained three pairs of dark mesh nylons. I knew that at any moment my cock was going to spurt. 

I held open the slender box and breathed in the faint aroma of nylons. Maybe it was my febrile imagination with the lettering of Michelle’s Hosiery or the sight of Sunny running her hand into nylons but before I knew it I had un-zippered my cock and was gently stroking the sinewy organ. 

“What the hell?” muttered Sunny. Was it surprise or disgust as she saw me masturbating? 

Still holding my cock, I sauntered across the room and put my arms around Sunny. With my bare hungry cock trapped between her skirt and my pants, I ejaculated onto her — as I used to do on Judy — the jism thick and rich and sticky. 

When I opened my eyes, I saw Judy standing in the doorway and smirking. “You lowlife piece of shit!” she said, but there was no emotion or anger. And I knew she was going to do me wrong . . . 

I HAD MET JUDY SIX MONTHS EARLIER when I got a job as a stock clerk in Renoir’s Bookstore on the Upper East Side. It was an easy job, mostly catering to rich bibliophiles who came in for their snooty literary journals and memoirs by some asshole or other. I got the job from Mr. Laredo — actually Mr. Lorimer, I just called him Laredo, though he didn’t like it when I did, so I didn’t do it that much, just enough to rile him — whom I had known from Times Square nights when he used to prowl the aisles and restrooms just like me. Somehow after our usual blow-jobs and mutual masturbations we both seemed to wander into Nathan’s Coney Island fast-food restaurant where we recognized each other. Over franks, fries, and Cokes we talked about our non-sex life, how we lived, paid our bills and managed to make it in tough New York City. 

Needless to say, that was a sticky topic for me. I didn’t work much and got money to somehow live any way I could, mostly selling myself to the highest bidder, or non-bidder, whoever had the available and hungry smile I was after. In the 42nd Street movie houses that lined the street it was hungry smile after hungry smile, and each one so meaningless and vapid that sex became the tool that drove us together — there was nothing else. 

It was Laredo who said he needed some help in his bookshop and would I be interested? I suppose he saw the clean-cut kid I used to be and that I couldn’t hide under my rough dungaree clothes and bored gaze that really looked nowhere. 

I shrugged. “A job?” I asked. “I don’t think so . . . ” He was adamant about it and after much talking and smiling, I said, “Let me think about it, alright?” 

We went up to his place — a small apartment on 84th Street above his bookstore — and it felt great to be in a real bed for a change. My place of sleeping then was in empty condemned apartments where I had to fight it out between the roaches and rats that always disturbed my fitful hours of sleep, if it could be called that. Having sheets and pillow cases was a real treat for me, and Laredo let me stay for a few days, until I met Judy. 

Judy was a chubby woman who also worked in Renoir’s as a salesgirl — as they were called in those days. She was past being a girl and was definitely an old maid in her late twenties or maybe even thirties. 

When I first saw her in the basement of Renoir’s she immediately looked shocked and gushed, “Who are you?” 

For people to look suspiciously at me was nothing new; it had been happening my whole life and I was sure it would happen again. I merely shrugged and told her my name. “Lared . . . Mr. Lorimer hired me,” I corrected myself. 

She looked at me as if I were an intruder. “We’ll see about this.” She left the basement to wobble upstairs to the shop. I could hear loud talking and footsteps above. 

Stupid bitch! I mumbled, and a few moments later down came Laredo with an embarrassing shy-acting Judy behind him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, red-faced. 

I shrugged, “Hey, no big thing.” 

The thing about Judy was she wore a lot of makeup, even back then, a little at first and I don’t mean just a few swats here and there but she’d pour gallons on herself, like a bottle a day. Whatever she was hiding from she had made disappear in floods and deluges of Cover Girl, and this besides the lipstick and mascara and whatever else she put on. A bit out of style in that stylishly chic Upper East Side, but I had a hard-on as soon as I laid eyes on her. She, too, must have sensed something sexual, because she was gazing red-faced while looking at me with a leering smile playing about her lips. 

I fucked her (somewhat) the very next day, and in two days I was living at her place on 19th Street at 3rd Avenue. Of course Laredo didn’t like it: in his world the roles were clearly played out to his direction and orders. I expected to get fired for doing what I did, but if it made Judy happy, which it did, he would overlook my betrayal of him. 

She must have been drained for sex because she started acting like a classic bitch in heat. Every time she’d come down to the basement for a book it would be a hand-job or soft hurried fake-fucking, just like high school kids sneaking it in. In the evenings I’d be drained for any real fucking, and I guess she’d be, too. So she’d put on more makeup as I watched television. 

I was getting tired of working and soft fucking Judy; it seemed like it was going nowhere. Every morning we’d be up at the bookstore with Laredo, where I’d get my soft fucking during the day, then back at her apartment for the night. I began to get jumpy and nervous, like I was expecting something but still didn’t know what. Watching the news one night my mouth fell open as they reported on the terrible condition Times Square has deteriorated into. To me it looked like heaven on earth! 

I don’t know what stopped me from going there that night, but the next day I went in for my usual preoccupied soft fucking. In the evening I simply told Judy, “I’ll see you later,” and went off to Times Square, where I hadn’t been in some months. 

I didn’t care what Judy thought; it was like coming home after a long time absence. The lights, the noise, the people all teeming around me like they were looking for something eternally lost, just as I was. It was bliss to be back! What an idiot I was to have left! A real moron, but no more, Ha Ha! 

That first night back I was able to come three times into mouths and even come together with some guy who shot off at the same time as I did; I was hoping to go to bed with him but he just left. I shrugged, and left, too. 

At home, after Judy opened the door, I thought I wasn’t going to hear the end of it, but not a word from her. Still, I could feel the tension that separated the two of us. Shit! I thought, it had to come to this sooner or later. 

“Have a good night?” she finally asked.

I could feel the bitterness in her voice, patient but explosive. I shrugged, noncommittal in how I was answering. 

“That’s good,” she said. “I’m happy for you.” 

Again I shrugged. “Yup, not bad,” I said quietly. 

 “Not bad!” she exploded, jumping up and flinging her magazine to the floor. “What happened to you? Where did you go?” she demanded, adding, “And without a word to me or Mr. Lorimer!” 

I looked at her; I hadn’t ever seen her mad or flustered. She seemed to take the problems of the day in stride, and nothing could faze her as long as she had makeup or mascara to put on. 

“I told you,” I said, “that I was going out.” 

“Out where?” she shouted. “What did you do all this time? You don’t know how worried I was. I was sure something had happened.” At least she was settling down and the worst was over (before her makeup started dripping off). I was home and things were rapidly falling into place. “Where did you go?” she said again, angrily applying eye makeup. 

I began to lie ─ my usual mode of communication. “It’s my birthday,” I said, looking at her very sadly. 

I could see globs and globs of her made-up face peeling away, and for a moment I thought she even looked younger and presentable, but there was an incredible sadness under all the makeup. 

“Your birthday?” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

 “Well, I’m telling you now,” I shrugged. I had once seen a movie where the hero used that as an excuse for acting as he did; I thought it was pretty good and I had used the explanation a few times myself. 

Judy just smiled and said that we’d go out and have a cake, or whatever, but I knew that talking about something other than herself or Mr. Lorimer meant little to her, so I didn’t expect much of it. Needless to say, there was no mention of my birthday or my unexplained absence, and the next morning we rode uptown on the subway, her reading the Times and me just gazing at people, wishing I were somewhere else and I knew where that place was. 

I stayed maybe one or two additional weeks, drifting into Times Square, walking needlessly around like I was getting to know the place after a lengthy absence. Judy had pretty much stopped asking where I disappeared to at night, and I basically did the same with her, not telling her anything. 

ONE AFTERNOON LAREDO CAME DOWN to the basement from his hurried and busy bookstore upstairs. I was sitting and gazing at The Enquirer, a sleazy paper with stories of big-titted secretaries getting raped by aliens, which I had found that morning in a subway trash can. Laredo was very flustered at seeing me doing no work and nonchalantly gazing into that despicable low-life piece of “journalism.” 

“What’s the meaning of this?” he bellowed. 

I thought of telling him it was my lunch hour, but it wasn’t. I just shrugged and went on with looking at my paper. I could see Laredo holding back his anger. The bifocals he had roosting at the tip of his nose appeared like they would dangle off and collapse at any moment. He seemed to give me a way out, though. “Are you resting?” he asked, picking up a stack of books that I should have brought up earlier in the day. 

“Nope,” I shrugged. I tossed aside my paper and stretched while Laredo went with his angry book gathering. I picked up my coat and slung it over my shoulder, “I’ll pick up my pay on Friday. I’m leaving.” Without a word I left the basement and the store — Judy was busy with a customer but was looking at me — and started walking downtown. 

It was great to be out of there in the middle of the day, after all the days I had wasted. Why was I doing that? What did I expect to gain? Probably nothing, which I’d always ended up with anyway. The walk down Lexington Avenue was nice, and I didn’t care that I was lazily walking along, just gazing at people and into stores along the way. Most of all I didn’t care about leaving Renoir’s Bookstore; the job had gotten me down the first week I was there. 

Just the fact of playing with Judy had me a little uncertain of what I was doing and why. Though I had fucked a few girls before, Judy gave me the way out of the scenario of being insecure around them, with her soft fucking that seemed to please her as much as the real thing. It was perfect for me too: I could lather and cream myself on her clothes, and she never said a word against it. I could take the fat fuck anyway I wanted, as long as she kept her clothes and makeup on. An ideal situation . . . I frowned . . . now probably at an end . . . 

I made it to 42nd Street walking past Grand Central Station, and I wandered in to take a leak. I should have known better, but I just ignored the business suited men jockeying for position at the urinals, each one vapidly hot and leering at me. I got out of there quickly: the suits didn’t get to me at all. It was like I was with Laredo in his stupid bookstore getup, and I sure didn’t want to think of him. 

I felt a lot better when I got to Bryant Park. The sadness of the place brightened me up for some reason, and I wandered up the short concrete steps into the park. It didn’t take long . . . behind the library I got a blow-job and hand-job, one after the other, and I probably would have had more, but it was time for me to go. I felt good and relaxed and wandered into the Pix movie house, a soft porn kind of place with fucking and sucking going on in the back rows pretty much no matter what the time of day or night it was. 

I left at 4 am when they were shutting down the movie house, only to reopen again at 7 after the scum from the seats and floor was rinsed away. It’s amazing that when the Pix was built in 1939, it was billed as having body form chairs in every seat that guaranteed “not to cause runs in mi-lady’s sheerest hose.” Ha Ha! Tell that to the sissy crossdressers to come! 

I slowly made it home, which is to say Judy’s place, and met her as she was coming out to go to work. There was just a strained look between us and she was gone. I hated doing this but come the night I’d be in the back rows of the Pix or the Bryant, getting blow-job after blow-job, no matter what. This lasted for a few days and early on Christmas Day Judy confronted me and wanted to know what I was doing. I shrugged. I saw nothing wrong with the way I was living (but I knew it couldn’t, or wouldn’t, last). 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” asked Judy, having sat up all night (and applying makeup, I supposed). 

 Again I shrugged; all I wanted to do was go to sleep. The night hadn’t been too good, not many guys were in the movie theaters. Instead they were home with their innocent kiddies, while their daddy, a repressed homosexual, was dreaming of the cocks he was going to suck once Christmas was over. 

“Look at me,” she shouted. “I’m talking to you.” 

I stifled a yawn and stared at her. 

“What’s going on with you?” she asked. “You quit the job that Mr. Lorimer gave you and now you never even come home at night. If you do, you come in so tired you can’t even stand up anymore. What are you doing? Tell me.” 

I looked at her, Might as well tell her; I owe it to her. 

“I go to Times Square at night,” I said. “You must know that. And sell myself to guys. Sometimes do it for free, too.” 

Her face looked very sad, like I was doing something wrong. “But why?” she asked. I could see the sadness and sorrow in her eyes. “Can’t we have better sex than with them? If only we tried, I’m sure we could.” 

What was the point? The kind of sex we had — mutual soft fucking — was as far as we would ever go and I’m sure she was beginning to feel frustrated and impotent. I had taken this woman and put her through my game of soft fucking and expected her to like it. Well, here it was, the woman wanted to get fucked and there I was, not wanting to do a damned thing about it. This kind of scenario would play itself out in my masturbation dreams of self pleasure . . . solely beating and beating . . . but not with her. 

I shrugged again. “Think it’s time for me to get outta here,” I said, getting up. 

She jumped up and blocked my way. “You just got here. It’s Christmas. Or have you forgotten? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” 

I looked at her, desperately wishing I could stay and make love to her (the way she wanted) but I knew I couldn’t, and without a word I was gone and back out in the cold, snowy streets. . . . The end of that, I thought. . . . 

“SO YOU’VE BROUGHT YOUR FAIRY LOVER home, you turd,” said Judy. I hadn’t even heard her come in: I was too busy ejaculating onto Sunny. 

A smart smile played on her lips, but I saw nothing but hatred. It was difficult to get caught like that, and all I could do was step away from Sunny and pull my cock back in my zipper, feeling like an idiot. 

“What fairy?” I said. “Sunny’s not a fairy . . . ” 

Judy looked at the nervous Sunny and snorted. “Skinny, but I suppose you like them like that,” she said. “And wearing my clothes too,” she snorted again. “A little too big on her, at that.” 

I’d had enough of this. “We just came for my radio, that’s all. If you don’t mind, we’ll get out of here.” 

“Like hell, you will,” Judy said. “Not in my clothes, you don’t. Or maybe that’s what you really wanted anyway. . . . ” She smirked at Sunny. “You know he likes women’s clothes. He loves to shoot his scum all over them. He likes them better than the woman in them. Isn’t that right?” 

I got very embarrassed. “You’re crazy.” I left her closet area and went to get my radio. 

“Crazy?” she said, coming after me. “For six months all you did was rub against me. Now you got your transvestite girl friend in the other room, are you rubbing against her, too? Or do you go to Times Square for that?” 

I said, “Fuck off!” and was about to leave the room when I saw Sunny standing in the doorway; I guess the fact that she was so skinny made Judy take her for a transvestite. 

“You rubbed against your sister?” Sunny said, looking very ill at ease. 

Judy broke out laughing. “Sister? Oh god, that takes the cake! A brother fake-fucking his fake sister!” 

“You’re not brother/sister?” said Sunny. 

“Why? Did he tell you we were?” asked Judy. 

I was very red-faced as Sunny nodded her head. 

“Is that what he tells his fairy friends?” asked Judy. “And you’re stupid enough to believe him.” 

I could see Sunny bristling, her lips tightly clenched and her face growing pale from anger. “I told you,” she said, looking guilty. “I’m not a fairy, alright?” 

The two of them exchanged glaring looks, like they were measuring each other up for final purchase or exchange or a good fight; I didn’t like their looks one bit. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I said, but they just kept looking at each other and strangely they both turned red and looked away. What the fuck is going on? I wondered. Certainly lesbians, if not worse — like man-killers, I bet. 

Judy cleared her throat and said quietly, “That blouse is too big on you, I have just the right size in the other room.” Her bitterness was strangely gone and she looked better than she had in months. “You want to come and try it out?” 

Where had this sudden friendship come from? She was talking like I wasn’t in the room. Sunny didn’t even give me a look, just nodded her head and followed Judy out. Fucking bitches! I mumbled. Lesbian skanks! 

I picked up my radio. I should just leave right now, I thought, get the hell out of here, but I set the radio back down and went to the bathroom. 

It was a small room but one where Judy pampered herself for hours; lying in a bath with perfumed water soaking the cares of the day right off. When she got out she not only looked clean but rested as well. It was unbelievable that a tired, worn woman went in and later was stepping out refreshed, renewed, and revitalized. . . . 

What the hell? Why am I thinking about Judy and the good things she was feeling? Screw the bitch! 

I took a piss and didn’t flush. Fuck the fat cow! She deserves my piss stains everywhere! I moved my cock and dribbled a stream of urine on the floor around the bowl. Let the dykes step in it! I thought, and snorted. Serves ‘em right! 

I left the stinking bathroom to find Judy and Sunny were still not back. Fucking whores! I cursed and went to Judy’s bedroom. 

Judy was on the bed, her skirt uplifted, and Sunny was under her. They were smothering each other with their rabid kisses. I wanted to laugh; this bitch had told me she hated fairies, but obviously not lesbians. Noooo! I guess they were the good people of this earth. Good for shit! I started laughing out loud. Judy looked up, her face a royal mess, lipstick and make-up smeared onto Sunny’s lips. I grinned. 

“Did you have enough?” I asked, leering wickedly. 

Judy glared at me. “No,” she said. “What are you going to do about it?” 

Sunny had struggled up from under Judy and pushed herself up on the bed. She looked very embarrassed, but I knew that if women could get a hard-on, there’d be some very stiff dicks in that room. It was funny to see their faces smeared in makeup and lipstick. So Sunny’s a lezzie . . . eh? I grinned. 

“What’s so funny, you bastard?” Judy asked, getting up off the bed and pulling her skirt down. 

“Not funny, but hot,” I said. 

Judy snorted. “I suppose you’re fucking hot.” 

I leered at her, fondling my stiff and eager cock. 

“I guess you want to rub against me, too, don’t you?” she asked and smiled wickedly. “How about your girlfriend, want to rub against her, too?” 

That woke Sunny up from her shame and discomfort. “No way, I’m getting out of here,” she said. 

I was gently rubbing my cock when Judy grabbed my dick and squeezed roughly. A sharp pain tore into my balls as she squeezed even harder. 

“Stop, you bitch!” I said, and succeeded in breaking away. 

“Oops!” she laughed bitterly. “I forgot you hurt down there so easily, don’t you?” 

I don’t know if that was a real question or not, but her eyes showed she was very serious and adamant. I gave her no answer. 

“Bitch!” I said simply. That was answer enough. 

Judy laughed. “A pain when you got balls isn’t it?” she chuckled. “Don’t you wish you could be us?” She smirked at Sunny, who was embarrassed but grinning back.

Cunts! I thought. I should get the fuck out of here! But I didn’t; watching Judy take off her blouse and skirt, with dark nylons that were held up by a white garter belt tucked into lavender panties, seemed highly erotic and mesmerizing. 

“Why don’t you jerk off for us,” smirked Judy, “while me and Sunny watch?” 

Fucking cunt! I thought, but my hand went to my zipper and pulled it down. I stuck my hand in and brought it out with my stiff penis, the head engorged with blood, and I pulled the skin slightly back. It was just like in the movie theater, showing it off to some guy and just waiting for him to get on his knees and give me a good sucking. For a moment I thought that’s what it was coming to, but neither Judy nor Sunny made a move toward me. 

“Take your pants off,” said Sunny quietly. Judy looked at her with a smile of contentment. 

“Yeah, take them off,” Judy said. 

Hell, I thought, so what if they see me like the new me, my balls and legs shaven like I was some beauty queen in her tight bathing suit. Too bad I can’t wear high heels, too. 

I lowered my pants to my freshly shaven legs and all I heard was Judy gush, “Christ! When did you do that?” 

I shrugged. “Yesterday. Shaving it feels better, very smooth.” I blushed and turned red. 

“Interesting,” said Judy, grinning at me. “You like him that way?” She looked at Sunny and the two of them seemed to read each other’s mind. 

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Judy smirked. 

A cunning Sunny just nodded her head and blushed, but remained silent. 

What the fuck are the whores thinkin’? 

Judy went to the next room and I was left alone with Sunny. At first I felt somewhat embarrassed, but I pulled the skin on my cock even further back. I could hear Judy rummaging about in the other room, and she quickly returned holding a blonde wig in one hand and a red wig in the other. I’m sure my hard dick jumped higher at the sight of the feminine head-pieces. 

“You can wear these,” she said. “They’re old anyway.” 

“Blonde,” I heard Sunny say, nodding her head and clearing her throat, “definitely a blonde.” 

Judy looked at me, then shrugged and tossed the red wig aside, mounting the blonde wig to a mirror in the corner. 

“Get undressed,” said Judy, and with a snide smile on her face, leered, “Take it off, baby. Take it all off!” 

“And do it slowly,” added Sunny, and they broke up in giggles. 

Stupid bitches, I thought, but followed their instructions. I stooped down and removed my pants and underwear, then unbuttoned my shirt and pulled my t-shirt off. Whatever they were doing, it was going to be great! I had never been to bed with two women and I felt my cock standing more erect and stiff, if that was possible. 

“Try this,” I heard Judy say. She held out a pair of pink panties that Judy hadn’t worn in months, since she’d gotten fatter. Sunny took the pair and held it out to me, when I realized what they were hinting at. 

“Go fuck yourself!” I said. “If you want a threesome, fine, but keep your stinking clothes, they’re not for me,” even though I blushed again. As I went to my own clothes, my eyes stayed on the pink panty that Judy was holding. She smiled at me. 

“You know you want to,” she said, slowly waving the panty back and forth. Her voice was quiet, distant and teasing. 

She flicked the panty up and down as my cock stood solidly erect. I figured what the hell? and took the panty from Judy. With my erection it was a perfect fit, cinching my cock in a tight squeezing hold. 

Judy shook her head. “If he’s going to go out,” she said, “he’s going to have to hold his cock in, like between his legs, you know?” 

Now what the fuck are they talking about? Go out where? 

“That’s okay,” added Judy. “It’ll go down, I think. Once we get through with him.” They giggled and chuckled like two conspirators up to no good. 

Cunts! I thought, but just stood there like a mannequin waiting for clothes to decorate my body. It was decided I wear a tight girdle to hold my penis in and a garter with nylons and a skirt above my knees, just to give a hint and temptation of what was to come. For breasts Judy decided on oranges or apples, held in place by a bra, but Sunny disagreed. 

“Water balloons would be better,” she said. “Gives her a feeling and look of naturalness, like they’re really jiggling.” 

A perturbed Judy exclaimed, “Well, hell, I don’t have any water balloons for her . . . where am I going to get water balloons on Christmas Day?” 

She looked bitterly and coldly at Sunny who shrugged. “Oranges have a nice roundness, don’t you think?” 

It was amazing how quickly Sunny had changed focus from Judy and brought it back to me and my tits, to which Judy went and quickly returned with two oranges, more like girlish tangerines. I wanted something bigger, like grapefruits, but had to settle on these. 

It was decided I wear a bright red skirt, which was too small on Judy, and a black turtleneck with open arm-holes; they easily altered the length with a few safety pins. 

Judy shook her head. “We got to do something with this disgusting thing,” she said, pointing at my stiff erect dick, sticking up out of the tight skirt. 

Sunny laughed. “It certainly isn’t feminine, now is it?” 

I was angry and pulled the dress up, tugging my panties and girdle down. “Suck me off, you bitches,” I said, aiming my cock at one and then the other. “Take your pick.” 

The two of them looked at each other, as if not knowing what to do, then Judy said, “Like this?” and she stooped down and gently massaged my cock and balls. It was bliss! What I had been going into theaters for months to find was now to be found right at home. I closed my eyes and felt the euphoria quickly coming on. Oh God! It had torn into me from the pit of my stomach to my tingling earlobes and moist red nose. I could feel the scum rising and exploding along my cock, spewing out of my organ. 

I tottered and clenched my teeth; it was like I was going to fall, when Judy suddenly said, “Bastard!” I caught my balance and opened my eyes and saw my scum festooned and decorated along Judy’s face. “Creep!” she said and left the room. Sunny glared at me as she wiped her own face, a droplet of scum had fallen on her chin. She followed Judy out. I shrugged and felt very mellow and warm, the stickiness all around me. My dick was going down but was still very hard and eager. 

We stayed a few more hours in Judy’s apartment getting dressed and perfecting my way of walking in a skirt and high heels. Strange how they decided that we would go out, and I had nothing to say about the matter. I greatly enjoyed how they lavished me with perfumes, powders, and makeup. It was wonderful to be pampered and dressed up, the way I always wished I could be. . . . 

ON THE STREET NIGHT HAD FALLEN, and the Christmas lights and decorations made the night look so much more appealing than it was. There were more people out now, but the chill in the air made them walk a little faster. We walked rapidly, too, Judy and Sunny on both sides of me, their arms tucked into mine. It was great to be walking like this, like three giggling girl-friends, because they kept up my balance in Judy’s too-tight high heels. 

I didn’t feel odd at all, but I knew we must have looked like a sight for the passersby. A hooker with two straight chicks, that must have made people stare at us as we walked by. Maybe two lezzies picking up a hooker for Christmas night, you never know? I turned red; was I going to be like the hookers I had seen earlier, impatiently standing on some corner, or was I already one? 

On 23rd Street we turned off onto 4th Avenue and started walking uptown. Tall buildings were cropping up here and there, I guess big business was making itself felt. On 25th Street I could see the Paradise Hotel banner off Park Avenue South, flashing its Rooms to Let sign standing up from the bland hotel doorway front; I could see a few girls parading up and down the hotel entryway. 

“How do you feel?” said Judy. “Not too cold, are you?” 

“A little,” I lied. Man, I was freezing! 

“Your voice,” said Judy, frowning. “Do it just as we practiced, okay, a little higher?” 

I scowled. “Can we get inside?” I said. “It’s cold!” 

Judy stopped where she was and pulled her arm out of my mine. “Say it,” she said. “Just like a hooker.” 

I frowned, but said, “Goin’ out?” 

“A little higher; you can do it, I know you can.” 

I timidly raised my voice and said, “Goin’ out, honey?” 

 Judy smiled. “A lot better,” she said. “Don’t you think?” A grinning Sunny just nodded her head as we came closer to the Paradise Hotel. “And remember, pick a guy going to the hotel, nowhere else, okay?” 

I nodded and we came close to two hookers standing before the hotel, weaving back and forth as they tried to stay warm in the cold night air. They were dressed like me, with nyloned legs and short winter coats, but one had hers open at the front revealing a very sizable bosom. I wished I had a bosom like that. 

“Evening ladies,” said Judy. “You mind if our girlfriend stands on this block?” 

Wait a minute! What the fuck did she just say? Girlfriend? What girlfriend? 

“No way!” I hissed like a cat. “I can’t do this.” Somehow I had the nerve to raise my voice to sound high pitched, echoing through the night-time streets around me. 

The big-titted hooker looked at me and shrugged, saying to her prostitute friend, “As long as she waits her turn, it’s okay by me.” 

“Yeah, guess so,” said the smaller of the girls. “Hell, even the pimps are staying in to warm themselves tonight.” They both laughed at this. 

By then Judy and Sunny had let go of my arm. I was sure the slightest breeze would knock me down: I stood but was tottering on my high heels. Sunny moved away from me as I watched the big-titted hooker get into a car. The other girl seemed to quickly follow a guy into the hotel. 

Jesus Christ! I was alone and I was afraid. Not only was it cold, but I was dressed like a hooker! Oh, shit! What’s that car looking at, me? And where the hell is Judy? Where’s Sunny? Jesus H. Christ! They just left me like that! But I look pretty! Did they go into the hotel, to my room? No, there they are, standing in the doorway. . . . Look at Sunny standing next to Judy wishing it wasn’t this cold! Wish I’d get picked up . . . and fast too! 

A car slowed and the middle-aged driver smiled and winked. A baby car-seat was in the back of his car. I frowned. I was afraid but winked back and figured what the hell? I felt the moisture of scum oozing at my groin . . . I had come! Very warm, wet and sticky as the scum poured out of my dick into my tightly crammed panty. All my life I had been dreaming of doing just that . . . coming in my skirt. 

“Goin’ out, honey?” I lisped, high-pitched and enticing in my best little Christmas Whore voice.

The driver grinned as I strolled up to the passenger side, my heels clicking on the sidewalk. I saw him rub his crotch as he unlocked the door. I froze — did he expect me to enter his car? I looked back and caught a sight of Judy and Sunny looking at me. Suddenly the reality of what had happened swept over me as the scum dripped out of my cock. My eyes were shut and I imagined that a woman would feel just the way I was feeling: orgasm without a touch or care. God, it was wonderful! 

I jiggled open his frozen car door and felt a drop of ooze dribble down my thigh. I’m going to melt, I thought, but I didn’t. I saw Judy rushing out of the hotel doorway with Sunny right behind her. 

I smiled at the driver as I got into the car, and he smiled back. “Do you mind?” I asked as I reached for his radio dial. He shook his head, and I flicked through the stations playing Christmas song after Christmas song . . . Oh, yeah, it’s Christmas, I thought . . . Ho Ho Ho! 

We drove off into the night. §