Dee Dee Day by Mykola Dementiuk

 Dee Dee Day by Mick Mykola Dementiuk

published 2010 eXtasy books now out of print, available full novel only here

Dedication To Victor J. Banis and Ann Bannon 

A ramble--sometimes funny, sometimes poignant, sometimes ugly--down some of the lesser known back streets and dark alleys of the human heart. Love is a journey, not a destination. Victor J. Banis 

Chapter One 

I first met Dee Dee Day in the winter of 1972. I had arrived in New York City from Chicago some weeks earlier and was crashing in abandoned apartments while looking for a place to live in, permanently. But it seemed the majority of places I was seeing were too expensive or would require too much work in making the place habitable. 

Feeling frustrated and thinking New York wasn’t going to be mine—as I thought it could be—I glanced down in the paper I was holding and at the same time, rang the doorbell of a quiet street in Greenwich Village. An elderly, but young looking, well-dressed woman in her fifties, answered. There was an unmistakable look between us— passion and hunger all at once, or at least I imagined it was so, but this being New York, I never knew what I was going to get, plus it could have been my hungry imagination. I shook my head. 

 The woman looked like she was going out I partying on the town, or perhaps coming back from one. She looked the partying bar-hopping kind, though elderly. I told her I was here to see about the apartment. 

She studied me carefully and in a gruff voice said, “Good, you’ll do. It’s up the stairs, two flights. Here’s the key.” She smiled coyly and was out the door. 

I stood surprised, just looking at the door close behind her. Wasn’t it a bit odd to be left like that? Sudden. But I shrugged and went upstairs. 

Passing dark walls and carpeting made going up the stairs, very comforting and peaceful. I like the darkness in places and ever since I was a child, my rooms have been sedately darkened and kept low key, but more from lack of money paying rent and utilities than from an artistic viewpoint on life, but it sure was nice. And walking up seemed like I was home, a home I never had, and was being pulled up the stairs. I had a comfortable feeling about the place. 

The apartment was small, just a large room with a kitchenette on the side and a tiny bathroom with a shower, but from what she was asking for it, in my head, I already took it. I had enough to sign the lease and move in. 

Yet when I headed back down the stairs, the door opened and the owner was coming back in. We both were smiling. 

“How did it go, hon?” she said, looking at me with a smirk on her lips. 

 “Good,” I answered. “I’d like to take it, if you don’t mind?” 

“Excellent, dearie!” She looked around, “But first, my little bitty cat, Freckles, went out the door again and I’m looking for him. You mind giving me a hand?” By then she was standing just inches from me and I could smell her perfume and feel the heat coming from her. In a way, it was oozing off her, along with the smell of alcohol she had been drinking. 

“Certainly, Miss…”

 “Name’s Dee Dee,” she said. “Dee Dee Day.” 

We found her cat, Freckles, a silent Siamese that didn’t meow, but kind of groaned, much like Dee Dee did when she spoke, but her speech had a hypnotic charm. If she had been much younger, I’d say it was sexual in nature, but who am I to say that? 

We agreed on the apartment at the rent she wanted and considering the nervous times the city was in, which proved not many were looking for places much less taking them, and what she wanted for the rent, the place was a steal! In addition, since I didn’t have much furniture—just a battered suitcase because I traveled light—I could move in that very same day, telling her I Mykola Dementiuk 4 was from Chicago, which I was, but now I was trying New York. 

“What happened in Chicago?” Dee Dee asked, looking at me. “A bad…relationship?” 

I turned very red and sipped the coffee, which Dee Dee had given me. 

“You can say that.” I coughed. “Thing’s weren’t working out and I had to try another place. I thought New York would do me just fine, you know?” I downed the coffee as if I was taking a needed alcoholic drink. I was feeling queasy and nervous because the conversation was bringing back memories of Randy who was a well-known sissy in the neighborhood. In those days, a man who pretended femininity and tenderness and walking about limp-wristed was an obvious open sign of sissy-hood meant for laughter or scorn if not downright derision or even worse… 

Dee Dee stared at me, certain there was more to my story that I wasn’t saying, and in her rough voice said, “We’ll talk another time,” dropping Freckles at her side as she stood up and straightened out her skirt. I was relieved and also stood up. 

In one day, I had pretty much moved in. I found a cheap bed from the Salvation Army thrift shop and paid the guy there a few dollars to lug it up the stairs. With a few pots and pans, also from Dee Dee Day 5 the thrift shop, I was ready to work and live there. I liked the peaceful Greenwich Village neighborhood. This kind of neighborhood hardly exists anymore in New York City, with its old winding streets and alleys bordering on the edges as the young and new are banging its way to tear the door right down. I’m sure that in a few years it would do just that. 

I had been to a few offices over the next few days, looking for a job, but besides the cursory We’ll call you, that was all I was getting. Since I didn’t have a phone, I was using Dee Dee’s number, but all the calls she was getting weren’t for me. During the days and weeks that followed, I was able to find a few menial jobs—messenger, which lasted two days since I didn’t know the city, stationary stock boy, where I broke three ink bottles and was booted out, and a few other short-lived meaningless other ones. 

One morning as I was coming down the stairs, Dee Dee opened her door and smiled, “Morning, hun,” she said. “Must be horrible to keep such early hours?” 

I shrugged. “That’s the breaks, but there’s nothing I can do about it.” 

“Come in and have some coffee before you go unless you’ve got to hurry off?” Again she looked at me. “No? Come in and have a cup, you’ll feel better.” She stepped out of her door to let me in. I blushed and entered her apartment. 

I had been there before, but I noticed that it was cleaner than I had seen. The dust in the corners had been swept and the furniture seemed more polished and straightened out. There were two easy chairs by a coffee table where a half-filled cup of coffee stood. Dee Dee went to it and took a sip, then getting another cup and filling it for me. 

“I had too much the night before,” she said, rubbing her forehead. 

I didn’t say anything, nodded and took a sip. I love that first sip of coffee in the mornings, so peaceful and relaxing, reminding you that you don’t take life so seriously, that it’s better to take it slow. I greedily gulped some coffee down, even though it was nicely hot, and breathed out, smacking my lips. 

Dee Dee laughed. “I see you needed that.” Winking at me, she took another sip of her own. 

We sat contentedly for a few moments, and then Freckles came in growling or meowing at me. The most un-cat-like meow I ever heard. 

 “Oh, Freckles. Stop it! That’s Bill. You met him before.” She picked him up and held him in her lap as the cat just stared at me but settled down on her lap. “Have a place to go?” Dee Dee asked, stroking Freckles. 

“Just a few places,” I responded, and shrugged. “I have high prospects, but little results to show for it.” I took another sip of my coffee and we looked at each other. 

“Just hang in there, hun. You’ve only been at a few weeks. Something good will turn up, I’m sure of it.” 

I nodded. “Keeping my fingers crossed,” I said and held out my hand with the index and middle fingers crossed. 

She grinned. “You do that, hun.” She held out her own hand with her fingers also crossed. “But you don’t know what hard times mean,” she quietly said and bit her lower lip, starring at me. 

I didn’t say anything, but just looked back at her. 

“When we were at war,” she continued softly, “and I don’t mean a little skirmish like Vietnam is, I mean a real war, like World War II.” She bowed her head thoughtfully, but raised it and said, “But that was before your time, I know, hun.” 

“Yes, it was, but please, go on.” 

She looked at me, and then chuckled. “Another time, hun,” she said, winking and letting go of Freckles and standing up. “Can you come by tonight? I know its Friday and you might have plans…” 

She smiled when I told her that I didn’t and suddenly brightened up as we made plans to get together that evening at around seven. I left her happily smiling as I walked out of her apartment. 

That Friday morning, I decided to go uptown for a change. I had tried the Wall Street area for a few days, but since the weekend was coming, I thought I’d go uptown to break the dull routine of looking for work. Tried a few bookstores, Brentano’s, Doubleday and Scribner’s, but again, it seemed no one was hiring, and just took my application, looked at me and said, When something comes up we’ll call… 

At around 3 o’clock I gave up. Besides, Friday afternoon wasn’t the time to be looking for work, and started walking down 5th I love the sound of that word—home. It feels like safety and peace from cares. That you can shut the world out and exist comfortably…that is until you have to go back out. Avenue to Greenwich Village, passing by shops and stores along the way. It was a nice walk and it took my mind off things. Tomorrow was the weekend and there was nothing I could do about it, anyway. I passed by hippies and other long-haired freaks, which I had seen in Chicago, and finally made my way back home. 

I love the sound of that word—home. It feels like safety and peace from cares. That you can shut the world out and exist comfortably…that is until you have to go back out.

Taking this leisurely walk, I was home before five, which would give me plenty of time to shower and change, but as I was doing just that, loud shouts came up the stairs. I recognized Dee Dee’s voice. I went and opened my door to listen. 

 “You can get out right now!” she screamed. “I know who I am! And that’s all I’ve ever been!” 

The front door slammed. Silence, then someone moved angrily across the hall and another door was slammed shut. I suspected it was Dee Dee. 

I slowly and quietly shut my door. It was 5:45 PM. Should I go to Dee Dee or not? Something personal was up, I knew, so I puttered around upstairs and then looked at myself in a small mirror and headed down. 

She must have heard my footsteps because she opened her door just I was reached the bottom. 

“Hi, Dee Dee,” I said. “How’s things?” 

She firmly gripped my arm, winced and looked down. 

 “An old beau was here,” she quietly said. “And you know how they can be—did you hear him?” 

I nodded my head as she looked at me. She was a bit tense, frazzled from her argument, I supposed, and glanced downward. “Listen…I can come another time,” I said. 

“No, no,” she said, looking up and standing out of the door to let me in. 

Even though it was nice to be in her apartment again, I couldn’t help but feel awkward, as if I was intruding. I’m no good in arguments. In a way, I could never stand up for myself, and that’s what makes me feel awkward like as if I am always getting the leftovers of whatever remained on the bottom of the dish, being always a loser and the wimpy sissy. 

I again suggested to Dee Dee that we can meet another time, but by then she had poured herself a drink and stood ready to pour me one, too. I smiled and took the drink, whatever it was, but I could smell the alcohol, which I seldom drink, anyway. In a corner of the living room crouched Freckles, looking at me, then ran to Dee Dee as she carried her drink to the sofa. 

“Good boy,” she said, talking to Freckles, who scooted up to her lap. “My little big man… What a dear you are…yes, my baby.” And she leaned down and gave him a great big kiss. “Mwah!” 

I again took a little sip, and the drink was making me feel mellow, and I smiled at Dee Dee and Freckles, who by then was ensconced on her lap. Dee Dee looked at me and grinned. 

“He likes you,” she said, patting his backside. “No upraised fur.” She nodded and had a sip of her drink. “When George comes by, the fellow I had…that argument with, Freckles never comes near him, won’t even be in the same room. Now look at him, he’s about to fall asleep! He trusts you.” 

I turned slightly red and took a drink to calm my nerves, but Freckles acceptance made me feel very good. I took another sip and felt content. 

“Is George your boyfriend?” 

Dee Dee looked at me. “Was—I’ve known him for years…but he’s not coming here no more.” 

“Sorry,” I said, downing my drink. I’d have enough, but Dee Dee got up and went to refill my glass. 

“Please don’t,” I protested. “I’m not a drinking man.” 

She stopped pouring and looked at me. “Okay. You know your limit, and that’s good.” We smiled at each other and she sat back down with Freckles. “But many guys don’t—” 

I watched her gently massaging Freckles. “My mom was like that, she never knew when she had enough.” 

We stared at each other. “Are you close to your parents?” 

I shook my head. “No, ma’am— never knew my dad…and mom…well, never knew what happened to her.” 

Again we looked at each other. “So, no family— any brother or sisters?” 

I shook my head. “No—just me in this world…” 

“Aww, poor baby,” she said, downing her drink and going to make another one. “You want a Coke or something?” 

I nodded. 

“It’s in the fridge. On the left—in the kitchen—” 

In the hallway to the kitchen there were Mykola Dementiuk 12 numerous pictures hanging of her with some military boys from years ago—World War II, I supposed, since she had mentioned it earlier. And in the kitchen, more photographs on the walls, mostly duplicates of ones that were in the other part of the house. A good looking boy dressed in some kind of uniform and a young Dee Dee always nearby laughing, holding hands, strolling, kissing… 

Very nice. I smiled to myself, then took a Coke and returned to the other room. Dee Dee sat sipping her drink and staring about the room. I could see she was slightly drunk and wondered how many did she have before I came. 

“Nice photographs, you have there.” 

Dee Dee had made herself another drink in a much different glass, taller and filled with the drink she was imbibing. 

 “My fiancée,” I heard her whisper. Her voice was very low and heavily deep. I thought for a moment that a man had taken her place. 

She cleared her throat. “At the time…a very long time ago…” 

I felt a bit uneasy, what with her getting drunk and old memories coming back. 

She asked, “Was your father in the war?” 

I reddened. “From what I know about it, Dad was in Alabama, as a cook. That’s all I know about him.” 

She downed her drink and said, “Sorry, hun.” We looked at each other, sadly, when she got up and asked, “Hey, you want another drink?” 

By then I gratefully accepted. A Coke wasn’t doing it for me. “Sure,” I said, too eagerly, and also got up, looking about the room. “From what I’ve seen, nice house. Not too big, just right, I’d say.” 

She gave me a drink, also in a tall glass like hers, and said, “You don’t like…big things.” 

There was something clever and comic about her voice, like she meant something else. 

“Oh, big things are alright,” I said. “I just prefer them to a size I can handle…like your house here, not too big at all. You don’t find many like that, anymore.” 

She looked around the room. “Yes, you’re right. I can handle this, I think.” She then took a sip of her drink. “Size is important, isn’t it?” 

I turned red from what I assumed she really meant. She stood there, running her tongue over her lips, which were red and ripe, but she sat back down again, spreading her arm atop the couch. 

“What brought you to the Village? I’m sure you’re aware of its…sexual reputation?” she said, her voice deeper and more sultry. 

 Again I turned red and could feel myself getting slightly hard, the atmosphere, the mood, the air, the passion between us was leading us to Mykola Dementiuk 14 come closer together. I looked at her. “Uh-huh, I’ve heard the stories.” 

She took another sip and studied me. I was feeling very nervous. After all, women have never been enthusiastic over me, as I pretty much ignored them as well. They just exist, that’s all. I rather do without them. But here was one that I pretty much felt like she was going to make a move on me and there was nothing I could give her in return. 

“I suppose you want to relive the stories that you’ve heard?” her voice had gotten deeper and deeper. 

Wow! If that isn’t a move toward me, I didn’t know what is… I cleared my throat. “Well, Dee Dee,” I said, swallowing my drink. “Stories are just stories.” I coughed. “

What stories have you heard, hun?” she asked in her deep voice. 

I winced and wanted so much to be out of that room. If I didn’t make a move toward this drunken woman, I was sure she’d be getting rid of me, one way or another, and I so much would hate to give up that apartment so fast. Again I turned red, or was that my normal state. “Silly stories, not true, I suppose.”

She looked at me. “Have you heard them as…man and woman?” Her eyes narrowed on me. “Or kinky ones…about woman and woman?”

I might as well have dissolved from the un-comfortableness I was feeling as I supposed her drunkenness was making her so provocative. Hope she doesn’t start removing her clothes. 

“Or…man and man?” she said. Her eyes were closed, holding the drink in her hand, and very still. I thought she might have fallen asleep or passed out. 

But she opened her eyes and they were liquid. “Billy, my beau,” she quietly said, “was like that.” And she sat up and shook her head. “Hey, you have the same name! Billy and Bill…” 

I blushed again. “Yes, we do.” 

She coughed, as if she was coming to. “Yes, well.” She got up and held her drink. “I guess I’ve had too much for tonight.” 

I too rose quickly. “I know I did.” We laughed. 

“But we never really talked, did we?” she said, clutching my hand. “We should get together and just chat, when I’m not so drunk and tizzy.” 

We agreed. 

I rushed out of her apartment and away from the drunken woman, hoping I didn’t have to see her again. 

In the following weeks, I saw her a few times in the hall. We’d smile, chat about trivial things and go about our ways. Boy, was that a relief! By then, I was working at Scribner’s Bookstore on 5th Avenue—they had finally called me back—an old elegant bookshop from the days of Hemingway, Fitzgerald and many other high-class writers. It was a thrill to be in that exclusive atmosphere and a pleasure to go in every morning. I was just a bookstore clerk, helping people who came into the store, but I felt very elegant and select doing that in Hemingway’s atmosphere. 

On Friday evening, as I was coming home from work, Dee Dee opened her door. 

“Hey, big fella, how have you been?” 

I could that see her looseness and free spiritedness had returned and she was slightly drunk. 

“You want a drink?” 

I looked at her and bit my lip. “Sure, why not?” It was a Friday and no work tomorrow, so I could take it easy. 

As usual, Freckles growled or groaned at me, then just remained lying where he was before. Strangely, it felt great being in her apartment, richer and nicer than mine was. There was old furniture around the rooms and I suppose they were antiques, but I really didn’t know. And she wasn’t as drunk as she was the last time we met. I shrugged, but it must have been the spat with her boyfriend at the time. 

“How’s your job?” she said. “I know you leave early every morning.” 

“Oh, yes,” I brightly said. “It’s at Scribner’s, on 5th Avenue.”

She looked at me puzzlingly. “What kind of place is that?”  

“It’s a bookstore.” 

“Oh yes, Hemingway, I know it well, now that you remind me.” 

“You’re familiar with his writing?” 

“Oh sure, he was big in my day, was always in the papers about his exploits around the world.” She looked lost in thought, far away. “Wish I had a man like that.” She sighed and then cleared her throat. “Make yourself at home, hun, you know where everything is.” She paused in a doorway leading to another room. “Going to the little girl’s room, be back in a jiff.” 

I smiled to myself and went to a table in the corner where ice and glasses stood. Gin was the only drink there—it must have been her favorite. I poured a drink for myself then splashed some tonic over it. The alcoholic fumes eased into my nostrils and to my brain, relaxing and enticing. I took a sip. It tasted very good. 

I paused near the photographs in the hallway, examining them more carefully this time. The same boy, sometimes in uniform, sometimes without, but all the time, him and Dee Dee together. I thoughtfully looked at them.  

Dee Dee came back to the room. 

“Very nice pictures, Dee Dee. Who is the…soldier there?” 

She looked far away. “We were going to get married,” she softly said. “When the war was over…but a German bullet got him…on the day of invasion.” She was very quiet, running a finger on the face of her soldier. “Billy.” She sighed. “I miss you so much.” She leaned down and kissed the photo as if she was kissing the real thing. 

I stood there quietly and respectful when she took me by the hand. 

“Do you have any time, tonight?” I cleared my throat. 

“Yes, of course, I’m not doing anything.” 

“Good,” she said and clutched my hand tighter as she led me to the living room. 

It was nice sitting there with Dee Dee. I never spend any time with women, that is, older women, but with Dee Dee, I felt secure and comfortable this time, better than I was feeling earlier. She had an aura around her, inviting me in to relax, take my shoes off, and be right at home. And I wanted to snuggle against her…which I’ve seldom done with a woman. 

“Does my smoking bother you?” she asked, blowing out a long stream of smoke from her cigarette. The smoke wove briskly above her head and disappeared in the air. Freckles ran away. 

“Not at all. I used to smoke, but had to give it up.” 

She smiled. “Oh? Can I ask why?” 

I turned red. “Was way too costly, could get a sandwich or a box of donuts at that price.” 

She quietly looked at me. “I should give it up, too,” she said, stubbing her cigarette out in an ashtray. 

“Oh, no! Please don’t do it for me. It really doesn’t bother me. Smoke if you want. I was just out of money one day and decided it’s best if I quit. That’s all.” 

Again she took me by the hand and just held it. And once more I felt myself easing in to her comfortableness. 

“How long have you lived here, Dee Dee?” I asked, looking around the apartment. 

Again she smiled. “Too long, I think. Much too long—” We looked at each other. “This was my father’s house a long time ago,” she said, looking about the room. “After he died in ‘56, it passed on to me. I was the only child my mother had. She expired in ‘35, before the war. There was no one left but me, except for a few usual distant cousins, whom I have never seen and probably never will.” 

Strange, but I was an only child, too. My parents never did get along and I have vague memories of my father and a few more of my mother. Dad was thinking of leaving when he Mykola Dementiuk 20 found out Mom was pregnant and finally did when I was very young. I grew up in an orphanage until I reached the age of eighteen, shuffled from various houses and homes that really didn’t want me there to begin with… That was ten years ago, and things have gotten somewhat better. 

“It’s a nice house, Dee Dee,” I said, again, looking around. 

“You think so?” She shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter at my age, anyway.” 

“Oh, come on. You’re not that old. I’d say you’re in the fifty’s, give or take.” 

She spat out her drink, from surprise or unexpectedness, I don’t know which, but a cackle broke from her mouth. She finally calmed down and said, “You’re much too kind. But I’m a lot older—” 

“All right,” I said. “Sixty’s, tops.” I leaned back, very contented, and took another sip. 

She also sipped her gin and tonic, looked at me and softly said, “Seventy-two this past August.” 

It was my turn to spit out. “You’re kidding!” I said, wiping myself. 

She shook her head. “Seventy-two—want to see my papers?” 

“No, Dee Dee…I believe you.” However, she had already gotten up and was retrieving her purse from a corner chair, opened it, fumbled within and came back holding a small document. 

“Here,” she said. “Take a look.” 

I took the document and immediately saw the discrepancy. Richard Day, it read. I looked at her. She was pouring herself another drink. 

“Richard is the name I was born under,” she said. “Dee Dee is what I became.” I looked at her and the document. My God! She is a man! 

Chapter Two 

At first, I thought she was telling me this secret because she was tipsy, but later I learned she was unconcerned about it and kept her life as an open book. It’s just I wasn’t around much to spend time with her during the day, even though I was blindly here the last time she got drunk. Tonight, she may have been high but certainly not drunk yet. 

After I blushed from surprise, and imaged a man dressed up as a woman, I said, “Well, you look pretty good now…as a woman, I mean.” 

She sat back down, holding her drink, and studied me. “I never was anything else, even in my girlhood years.” 

I glanced back at the photos in the hall, the little boy had probably reached the age of seven or so, then there was a little girl in poses with various other little girls through the years, then mostly surrounded by other boys, young men really, in walks, on horse rides, on a roller coaster, all young A Dee Dee Day 23 people having fun while getting so much closer. I felt a tinge of jealousy at the good times displayed. My times on my own and later with Randy were secretive because of a controlling sister, but I wished we could be more open about it, but, alas, we never were… 

“But you can tell the difference,” I said, “between girls and boys, can’t you?” 

She smiled and twirled her drink. “You saw the pictures. Did you think the boy was me?” 

I turned to look at the pictures more closely, a cute little girl playing with boys. I felt myself getting hard. Good thing I was sitting down. “How old are you there?” I asked, seeing her with a hula-hoop around her waist. 

“How old you think?” 

“Looks like ten, I’d say.” 

Again she smiled. “I was almost sixteen in that one. I was very small and tiny back then. In school, the teachers didn’t know what to do with me. I had to suffer much abuse from the other kids, but then Dad put me in a different school where I was enrolled as a girl. They pretty much accepted me as a little girl…because that’s what I was, a pretty little girl.” 

I sat there, mouth opened, feeling flustered that I had missed her younger years, which I’m sure were elegant and debonair. “But you’re a lady now,” I said and blushed. “A very pretty lady, if I may say so.” 

She smiled at me. “Aww, he’s turning red again.” 

I knew that I was turning a deeper red. Ever since childhood, I’ve been a blusher, a red-faced victim or a guilty bad boy. 

“But you’re so attractive when you do that,” she said, leaning over and kissing the side of my cheek. “Do you feel awkward being kissed by me?” 

I shook my head. “No, why? That was a sweet thing to do.” 

We looked at each other and she said, “Ever been kissed…by a man?” She leaned closer to me. “Put your arm around me.” 

I did so, and felt her relax in my hold, as if it was the most natural thing to do, because it was. “You don’t feel awkward doing that?” 

I shook my head. “No, it feels nice.” 

“But deep down I’m a man,” she said. “You ever hold a man? Or been held by one?” 

Again I felt myself blush and scratched my forehead. “A boy…” I said, “A nineteen year old boy. Randy was his name. But he looked a lot younger, too…” 

She was quiet a moment but then said, “He liked being held?” 

I dreamily looked back at her. “Uh-huh,” I muttered, “liked it very much, adored getting dressed up and being pampered like a girl.” I took a sip of my drink. “I loved the role, too.” 

“That’s so very sweet, hun, I feel even closer to you than I did before.” 

“Oh, yes, me, too.” 

Once more, she kissed my cheek, but this time brushed her lips over mine. It was heavenly! 

She put her drink down and stood up. “I must go to the little girl’s room again. Be back in a jiffy, hun.” Again she leaned down and kissed me, with full lips on my mouth, her tongue licking and tasting my own. 

My erection was solidly pushing in my pants now, but I didn’t care about hiding it. I even felt good that the bulge was showing itself. 

Her eyes and mouth opened. “My, my.” She dropped her hand on my bulge. “Hold that thought, hun. Be right back.” 

I grinned at her, feeling very good about being in her apartment, which I did not feel before. 

She returned shortly, holding a big book at her waist, and took a seat next to me. 

“Here’s my album of those years,” she said, flicking through it a few pages at a time. She took a drink and squirmed. “Echh! This is too warm. I need ice. You want I should refill it, hun?” 

I shook my head. “No, I’m fine.” She gave me the huge album and left the room. Typical photos of a little boy and other kids, then a little girl looking more radiant and sure of herself. A few pages later and the little boy had faded to be replaced by a charming appealing girl. I wondered about her sexual tastes. Was she getting her needs fulfilled? 

 I shook my head and closed the album. I sighed. What was the point? She was bringing back the affairs of my past, which I’m sure she didn’t suspect…when she returned to the room, happy, and holding a new ice-filled drink in her hand. Freckles ran after her and she saw the shut album. 

“Oh, you didn’t like it?” she said, sadly looking at me. 

“No, no. Just waiting for you to return and tell me what I’m looking at.” I smiled. 

She grinned and took a sip of the drink. “This is my life, you could say.” She sat next to me. “And I have no regrets.” 

“Good for you,” I answered, prodding her on. “You’re doing just fine.” 

She smiled at me, rubbing Freckles on the couch. “Freckles likes that,” she said, “Don’t you, my little boy?” 

I smiled at them. It felt good to be here, not awkward or suspicious, but comfortable in this house with Dee Dee—who I knew was a man, but first thought was a woman. Did that make a difference? Yes, I suppose it did. Women are…well, women, and never the twain shall meet, I heard it said. 

I felt the same with Randy, comfortable and at peace, like I belonged, or Randy did to me. The thing is, I don’t know why I rather like young men dressed as girls. If I can’t stand women, why do I accept their mimics, a caricature of them, and at times, a grotesque caricature of what they were trying to be, over-decorated, overdressed, overblown. Yet, that’s what I craved, desired and sought out. I was sure that in her earlier years she was an over made-up queen who would be revealed by the first male who was willing to take a chance with her. And my erection proved that even at her age, I was more than willing to try it. My heart was still with Randy in Chicago, but my body and desire would very soon be with Dee Dee. 

I changed my position on the couch, moving one leg to rest uplifted on the other one, but my movements only shifted her much closer to me. We smiled at each other. 

“You know,” she said, “these old sofas are like that, bringing people closer than they care to be.” She winked at me, but I didn’t care because I liked my side rubbing against hers. Anyway, she wasn’t making a move to adjust her sitting position, but neither was I. 

“Here I was at fourteen,” she said, holding the album, showing a pretty little girl. 

I was still amazed and took a closer look, studying the picture and her. I shook my head. “That’s astonishing The little boy is gone and the feminine you is there. Remarkable.” 

She smiled tenderly and even blushed. “The female Dee Dee was always there—just had to come out on her own.” 

“How did your father or mother let you? Sex-play wasn’t an accepted form in those days, or was it?” 

She laughed. “It wasn’t sex play, this was for real.” 

Again I turned red. “I mean—” 

“Oh, I know what you mean,” she squeezed my hand. “Dad just shrugged and bought me pretty things to wear. He more than understood. And Mom…well, Mom never knew,” she said sadly. “She died in ‘35, when the world was a peaceful place…or so we thought.” 

I tried to remember anything I had learned about those times, but couldn’t. What was the world like back then forty, fifty years ago? Definitely a lot different place, with a world war going on… “But you weren’t…touched by the war, or were you?” 

She looked at me very sadly and glanced back down at the album. “This is Billy,” she said. “My beau…oh, if only he had lived…” 

They were sitting on a grassy lawn. Billy had a cigarette in his mouth while Dee Dee held one in her fingers, looking thoughtful. 

“But the war?” She nodded. “As stupid as it is right now, Vietnam, Korea, nothing will be solved by fighting each other, will it?” 

“And the Jews,” I said. “Hitler was killing them off, wasn’t he?” I hardly ever had a conversation about that. Just in school there was mention of it. 

“Yes, that’s true,” she kept looking at the picture. “Do you call yourself queer because you like men? What’s wrong with liking men?” 

I coughed. 

“Would you call yourself a Jew if you weren’t one?” 

“No.” I looked at her curiously. “Why?” 

“No reason, just asking. Billy was a Jew—but that was before your time.” Her speech faded as she kept looking at a picture of Billy. 

I looked closer. His was just a pose in his military uniform, not smiling, not scowling, but looking very professional and regimented. A soldier… “Must have been a bad time back in those years?” 

She sighed and put the book down. “I suppose war does that, it separates lovers.” 

I didn’t say anything but just let her talk. 

“Oh, I loved Billy,” she whispered, “more than anything in the world. He was my hero, my Romeo, my Humphrey Bogart and I was his Lauren Bacall. Two lovers like us never existed…” She looked at me teary-eyed and remorseful. “You ever loved anyone like that?” 

It was a question, but one she didn’t expect an answer to. I looked at her, dreamy-eyed. Yet, how did I feel toward Randy? Was that love? Getting him all dressed up in female clothes and treating him like I expected a girl to be treated? Of course, never going out of the house when he was madeup and fancied-up, treating him like he-she was all mine and no one else’s. Was that love? Or possession I could never share with another… Until he got undressed, looking so sadly at me and went back to his own little world. “Love is a strange thing,” I said, as if I knew anything about it. 

She looked at me rather scornfully. “What do you know about love? Have you ever felt it? Or are you just saying that to be nice?” 

I could see the anger building up in her, but just as quickly falling to regret. 

“I’m sorry, but whenever I speak about Billy, I get all flustered.” 

I took her hand and cuddled it in my palm. “You can say anything you want to me, Dee Dee. I’m a grown boy.” I smiled and she shyly smiled Dee Dee Day 31 back. I then held her hand like we were lovers or boyfriend-girlfriend, but it certainly was nice. 

“You ever have a lover?” 

I turned red. 

“There’s no need to be shy, you can talk.” 

She smiled and clutched my hand tighter. 

At that moment I wanted her—something I hadn’t felt since being in New York. I shifted my arm, letting go of hers and draped it around her shoulder. Her head was below mine and in perfect proportion to kiss her…which I did. Our lips met and our two tongues flicked and sought each other out, our arms went and desperately stroked the other’s chest until she girlishly broke from me, smearing her lipstick on her lips and on my face. I was deliciously hard and making no pretense of hiding it. 

“How about a drink?” she said, chasing Freckles off the couch. “Freckles, scat!” She turned to me. “You want a drink? I could sure use one.” 

“Okay, I’ll have the same, whatever you’re drinking.” 

She smiled and looked at my hard crotch poking up in my pants. She licked her lips and gushed, “Stay hard, hun—just for me, baby.” She blew me a kiss and flirtatiously left the room. 

I was hard and eager for a touching, but without any response, I was quickly getting soft. I sat up and straightened my shirt and pants. Mykola Dementiuk 32 Freckles walked about, looking at me and then left the room. For a seventy-two year old woman, she didn’t look bad at all, I thought, yet she could’ve been a grandmother to me. Well, she was a man who looked like a woman. I wondered if I’d get as hard if she was an actual true woman who came onto me. I shook my head. 

I looked at the open album Dee Dee had left on the couch. I flicked through a few pages and came to a series of photographs on the beach and noticed Dee Dee in a bathing suit. The femininity was incredible. How did she do it? Was it possible that there were many girls who were boys and boys who were girls? This was too much. I again shook my head. Isn’t that what I was pretending with Randy as well? And now an older woman, a man, would play the game with me… 

I heard her moving about in the other room. I set the album down and looked at her approaching in the hallway. My God! She had removed the long dress she was wearing and put on a short pink nightgown—a Baby Doll I think they call it—with more makeup and perfume and a heart pendant around her neck. She stood there, making sure I had a decent look at her, then smiling coyly, sauntered across the room, made two drinks and joined me on the couch. Her perfume was extravagant and knowing she was a man made my erection even more stiff and eager for satisfaction. 

I took the drink she held out. Her eyes had been darkened by mascara with a tint of red on her lips and cheeks and girlishly she prodded up her legs, sitting cross-legged on the couch.

“That was Coney Island,” she said, nodding at the album. “Summer of ‘43. Right before Billy left for the Army. I was seventeen.” 

1943, seventeen…that would make her born around 1926, or thereabouts. “How old was Billy?” 

She looked at the picture. “Nineteen. Day of his twentieth birthday, he left for Europe.” 

I wanted to put my arm around her as it looked like she was going to cry. 

“What a way to go, right?” She looked at me, her eyes moistening with tears. 

I put my arm around her and let her face fall into my shoulder. Twenty was too young to go, especially if you have someone loving you like she did. 

We were quiet. She remained nestled in my arms, but then she sniffled and pushed herself up. The Baby Doll negligee had puffed itself out at her bosom, making it look like she had massive breasts in the gown. I blinked my eyes as if coming to. I knew at that moment I had to take my chance. 

“C’mere, Dee Dee,” I said, once again taking her in my arms and looking in her eyes. We kissed, our lips meeting, our tongues probing, searching, our hands touching, feeling, longing… 

I don’t how my shirt and undershirt came off, but as I uplifted her Baby Doll, I suddenly grew very afraid. There were two breasts at her bosom, not big and meaty like a woman would have, but breasts never the less, breasts that were certainly a decent and comfortable handful. 

“That’s all I ever got,” she said, looking down at her bosom. “Little titties, like a teenager. I just gave up after that.” 

Can such a thing happen, a body changing into one sex while you actually exist as another? Must be so… 

“Let’s go to my room,” she said, holding my hand and leading me out. Freckles tried to run after us, but she held another door open and scooted him inside. “Go to your room,” she said, and shut the door behind him. 

Half-undressed, I eagerly followed, holding her hand and staring at her backside. Again I was stunned by the circumstances and how easily I was going to bed with a woman-man that I so desperately wanted to give myself to as I so wanted to take from her what I could. 

But in bed, I slipped her panties off and saw a little limp penis where I expected a large one awaiting me, but was I disappointed? Not so. Again the little girl-boy had taken over and amazed me. But what kind of genetic accident of nature was this? 

“I could get it hard,” she sadly said, “once upon a time—but not anymore.” 

I shrugged. “You’re still incredibly lovely, in my eyes.” 

We kissed again and I lay down beside her, stiff and prodding. She undid my pants and they were off, my dick rising into her mouth, but after five or six strokes, I felt the jism tear through my balls and shoot like a projectile aimed at its mark, right in her mouth. I squealed, my eyes gripped shut, my lips grimaced and my soul in an ecstasy of lulling peace…it was divine! 

I instantly felt stupid for shooting off in her mouth and looked down at her still sucking my cock, swallowing every little drop that poured out of me. She looked up, with a contented smile on her lips around my weakening cock that finally dribbled out of her mouth. I felt ashamed. “Sorry,” I sheepishly said. “Couldn’t hold it in…” 

She let go of my cock and shrugged. “Sorry for what, hun? It was delicious.” An evil smile seared her lips and she looked up at me. 

I reached down to her and pulled her up to me and again our lips met. I had hardly ever tasted myself, but found that I had an interesting fresh-like smell and taste about me. Hey, I could eat me up and still keep coming back for more. 

“But I must say,” she continued after the kiss, “you certainly are very fast indeed.” 

I didn’t blush, but just smirked at her. “You got me hot, baby. Don’t you know it?” 

Again we kissed, tenderly holding each other like we had been apart and now came home to be together. After our lovemaking, she never did get hard, but she pleased me very much. Dee Dee left the room and returned with the photo album to continue her memories of the war. 

“You don’t mind, hun?” she said, crawling into bed with me. 

“Not at all. I like looking at young men,” but then blushed, feeling very stupid. 

She looked at me. “You must love Times Square then, picking up the young ones, eh?” 

“I been there,” I said, turning red, “but it doesn’t look very safe, kind of seedy and rundown.” 

She shrugged. “New York is like that, seedy and rundown.” She sipped her drink that she brought in from the other room. “That’s what makes it New York, New York, hun. I wouldn’t want it any other way. As a matter of fact, I met Billy in Times Square, New Year’s Eve, 1943.” She flipped through a few pages of the album. “Very little winter photographs—thought I had a more— perhaps elsewhere.” 

“Must have been cold out there?” I asked, looking at the few winter pictures, people bundled up, but happy.  

She laughed. “Who the hell knows? We both were drunk. Anyway, it was New Year’s.” 

“Well, did Billy know you were a guy?” 

She snorted. “We weren’t so prudish back then. We knew what was going on, hun.” She winked at me and took a drink. 

“But this was the ‘40’s," I said, “did you know who he was or he know what you were?” I could see her frustration, a biting of her lower lip and creases from above her eyes. Of course, it was the pursing of her lips that made me suspect she was getting angry. 

“A lot better than you do,” she said, staring at me. “Do you know who you are? Or are you still looking?” I was quiet, then said, “I guess I’m still looking, looking for that ideal mate—” 

We looked at each other. 

“Aww, hun,” she said, putting an arm around my head. “Poor baby, there, there.” She gently patted my head and held it against her shoulder. 

Again I was getting hard and lying on her bed naked, there was little I could do in shielding my hardness. 

“Oh my,” she exclaimed, her eyes open wide and her tongue licking her lips. “Such a bad boy,” she said, taking my dick in her hand and gently rubbing and squeezing. “Yes, you are my little angel.”

We continued kissing, one hand still holding my dick, as I held and caressed her little penis in my own hand. I was growing harder still as she stroked me, all the while exploring my mouth with her own. 

She broke from me and eased herself to my crotch, swallowing my hardness to the limit. I pushed myself up, circled her waist with my hands and sought out her limp cock with my lips and mouth. I didn’t care, I wanted it no matter how old or un-hard it was. To me, it was lovely and delicious and I couldn’t ask for anything better. 

Again I felt the jism rising from the pit of my crotch and begin its surging flight to freedom and ecstasy. I had never cum so fast! I swallowed her little dick as I exploded in her mouth. It was, once again, divine! Little shivers and goose bumps spread throughout my body, but still I held her in my mouth when she groaned and yelped and my mouth sucked in driblets of her weak-dicked cum and spunk. Oh, it was delicious! I licked and tasted whatever my lips met, slurped and swallowed, and she did the same to me… 

By the time we broke from each other and looked at ourselves, there was warmth and satisfaction and trust. She stood up. “Have to go again…to the little girl’s room,” she said, so coyly and shy. “Be right back, hun.” 

Must be the alcohol that she is drinking. That’ll do it. Still I felt very rested and renewed as if ten years had been taken off my life, as I’m sure she felt the same way, too. I covered myself with a blanket, lit a cigarette—one of her own—which I had been smoking since our evening began, and once more reached for her photo album. I turned to the bathing suited pictures of her sitting or standing at times or even playing volleyball. 

 I stared at her crotch. It looked as invisible and non-bulky as did a young girl’s crotch. In one photo, some women were nearby chatting and not even looking at the camera snapping them in her pose, their bathing suits as clear and smooth as hers, but Billy, standing next to her, had an obvious lump in his bathing suit. I felt myself growing hard again and rubbed my crotch. 

“You have an itch there?” I heard her coyly ask. 

I turned red as I saw her standing in the door. She had donned a flaming pink negligee that, in the shadows of the lighting, looked very provocative and enticing. I moved the blanket from my crotch and lay there with my stiff hard-on and smiling at her. 

Surprising that just one negligee with her grayish black hair could arouse so many emotions and longings for her. 

“Aw, hun,” she said, dropping into bed next to me. We kissed. “At my age, tsk, tsk,” she said, “I’m lucky to have done it once. You’ll kill me, hun.” 

I shrugged. “That’s certainly how I want to go, doing it with you.” 

She looked at me and bit her lower lip. “That’s exactly what Billy said in the Brooklyn Navy Yard. He wants to do it with me…and this after nights and nights of doing just that.” She looked through the album and said, “What a man my baby was.” She kissed a photo in the album as if she was kissing an actual person. 

“Tell me about him,” I said, intrigued by the longing and love she had for him. “He must have been really something.” 

“Oh, he was,” she said, looking at me. Her eyes had grown moist. “A real prince,” and once more she kissed the picture. 

I could see the tenderness she lavished on the picture, but how would it have been in real life? If the way we had sex was anything like the way she would have it with him, then that would be real heaven on earth or at the least, heaven between the sheets. 

“Stupid war took him away,” she sadly said. “Just because a war means something doesn’t mean it has to make sense…does it?” 

I didn’t know what say. “Guess not.” 

“At the time, we didn’t have these dumb newsreels about how many were injured or dying, like they do now. If you watch them, well God, it’s just horrible!” She reached for a cigarette and seeing it was the last one, crumbled the pack with her hand and flung it to the floor. “And the young boys that are dying…” She lowered her head and once again kissed the picture album. 

I was silent for a few moments, but then asked, “What did Billy do? I mean, what kind of job did he have before he was in Army?” 

She snorted. “A machinist, he called himself. Nothing but a fancy stock boy. He didn’t know enough to work with tools.” She flirtatiously looked at me, “Except his own.” 

I bent down and kissed her. “So he worked with office papers?” 

She nodded. “There was a car plant on 10th For the first time I saw her blush. Avenue, which was converted to an airplane parts warehouse. Billy was their boy.”

 For the first time I saw her blush.

“However, he didn’t belong there, just as he didn’t belong in no stinking Army. Kid was a fruit. He just belonged with me. The sissy belonged with me.” Again she kissed the picture she was holding. 

I put my arm around her and she nestled against me. We lay there, her head on my chest, her fingers stroking my chest hairs…I think she slept a bit. 

I didn’t know much about the Army or military Mykola Dementiuk 42 of any kind. Luckily, I hadn’t been called up for Vietnam and that was good enough for me. That’s all I wanted or needed to know. The way I looked at it, the Army was nice to see marching soldiers in a parade, but if I had to march with them, I’d say No thanks and be marching the other way, actually running as fast as I could to get away from them. 

I guess I was a sissy, too, just as she called Billy, because how many times had I been called that? Way too many, that’s for sure. In 5th grade, in 6th, 7th and 8th, even at my grade school graduation, I was taunted by the other boys to put on a dress instead of the graduation gown. And how did I react? With tears because what else could I do as all the other kids, boys and girls, scorned and laughed at me? But boy was I glad to be out of that school! Away from bad memories and experiences…

High school was no different. That’s why I started to stay out and wander the town and travel more and more up to Chicago, just a few stops on the Metro, and lose myself there. It was great! No one knew me there, and I didn’t care to know anyone, either. Dad left when I was a kid and mom wasn’t much into parenting either. Somehow, the other kids seemed to know this and that made me fair game for their taunts and scorn. , even at my grade school graduation, I was taunted by the other boys to put on a dress instead of the graduation gown. And how did I react? With tears because what else could I do as all the other kids, boys and girls, scorned and laughed at me? But boy was I glad to be out of that school! Away from bad memories and experiences…  The home I was placed in couldn’t have me anymore, “Get out!” they screamed one day and slammed the door. 

By then, slamming doors were a common thing in my life. I was welcome nowhere, neither the home I was in or the city of Chicago until I got out of high school. I drifted west to San Francisco where I seemed to be taken in by the hippie culture of free love. But the actual love that was required of me, well, I was a failure at that. Three girls, at different times took their clothes off and wanted to do it with me, but I still didn’t know what to do with them. Getting naked with them meant nothing to me…my dick stayed soft. 

“Are you a sissy?” one asked. “Hey, it’s no big thing,” she went on as she was lighting a joint. “You get it where you can.” She sucked on her joint and said, “Hey, groovy!” and went off with another guy. 

At one spot, I was looking for a place I could crash that night, but it became a love-in right off the bat. I wasn’t there for five minutes before a couple went at it right on the floor, making love right in the open. I was embarrassed and wanted to leave, but next to them, a guy was jerking off. He smiled at me. I turned red because I was getting hard looking at him, but he said he had a place where I could crash, but as soon as he shot off, just went on playing with himself. I felt stupid, Mykola Dementiuk 44 yet, it seemed that no one really cared what he was doing. I followed him to his place that night and stayed a few weeks after that. He had lots of girl-friends and boy-friends and I suppose I was a boy-friend, too. As a matter of fact, I liked him and didn’t feel bad I had to share him with another man or woman…if I could live like that forever…but I couldn’t. 

That autumn, as the Summer of Love began to fall apart in San Francisco, I and another guy started hitching back to Chicago, but the guy left me in Reno and actually told me, Fuck off! and disappeared into the Reno night. I shrugged and went on hitching across the country. It seemed that he didn’t want to be known as a sissy once he was on the road, thinking he could change. I didn’t care who knew I was a sissy. I just shrugged and finally made it to Chicago. 

Why was I going back there? It wasn’t my home— at least I didn’t feel like it was. But there was Randy, a sissy I recognized one day when the other boys around him called and taunted him for being just that, a sissy, as if they were calling me names. I was red-faced with anger. 

“Leave him alone!” I dared shout. The other boys cursed at me, called me a faggot and disappeared down the street. By then, I had been out of high school and slightly older than Randy was, maybe a few years older, and living in different tenements that were slated for demolition, eating food I was able to scrounge out of garbage cans or whatever was tossed out by the stores and restaurants. It wasn’t a good way to survive, but it was one way and I did it. 

Randy was in tears. “C’mon,” I said my hand on his shoulder. “What you crying for? They ain’t your friends.” 

He looked at me and sniffled. “I wanted to go. They didn’t want me to—” 

I snorted. How many times did I fork over some coins, thinking I would go with my friends, only to find that once they got my money they didn’t want me to tag along? How many times? Way too many times, that’s for sure… “Hey, kid,” I said, winking. “Stick with me.” 

I had no plans. My day was just as any other— wander the streets, find some food and wander back home, some burnt out tenement that served as my refuge for a night or two and if I was lucky, I’d stay there all week. Up around one of the big streets, I ordered two franks as Randy went and asked the store guy something, and I was out of there before the store guy knew what had happened. A block or so later, Randy caught up to me. Good thing he did because I almost ate the hot dog that I had stolen for him. By then, we were bosom buddies, but he’d go home at night while I continued my now-and-then sleeping and prowling the streets until he’d meet me in the morning to start another day of shady adventures. 

And through all this, I was changing, as was Randy. We’d kiss and give each other a hand-job, a blowjob and feel somewhat satisfied, but not much. One day Randy lowered his pants to show he was wearing a girl’s panty. I smiled lecherously, drooling over the panties around him and his little hard-on pushing out from its hold. 

 “Sissy,” I said wickedly. 

Randy blushed, but shrugged. “Yeah, I know, so what? But you like me, don’t you?” 

I avidly nodded. 

Randy told me that the panties were his big sisters, three years older, and that he’d tried them on at home and walked around in them. That had me intrigued and we agreed that he’d pilfer some more clothes whenever he could. In no time, he had a girl’s complete wardrobe--panties, bra, nylons, garter belt, various skirts and blouses, with makeup and mascara to go along with them. His hair was nice and long, girlish, but at the time, long hair on boys was the norm. And I was even harder than before. 

I was using him just as he wanted, as a girl, and his boyhood pretense had quickly faded away, and in its place was a full-fledged woman…a woman who treated me as a man. 

This couldn’t have gone on, Randy getting prettier and me getting even harder, until one day his sister burst in with her boyfriends, who at first laughed at the pair of us, then proceeded to give me a vicious beating and cursed at me for doing this to an eighteen-year-old sissy. 

They left me, taking a screaming Randy with them, but somehow I found the physical strength to abandon that condemned building before they returned at night and set it ablaze with their arson retribution. 

A month later, I had somewhat healed and was hitching to New York and starting a new life with memories of Randy…which was all I was left with.

Dee Dee came to and yawned. “Sorry, hun,” she said. “Must have been sleepy…” 

I smiled at her. “So was I,” I said, also yawning. 

She sat up, put the negligee around her and went to the bathroom. I again looked through the photo album. Are there any notations on the back? Sweet words or more? 

In one picture, it was a quiet moment, thoughtful, reflective, Dee Dee looking down, Billy holding her arm. I was sure that they would have come together and kissed in the next frame, but there wasn’t any. Who had taken the photos, a secret unseen friend? I turned the page when Dee Dee came back into bed. “Very nice pictures,” I commented. “But who took them? A girlfriend, maybe?” 

Dee Dee blushed and nodded. “A very close friend of mine—” She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out of her mouth and nostrils. “Billy liked him, but not in the way that he wanted.” She looked at me, very red. “He was my old beau, too.” 

I looked at her. 

“Yes, the one I had a fight with.” She was quiet and then said, “There are no photos of Billy dying. I suppose he died like a soldier.” 

I bit my lip. There was nothing I could say. 

 She looked at me teary eyed. “You don’t want to hear about that.” 

I gripped her shoulder and pulled her to me. A wet tear drop was cascading down her face. I wiped it with my thumb. “Yes, I do, Dee Dee.” I kissed her forehead. “Tell me everything about him.” She weakly smiled and again we kissed. 

“I never talked about when he was shot.” She looked at me. “I assume he was shot, so many were that day.” 

“Was it a battle they were undergoing?” 

“D Day,” she quietly said. “The day the war came to an end…supposedly…came to an end for Billy, that’s for sure.” 

I had seen the pictures of troops invading French beaches to heavy fighting with many dead soldiers fallen behind them. In one image, a fallen soldier lies half on the beach he was heading toward while the other half is still in the water he was coming from. So this is France...? Nothing glamorous or romantic about it. “Is that where they got Billy?” 

She looked at me, tear-eyed and fragile. “He was just a kid. What’s twenty years old? Nothing…that’s for sure…” 

I took her in my arms, stroking her shoulders and just held her. It was nice to just hold someone. Sometimes, with Randy, that’s all we did, soft kissing as we’d lay there, whispering to each other as the world went by. I loved holding him as I loved holding Dee Dee now. 

“…and they knew he was a sissy,” she continued. “By the way he walked, way he talked, giggled, turned red.” 

I felt my face turning crimson, but I no longer cared. I was with someone I truly was beginning to love. Our lips met. Kissing her was like kissing an innocent woman, which I’ve never done. I don’t know what made me feel that way, her gentleness, her femininity, her ardor, her abandon of herself into me… I felt as if we were one and that we had never been apart—coming together into a separate wholeness, like the ancient beings that were merging into one. I held her and didn’t feel separate from her because we were one. 

When we finally broke…we were exhausted, I ate the bottom of her crotch, she spitting out mine.  I had shot a mouthful into her and felt something fresh had dribbled into me. We looked at each other, both of us were red faced, but smiling. I knew that she had cum because her spunk was all over my face. 

“Almost six years,” she said, as if to herself, dreamily and proud. “That was the last time until today.” 

“What was?” I asked, wiping my face and not really understanding. 

She blushed. “Since I last came,” she quietly said, snuggling next to me. “Never thought it would get hard…but it did. You released me.” 

I looked at her, her face red and embarrassed, but very happy, too. So that was what I felt all over me, her cuming cream. I turned red also. “Wow! The first time in six years?” 

She nodded. “Old people don’t normally get hard and cum, but I did! I feel renewed, as if I’ve been given a second chance of life. With something to look forward to, you know?” 

I looked at her. “You’re amazing,” I said, and turned red again. I whispered, “That’s why I love you.” 

We looked at each other and it was like two people melting into each other and becoming one, some mystical cohesion that was happening to us alone. We kissed, and for an incredible second time that night, her erection and semen shot out as if it had been held back and now was given free reign, and shot out a little more stronger, a little more powerful. 

She collapsed, breathing very heavily. “I love you very much, too,” she was able to get out. 

 We held each other and soon drifted off to sleep… 

Chapter Three 

When I next awoke, it was after 3AM, but the side of the bed was vacant. In the bathroom. I felt I had to go, too. 

The bathroom was empty. I urinated, splashed water on my face and went to the living room. Dee Dee was on the couch, Freckles beside her and various photo albums scattered around her. She had been crying, but was holding a cup of coffee. 

“In the kitchen,” she sniffled, wiping her nose. “There are also bagels, if you want…” 

“You were out?” I asked, looking around. 

“The all-night bagel shop on the corner. They have yummy stuff in there.” 

I went into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee, then picked up a bagel and took a bite. Delicious! I took the bagel and returned to Dee Dee. She had been sitting cross-legged on the couch, going through her albums. 

“Your beau, that comes here,” I said, “what was his name again?” 

“George,” she answered and chuckled. “But called himself Pierre at one time, I think it was.” 

Amazing. She had a picture of him right before her, in her lap. 

“Called himself many names, Alfonse, Heinrich, who knew what? But that was a long time ago.” She looked at the picture in the album. “Yes. Pierre. I’m sure it was. At the time, you know how silly girls and boys can be.” She didn’t look at me, just turned the page. 

“I like the name Dee Dee. Very much, too.” 

She smiled. “It was the last letter to my name Richard. Figure what the hell, call myself that. I didn’t know how bad it would become…” 

I looked at her. “What do you mean?” 

We were silent a moment but then she said, “My father’s last name is Day. I’m Richard. Couldn’t go around calling myself Dee Day, now could I? Was okay back in school, when I was a kid, but after the real D Day it became too…militaristic, too dire, too…funeralistic, if that’s a word? That’s why I became Dee Dee. Dee Dee Day.” 

Of course—The day her lover had disappeared. Miss Dee Day became Dee Dee Day! What could be clearer? “Wow! So you took D Day as your own?” 

She nodded. “Uh-huh, it became me. Anytime it was mentioned, I looked up as if they were talking about me…and in a way they were.” She looked at me, and bit her lower lip. “The worst part is all the graves there, all neatly arranged like they’re going to march off at any moment once the orders come in.” She snorted and said, “Ha! Graves as troops…what a laugh…” 

There was nothing for me to say. I knew Dee Dee had to talk. She’d been silent, holding it in, for much too long. 

“I thought about going to see his grave, but what was I, a dreamer, a visitor of dead soldiers?” She looked at me. “No sirree. I have him in my heart.” She made a fist and struck her chest. “Right here, and forever.” But her fist came undone and fell atop the album she was holding. 

I lowered my head and thought of my past, of Randy… Where was he? Must be twenty by now… And all dressed up in his girly clothes and being…laughed at. Was that his life now? I’d never see him, I knew. 

Dee Dee looked up at me. “It’s early morning,” she said, looking at a clock. “Three forty-four. Don’t you need your sleep?” 

That awoke me. “It’s a Saturday. I don’t have to work on weekends.” I put an arm around her and held her. Again that nice feeling came over me. I felt I was protecting her from the world outside that was trying to burst in. Me and Randy used to lay like that—me just holding him as the world went by…but our world collapsed into hatred and violence and I wondered if he suffered much from it. I knew those friends of his sister, tough boys, once they had blood on their hands, they would want more and more until it poured out. They’d be saturated by it, yet, demand more to fall upon them. 

I remembered Randy whispering one day, “You love me?” 

I looked at him. “You know I do, with all my heart.” I held him and kissed him. 

It was nice to have a sissy in my arms, with his stiff penis just for me. It was like a nice surprise for the work I was doing on him. But I wondered about that… How many sissys would respond in the same way? Quite a few, I think. But when you came down to it, how many boys would I want to spend time with in the way I was spending time with Randy? Not many, not many at all. Randy was special, wasn’t very good with his hands, but his mouth…well, he could kiss like I’ve never been kissed and then do it all over again. When Randy would kiss, I would melt in lust and peace at the same time. His kisses were from an angel not a man and he had to look like an angel, just for me… 

“Where are you?” Dee Dee interrupted me, looking at me very distant. “Come back, baby.”

I blinked my eyes, turning red again. “I’m here, sweetheart, just for you.” 

She looked at me sternly. “No, you’re not. You’re far away. Thinking of other times. But with who?” 

I sadly looked at her, “Just thinking about this boy, Randy.” And I told her everything about him, how he walked, how he cuddled, dressed, undressed, then redressed in feminine frilly things that had me even getting harder than I thought I could. 

She smiled slyly, poking me in my bulge. “What you gonna do with that thing, mister?” 

“It’s for you, Dee Dee…all for you.” 

She pulled the blanket off me and frowned. “I’m going to have to shave you. You’re much too hairy for my mouth, hon.” 

“But you’re not,” I said, flicking at the bottom of her negligee, showing off her feminine hairless legs. 

“I feel better this way. Been like this for many, many a year and still keep myself cleanly shaved like a little baby.” She grinned at me. “Do it every three days or so.” 

I thought about Randy, again. He had a few hairs that made him look more exciting and lusty, but I knew many times when he sucked me off, he gagged from what I supposed was my hardness, but actually, it was the pubic hair that grew so thickly between my legs. “You think that would do it?”

She nodded. “It’s horrible when you get a hairy guy and he shoves it down your throat. What can you do but gag and squirm away? No sirree, not for me. That’s why my guys were all cleanly shaven. Anyway, tastes better that way, cleaner and healthier, too.” She smiled, then got up and shooed Freckles into his room, which it seemed he had gotten out. She then took me by the hand. We went to her bathroom. It was a truly feminine room, even painted in pink, which I assumed was her favorite color. Pink walls, pink towels, even a few bottles seemed to be tinged in pink. Now that I thought about it, most of her negligees were pink-colored and that aroused me even more. 

“Pink lady,” I said, smiling lecherously at her. “That’s you, The Pink Lady.” 

She blushed. 

“I really like it when you blush, you look so much younger, and it’s amazing!” I sat down on the toilet seat as she lathered my cock and balls. I was surprised by her skill and professionalism, but after all, she had practiced on herself over the years and had to be adept at doing what she was doing. As she made me sit, stand, even bend over, until after forty-five minutes or so, I was as bare as a new born baby and getting rubbed all over by some aftershave cream or whatever lotion she was using on me. Surprisingly, the beautiful tension kept me as hard at the finish as I was at the start. 

“I guess you want a present,” she hissed, “for your clean shave?” 

She looked at me, then kneeled down and swallowed me whole. My God, what pleasure! What peace and delight swept over me, as if I was becoming a new man or at least like a sissy, a new sissy boy ready to do anything I was told. But I didn’t have to be told. And very quickly I tensed up as the semen began its rise up its veins, its organs and started shooting right in her mouth. She swallowed so greedily that the appetizing and delicious treat had me drained, emptied and exhausted like I had run a biathlon and now had finally reached the finish. I collapsed all spent, out of breath, until slowly we staggered back to her room as she helped me. I dropped to her bed, drained and emptied, but very happy and feeling peaceful. 

When next I awoke, the sun was shining in the room. It was noontime, so I must have slept, yet, it was the best sleep that I’ve had in years. Bare and cleanly shaved, I felt odd, but kinky as well, when I heard voices down the hall. I quickly dressed and entered the kitchen, from where I again heard the voices conversing. I opened the door. 

Dee Dee was sitting at the table as a man stood before her and loudly talking. They looked at me as I came in, the elderly gentleman with a frown. I wished I was elsewhere. 

“So this is Mister Wonderful.” He looked me up and down. “I see nothing in him.” 

Dee Dee stood up and put her arms around me. “He’s a gentleman, that’s all the matters to me.” And she kissed me on the side of my cheek, but looking at me as if some kind of invisible contact was between us. “Well,” continued Dee Dee, looking back at him. “You never see anything, but your disparagement and nothing more.” 

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I see enough and sleeping till noon isn’t one of them.” 

Dee Dee snorted. “Ha! Don’t you wish you could stay in bed till whenever? With you, it’s always getting up at the crack of dawn and the rest of the day acting like even dawn was too late.” She looked at me, then back at him. “Gimme a break!” 

I noticed that the door to the other room was opened, but no Freckles. Probably hidden under a table or a chair, but staying away from the man, that’s for sure. 

Dee Dee moved away and stood at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee. She handed it to me, but didn’t say anything. 

“This is George,” Dee Dee said. “Called himself Pierre, once upon a time.” She chuckled and then turned to George. “You know something? You over-blow your importance. You’re nothing but an old fart.” 

I coughed and spat out the hot coffee, which got some on George’s pants, who instantly jumped up and started wiping them off. 

“If there’s a stain,” he fumed, “someone’s going to pay for it!” 

“Oh, lighten up,” Dee Dee shot back. “No one’s paying for anything. We’re all friends here,” she said, looking at him and me. “Aren’t we?” She took each of our hands and squeezed them together. I saw George turn red at that point, but didn’t say a thing Anyway, it felt good that a little bit of stress was easing from us. Again she repeated, “Friends?” And she looked at the two of us, “I thought so.” I also turned red from George looking at me. Oh no, not with George. All that would be needed was for him to kiss me. I refilled my cup and didn’t look at George the rest of the time. 

George again coughed and said to Dee Dee, “So you don’t want to go? Okay, it’s your loss.” He turned and started walking away.” 

She smiled after him and then I heard the door swing open in the hall and then slam. He was gone. 

We looked at each other and she shrugged. “He gets to be like that when he doesn’t get what he wants. He wanted to go and see a photography exhibit, but I think that’s boring anyway. Oh, he’s like a little kid, that’s what he is.” 

I just stood there listening to her and slightly amazed that I had an erection. And it was a good thing my pants covered me up—not that I shied away from Dee Dee. It was nice when she felt it, but why did it get hard now? George? But he was an old man. I preferred them younger, like Randy was at nineteen…that was my prefect age for young sweet men. Still, it was amazing that I had an erection now. That was something to puzzle over. 

“George is a silly old fruit,” she said dismissively. “But a good photographer, I’ll give him that.” Then she spotted Freckles peeking from behind the couch. “Aww, poor baby, c’mere.” 

I glanced at the photographs on the walls leading to the living room. “You mean that was him? He took all the pictures?” 

She nodded, cradling Freckles in her arms. “Worked for everybody, Look, Life, you name it, he was involved in all of them. Even as a little kid, pictures were his love, except for other little boys, which, eventually, proved to be his decline.” 

“Little boys?” 

She nodded. “If he hadn’t been so wealthy, he would’ve gone to jail, but with his riches well…you know what money can do. Still, he frittered that away, too.” 

I turned red and sighed. 

 Dee Dee kept staring at me. “You’re into little boys, aren’t you?” 

“Randy was nineteen. Might be little in someone’s eyes, but not in mine.” I blushed. “He was perfect!” 

Dee Dee looked at me. “George was after them at seven, eight, nine— I think the age of nine was his limit. Though he did go with older guys.” 

“Wow, that young? They can’t even cum at that age.” 

“Loved them when they’re stiff,” she said and smiled, “as you’ve been ever since you came in and saw George.” 

If I hadn’t turned red before, the deep red color sweeping over me was fantastic. It was as if I had poured a gallon of paint over my head and still stood there with more embarrassment sweeping over me, much like the we-cover-the-earth ad I saw a few times. I always felt stupid when I turned red from shame, but with Dee Dee I suddenly felt at peace as if feeling belittled and ashamed was the norm. And, of course, with Dee Dee, I rather liked it. 

“You like George, don’t you?” she said, smirking at me. 

I nodded. “Sure, why not, if he’s a friend of yours, he’s okay in my book, too.” 

She snorted. “Well, I’m sure he doesn’t like you.” 

I shrugged. “It takes all kinds.” 

She was silent a moment, letting Freckles down, then said, “Did you have a nice sleep?” 

“Better than I’ve had in years, but I’m still tired.” 

“What you need, young man, is a good breakfast,” she said, beginning to stir about with her pots and pans. 

I took a seat at the kitchen table and watched her. So feminine it was incredible. Must have had life-long training in the art of being one, a woman…which many seldom have. 

“That’s amazing Dee Dee,” I said, “There’s no pretense or fakery about you. You look like…a sister or girl friend, like someone I’ve known for years.” 

She also blushed. “Thanks for saying that, hon.” She blew me a kiss, then went on with her preparations of my breakfast. 

It was an excellent meal, ham and eggs with toast, simple, but very tasty, and the coffee was excellent, not too rich or too bitter. Afterward, we went back to her living room. 

“Do you read any of the books you sell?” she asked, after we had settled in the couch. “I was thinking I should get some books in my rooms, too.” 

“Sure,” I answered, “Good idea, can’t go wrong with books.” 

“What would you recommend?” 

I looked at her. My reading wasn’t something you could find in libraries or the hallowed halls of academia, but rather in the sleazy bus stops and dives where people traveled and got out of town. They were not collected tomes to savor, but paperbacks you read and discarded. Nevertheless, working in a bookstore I gathered up some information that could be useful. 

“Hemingway is one, and Fitzgerald,” I said. “Oh yes, Thomas Wolfe. You got to have Wolfe.” These were names I knew from my bookstore experience by reading a few pages. Anyway that’s what people were coming in for, but I didn’t praise the writers I liked, such as A. B. Dick or X. Harder or Celeste Softly, obviously made up names by my secret writers, non-classic, but who certainly hit home, that is, right between my legs. “Yes, get those,” I quietly mumbled. 

But Dee Dee had turned deeper colors. 

“Did I say something wrong?” I asked, also reddening and thinking it was me. 

She shook her head. “No, it just reminded me of a stack of books I have in the basement. Haven’t seen those in years, and the paper has probably fallen apart by now. I wonder if they’re still there—” 

“We should check,” I said, slightly intrigued. Could be anything down there. 

Like all basements, it was musty and dimly lighted with spider webs in the corners. There was something sinister and evil about the entire cellar, rather like a dungeon meant for someone to be trapped and chained there, not one who came here just to check out the environment. I shook my head. I certainly didn’t want to be here. “I’ve seen enough,” I said, turning back and wanting to return upstairs. 

“But they’re right here,” she said, her hand atop a box that was stacked with other boxes in a corner. She opened the top and a sly smile broke on her lips. “Oh my, I forgot I had these.” 

I stopped, turning back. “Have what?” 

She pulled one out and then reached for another one, holding a slim paperback in each hand. They were dusty and moldy, but she had a sinister, dreamy look about her. “You know, I read every single word in these, seems like yesterday.” 

I picked up a book. Moldy, certainly, made you want to sneeze and cough. Sex in the Shadows read the cover, a half-dressed girl was sitting on the floor as another paced about behind her. I picked up another one, Tutor from Lesbos, and rifled through others. Gay Girl, Gay Wrestlers, Man Hater, S & M Office Girls, on and on it went. I scowled, flipping the books down, “Just girl stuff, not my cup of tea.” 

She looked at me, “Yes, I forgot, you’re a man and you like other men, is that right?” 

I was about to say something, but decided not too. She winked at me and moved the box her feminine books were in, then was looking into another one. “How about this?” she smiled and handed me another paperback. 

The Gay Underworld it read and showed a male figure in garter belt and nylons, the bulge in his crotch a clear indication that he was aroused, and was bare-breasted with a blond wig atop his pretty made up face. I was instantly aroused. 

She smirked, “I thought you’d like these.” 

I picked up a few more, Naked in the Night, The Greek Affair, The Cruising Class and others. “Some nice titles you have here.” It was too much for me. I started sneezing, but I was able to say, “Bring these upstairs.” I sneezed again and ran up the stairs. 

Upstairs the air was cleaner, not so musty or stuffy with old books and withered paper. I had another cup of coffee and reminisced about old times in bus stations around the country. In most every town I was in, I seemed to gravitate to the bus station, where I’d travel via bus most everywhere I went. Of course many times I had to hitchhike and save whatever money I had and get to a town as broke as when I started. 

Dee Dee came up the stairs and in each hand, she held two or three paperbacks and was smiling at me. 

 “I never thought I’d find this,” she said, holding one out. I Am a Woman by Ann Bannon. “I have one for you, too.” She showed me, The Why Not by Victor Banis. 

 “And the others?” I asked, gesturing to the other books she held. 

“Oh, this? Just a reminder to George—it would be interesting if he still remembers.” 

I looked at the books for George. Disciplinary Action, Penthouse Maids, Lady Cabbie and it was obvious these were crossdressing books. I blushed again. “Does George like to get dressed up?” 

She smirked. “No matter how feminine he tried to be, he still looked like man dressed in girly clothes. Some guys just can’t do it, you know?” 

I knew that very well. With Randy, we played at it, but I looked like a ridiculous sham so I got out of the clothes and let Randy dress as he knew best. “Gee, I never read this,” I said, flipping over the pages of The Why Not. “What’s it about?” 

She laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She winked at me and began to read her book, I Am a Woman. 

I looked at the back cover of Why Not and read gay throng of third sex and looked at the front, again. “Victor J. Banis’s scorching excursion through the gay world of the lost and the not-so-sure…” That certainly sounds like me. 

“You know what we should do? Start our own bookstore for the connoisseurs.” 

I smirked. “With these books? Doubt you’ll sell any.” 

“I’m not talking about—” she looked at me. “What’s the name on the place you work?” 

“Scribner’s.” 

“Yeah, not no hoity-toity place like your store.” She winked at me. “Rather, a place where only the select can enter. That’s because we give them what they’re looking for. Don’t you think that’s a grand idea?” 

I looked down at the book I was holding. “Can’t say it doesn’t have its merits, but you really think anyone will come in for this?” I held out the Banis book. 

“And what’s wrong with this?” 

“Nothing. Except they just aren’t collector’s material, that’s all.” 

She snorted. “As if you know what’s collector’s material?” 

I shook my head. I was having enough of this hopeful but hopeless dream of hers. “I suppose,” I said, flinging the paperback to the coach. “I should get dressed. The day isn’t getting any younger.” 

“Yes, you do that,” she said as she buried her head in the Ann Bannon book, I Am A Woman. 

I looked at her, and imagined that’s the way I looked reading a paperback in bus stations. I shrugged, then shut the front door and went up to my room. 

I had a bath, nibbled on some chips, then dozed off listening to the Oldies on the radio. When I awoke, it was nighttime again and I turned off the Do-wop melodies and thought about Dee Dee. I was getting hard again and figured I’d go downstairs and see what she was doing. 

 I found her in a flurry of activity. After I had left her, she read awhile, then went back downstairs to the basement, bringing up the rest of the books she had forgotten so many years ago. She had taken a corner bookcase in the living room that was filled with knickknacks, emptied it out and was lining it with her little paperback readers. She looked very happy, but tired. “So you brought them up anyway. I didn’t think you would.” 

She had arranged the titles, lesbian on top, men’s queer titles in the middle, with a few straight, but sexy ones at the very bottom. She ran her arm over her forehead. “Didn’t think I had so many. This is only the start. I only brought up these three boxes.” 

“How many you’ve got down there?” 

“Probably ten, if not more.” 

Wow! Ten boxes of old books, but I really didn’t care how many there were. Once you hold an old book in your hands and get a whiff of old rotten paper up your nose, whatever lusty interest you had quickly fades as you start to sneeze and wheeze from the rotting paper. “Well, you need a break from all these books. Sit down and rest. They’re not going anywhere.” 

She ran an arm over her forehead, again, wiping the dust and soreness from all day’s work. “All right, I could use a rest.” 

“That’s my girl. Can I make you a drink?” 

“No, I have one, thanks.” She picked up her usual drink and had a sip. 

I was by the bookcase. “You find any literary treasures,” I said, rather facetiously. 

“No, but I did find some of George’s books. Bet you he didn’t know I still had those?” 

I could see the wicked smile on her lips. “Wait till he sees—” 

She giggled, and led me to the couch, but by then I was feeling very horny as I lay there with my hard-on pulsing in my pants, not making any attempt to disguise it. 

She blushed. “I know who’s hot here,” she said, reaching for my throbbing lump. 

 Her fingers were ecstatic, holding me tenderly but firmly, knowing their way in clutching and caressing. It was just what I was waiting for. Very quickly the release of my penis from my jeans and in her mouth was divine bliss, with feelings of pleasure and peace sweeping all over me as she swallowed me whole. My eyes were closed in expectancy of eruption and explosion. 

A voice came out of nowhere. “Dee Dee, doing your own tenant, tsk, tsk?” 

I opened my eyes. It was George, shaking his head back and forth. I saw Freckles running back under the couch. 

“Isn’t that a new one?” he said. “You’re not supposed to date your tenants, Dee Dee.” 

She had spat my cock out as it dwindled into weakness and softness. Incredible! It had been hard just moments earlier. 

But Dee Dee was mad. “What do you mean by interrupting us?” she shouted, wiping her mouth and getting up from her knees, “And in my own house?” 

George just shrugged. “Door was open, so I came in. And what do I find?” 

Dee Dee stood there and was glaring at George. “Yes, what?” she fumed. “You tell me! What did you find?” 

George had a smirk on his face. 

“Answer me!” Dee Dee shouted. “What did you find?” 

George sneered again. “You sucking cock—and a very limp one at that, I might add.” 

I blushed, and pushed myself up from the couch, struggling to put myself back in my pants. 

Dee Dee ordered, “No, leave it out.” 

I looked from Dee Dee to George and felt very weird, as if I was on display and being shown off to them, my potential customers. I felt my penis slowly beginning to pulse and rise as they watched me, and it didn’t take long for me to get hard and stiff again. 

“George,” said Dee Dee, with a smirk on her face. “You like?” 

George coughed and turned away. “I like them young. He’s a little too old, if you ask me.” 

Dee Dee laughed. “But no one’s asking you, you old fart!” Dee Dee took a seat on the couch next to me, putting her arm around my shoulder. “Just because he’s a little older, doesn’t mean you wouldn’t suck him. Is that right, George? Just think of his cock, yum yum—” She licked her lips. 

George huffed. “Don’t be a moron.” 

“But you’d do him, wouldn’t you?” 

Her fingers were around my penis, slowly pulling the skin up and down. I didn’t care. I leaned back on the couch as she jerked me off, it was beautiful…and in a moment, I felt that onrushing spasm tear through my belly, drowning my entire being and existence in a swoon of pleasure, as a spurt of my ejaculating jism shot out and sprinkled onto my chest and Dee Dee’s fingers. A luscious leer was on her face and she raised her hand and began to lick the driblets off. 

George stood there, open-mouthed, his eyes hungry and dreamy. He coughed again. “Yes, well, if you two don’t need me, I’ll take off.” 

“No, Georgie Porgie,” Dee Dee said. “You just got here. Don’t go, we need you—” She looked at me. “Don’t we?” 

“Please stay,” I softly said. “We’ll let you be in charge.” 

He stood looking at my image, thinking, imaging, picturing me in many poses, or so I thought. 

“You’ll do as I say?” 

I looked at Dee Dee as she again began softly stroking my penis. “Georgie Porgie likes to be in charge, don’t you?” 

Of course my penis wasn’t getting as stiff the second time around, since I had just cum, but the thrill and fascination of what was going on had me ceding myself as if in offering my body to be played with, felt, touched, stimulated. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I didn’t care. 

 George coughed again, as if hesitant, uncertain, but stood there looking at me. “Well, Dee Dee knows what I like—” he said, turning to look at Dee Dee, and for all his hesitancy there was a smugness and assuredness, a devil-may-care attitude of knowing that eventually he would get what he wanted. “Don’t you, Dee Dee?” 

She blushed, embarrassed, but nodded. “Nothing I can do about Georgie Porgie,” she said as if to herself. 

It was weird, but in all this exchange of words between them, Dee Dee kept her hand on my penis and was slowly jerking me off as if it was a natural thing to do. The weirdness, the strangeness, the unnaturalness of it all seemed to have excited me more than it could have been. I shut my eyes and felt that onrush of excitement, though much weaker, tear through my groin and body and rush out in a spurt of delirium and abandon. I swooned, still held by Dee Dee, when all of a sudden she got very protective and defensive. 

“No, I think,” she said, shaking her head, “this time, no,” as my semen was cascading down her fingers. “No! This one’s mine, probably the last one I’ll ever have, but no, no sirree!” She licked her sticky fingers and smiled shyly at me. 

I squirmed from my second ejaculation, having melted from its overpowering force. 

George stood there, looking hungrily at me, and then shrugged. “I never wanted him anyway.” He sighed. “Much too old.” 

Dee Dee laughed. “How old was the last one? Ten, eleven? Oh wait, that’s right, you prefer them without pubic hairs, isn’t that right, Georgie Porgie? Seven, eight?” 

I could see George was getting very mad. “No use my staying here. I can see you only mean to insult me.” 

I had eased myself off from Dee Dee, pulling my penis back in my pants. 

“Wait,” said Dee Dee, jumping up and going to the bookcase. She picked a small paperback volume and held it out to him. “Remember this?” 

George’s eyes opened wide, and for the first time, I saw him blush. 

“Where did you get this?” he asked, tenderly holding the book and looking very dreamily at it. He sat down in a corner chair. 

“You thought I forgot, eh?” 

George moved in his seat and flipped through the pages of the book. I could make out the cover…Mister Sister, by Stanislaw Mell. It showed a middle-aged man holding his arm around the shoulder of a teenage boy as he sat looking out the window of a train they were riding in. I wondered if they were coming or going. And in a way, the cover brought back memories of me with Randy—innocent, playful, virginal, who knew little of the world, but at least he was learning about his body and his desires to be what he was destined to be…a girly man with a somewhat sissy older man…that is me…until his sister and her rough boys stepped in and put an end to our relationship. 

We were quiet, George leafing through the book, Dee Dee contentedly sipping her drink and I, lost in my thoughts of…Randy. 

It had been a year since I last saw Randy. I’d been beaten, left for dead, and had my ramshackle place torched as they stood around, laughing and cursing. I felt bad about leaving Randy like that, but what else could I do? Nothing, that’s for sure. 

I easily found another condemned place where I could heal and in a few weeks, started hitchhiking to New York City. And getting through Pennsylvania was the worst. Couldn’t get a ride there at all, spent almost a week hitching, standing, waiting, and eating the cast-asides of unfinished food that others threw away in the diner parking lots…until I met Tuby, who picked me up somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania and right away we knew each other, and man, could Tuby cum! 

He had to stop his car as I bent down and proceeded to suck him off, maybe ten times, if not more, and each time was a flood of cum in my mouth that I thought would never abate or ease off. In New Jersey, I bent down to suck him off for the last time when I saw his wallet peeking out of his back pocket lowered to his ankles. With his cock in my mouth, I surreptitiously eased the Dee Dee Day 77 wallet out, but left it under his seat. When of course, he pulled into the first gas station to use the restroom, I instantly grabbed the wallet and was out of there as fast as I could. 

Holy shit! Close to four hundred dollars were in that wallet! I sneaked around the streets and easily found a bus going across the river to New York City. But I didn’t give a shit about Tuby. I considered that this was payment for the times I had to suck him off. 

And New York was just as Chicago was, condemned houses everywhere you turned and it was a matter of time before I found me a place to rest and sleep and figure out what I was going to do next. But four hundred dollars! Unbelievable…and with the four hundred dollars, I’d soon be looking for a place to call my home.  That’s what brought me into Dee Dee’s arms…and her bed. 

I looked at them and sighed. 

Dee Dee spoke up. “Aww, do we bore you, hun?” 

“Not at all,” I said, coming to. “This reminds me of a family, sitting here and doing their own things. I never had that before.” 

Dee Dee reached her arm across a tabletop. “Poor baby,” she said. “Come to mama.” She cooed and her face looked incredibly hungry and sexy…once again there was sex in the air. 

George straightened up to look at us. “You mind if I take this,” he asked Dee Dee. “I forgot that you even had it.” 

Dee Dee rocked her leg, sipped her drink and said. “How much are you willing to pay?” 

“Pay? Pay for what? It’s an old paperback, that’s all.” 

“Yes, that it is, but you were very engrossed in it, weren’t you?” 

He looked at her and shrugged. “Brought back memories…that’s all.” 

“So…how much?” 

George fumed. “I’m not paying for this old garbage,” he said, tossing the book down on the table and standing up. 

Dee Dee was right beside him. “Please be careful how you treat the merchandise,” she chastised, picking up his book and putting it back in the bookcase. “Books cost money, you know.” 

George snorted. “Ha! You’re crazy if you think I’ll dish out money for that crap. Looks like you were going to throw it out with the garbage, anyway.” 

“Five dollars for you—no, make it ten dollars. Business is business.” She shut the bookcase door with a slam. 

“Ten dollars? Gimme a break! I wouldn’t pay a single cent for that trash,” he fumed. 

“Then how much?” she asked. “Give me a price…” 

George bit his lip, nervously looking at her. 

I saw him glancing at me. “Alright, two dollars,” he quietly said. 

Dee Dee frowned. 

“Three dollars, tops, and that’s my highest bid. Three dollars.” 

“Sold!” Dee Dee exclaimed, opening up the bookcase and reaching for the book. 

A wave of relief swept through George as he clutched and held on to the book as if he was holding something very dear and precious. 

I looked at Dee Dee. Once again, there was a contented smile about her lips as she reached for her drink. George once again flipped through the pages. “Three dollars, mister,” said Dee Dee. 

“What?” said George, “I’ll pay you later, okay? I only have five’s and ten’s.” 

She snatched the book out of his fingers. “You come up with the money, you’ll have your book.” And again she slammed the bookcase door shut. 

“But, Dee Dee, you know I’m good for it,” he feebly protested. “I’m not going to run away without paying.” 

“Three dollars,” she simply said, “and the book is yours.” I could see George was angry, but more than that, he was ashamed and humiliated by the show he had been forced to put on…and in front of me. I also didn’t feel right about it. The quibbling about money was just that, useless quibbles, nothing more, nothing less. 

George and Dee Dee stood a moment, eyeing each other, just like a buyer-seller in pawnshops, when George reached behind him, brought out his wallet and pulled out a five-dollar bill. 

“I’m sure you have change for this?” he said, holding out the bill. 

Dee Dee instantly said, “No, I don’t.” She stood, going to the bookcase. “Anyway the price just went up. It’s five dollars now.” She pulled out the book, flipped through the pages, baiting George. 

He sighed, but handed her a five-dollar bill. Dee Dee smiled and in turn, offered him the book. It looked like both of them were relieved, each getting what the other wanted. Without saying goodbye, George quietly left the apartment like an old dog with his tail between the legs, but with his cherished paperback. 

Dee Dee broke out in laugher. “What an asshole! A total jerk…” She finished her drink and went to make another one. “I think I had enough excitement for the night, but I like playing and toying with him because he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else. But he’s not. He has his head in the air and looking down on everybody else. A real jerk, if you ask me. But I still love him, Dee Dee Day 81 don’t get me wrong.” 

“I kind of like the old fellow, too, reminds me of a man I knew back home.” I turned red again. Dee Dee saw me and sat down beside me. 

“Tell me about him. Share your life. I know so little about you.” 

“Well, there’s nothing really there. I work, I come here, and that’s about it.” 

Dee Dee shook her head. “Tell me about the man that reminds you of George.” 

I swallowed and looked at Freckles poking his head from beneath the couch, but he didn’t come out. “When I was a kid, seventeen years old, almost eighteen. I was at the park by Lake Michigan one day and I saw this guy who had been following me.” 

Dee Dee got up and was making herself a third drink. 

“Well, I thought he was a cop. He sure looked like one—it wasn’t as if I did something wrong, but it seemed the cops were always there, looking if you were up to no good. Anyway, I was on my way to the Ferris wheel. I had no money and never got a dime from the home I was in. Just got it from wherever I could, you know. But the Ferris wheel was a nice place to hang out.” 

“Aww, poor baby,” Dee Dee said, snuggling besides me. “Go on.” 

“Well, it was also nice to get someone’s attention. Every old guy I ever met suspected I was a little thief and this man had to stop me before I did something wrong. When people think that of you, pretty soon you start thinking it, too. Well, Mr. Royal—that was his name, but I don’t think that was his real one--wasn’t like that at all.” 

“Yes, must be rough for a young kid,” said Dee Dee. 

I shrugged. “It wasn’t bad, I guess. Just don’t get in trouble. That’s what it’s like getting caught by the authorities.” 

She bit her lower lip and asked, “And you did…get busted by the cops?” 

“No, no, not cops. They were mostly truant officers. They had me pegged as a bad seed for some reason.” I laughed. “So I had to fulfill their view of me and cut class every chance I got.” 

She chuckled, too. “So what happened to Mr.…Crown is it?” 

“Mr. Royal,” I corrected her, “but he sure acted like he had a crown on his head.” 

“In what way?” 

I turned red again. “I liked him, and I think he liked me…well, kind of.” 

She put her arm around my shoulder and kissed the side of my face. “So the truant officer was nice, I gather?” 

“Uh-huh, and he seemed to have a lot of time to meet me very often.” 

She sipped her drink. “And what happened that first time?” 

“Well, we sat and looked at the Lake and chatted. Mr. Royal even gave me a cigarette to smoke and he didn’t care who saw me smoking with him. I felt very adult-like. Then when no one was around, he touched me on my leg and kept his hand there, pulsing, squeezing, holding me a little more tightly each time he drew up my leg…and pretty soon he had reached what he been straining for, my hard stiff dick in my pants." 

“And that never happened before?” 

I shook my head. “He was the first adult who treated me like I was an adult, too! Well, by the time his hand reached my crotch, I was incredibly hard and eager for what was going to come of that. I began to touch him, too. His hand was searching out my cock as I did the same to him. I came and was surprised, but embarrassed, too, that it was in my pants. I wanted to run away, even told him, See ‘ya, but he stopped me. Come with me, he hissed. And that fear that he really was a cop made me freeze and follow him wherever he wanted to take me. He had a room in the Old Bavarian Gardens Hotel, a dump that was falling apart before they even condemned it and tore the place down. Surprisingly, for some reason, he stripped and he was cleanly shaved in his crotch and ass, like a little boy. I wasn’t and thought that was fascinating, very hypnotic, to see a man hairless. Truly magical. When all of a sudden he began to take his shaving implements out.” 

Dee Dee looked at me sadly. “Come here, baby.” We kissed and she searched out my cock and tenderly held it in her fingers. 

I continued my saga. “Again I was thinking that this must be some cop routine, of stripping naked, then shaving my pubic hairs. Weird, I suspected, but I felt too peaceful and eager of what was going to come next. He had me cleanly shaved and lying in bed with him. Even though I thought he was a cop and I’d better watch what I did, I couldn’t help but like Mr. Royal, I took his penis in my mouth and didn’t feel any qualms about it. Sucking him was the most natural thing to do, and I did it. Of course with his cleanly shaved penis and mine, it didn’t feel like I was doing something negative or wrong. Sucking his cock was just like shaking hands with him…a natural thing to do…which I did, over and over for weeks and weeks. Even turned eighteen one week, so I was okay.” 

Dee Dee looked at me, then stooped down and put her mouth around my stiff and eager cock. Her sucking and pulsing was very welcome. She made me feel very sexual, but eager and ready with her. And her sucking made memories of Mr. Royal dwindle down and never before had I felt like that, as if I was accepted and desired, as I desired and was at peace with her also. 

It was a welcome and releasing, cumming, even though I had already cum earlier, the tension and explosion was like I was doing it for the first time, the gripping of my scrotum, holding my shoulders, clenching my face and erupting in my brain…oh God, ahhh. She let go of my penis as it spat out more jism on her face, shooting on her forehead, leaking past her eyes and nose to her mouth, adding its goo-like stickiness to the cum already smeared on her face. She is beautiful! I pulled her up to my face and kissed her, tasting myself on her pores, something which I’ve seldom experienced. I’d pretty much swallowed myself as my lips went over her face and licked her totally dry. She tasted like manna from heaven that I had been searching and questing for all my life. She is the one! And with my scum all over her face. 

She settled herself contently on the couch, with my arm around her shoulder, and surprisingly didn’t reach for her drink. “Please tell me what happened next.” 

I kissed the side of Dee Dee’s cheek and continued. “Well, I visited him every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday. Tuesday and Thursday after school and Sunday pretty much all day. For a while I kept suspecting he was a cop and when I mentioned my suspicions to him, the next time we met, he showed me his police badge. Little did I know you can buy those things in pawn shops around Chicago, but I was impressed with it and had him tell me stories about the hoodlums he’d catch in his undercover work.” I looked sadly at Dee Dee. “You know I still like him, even though it’s been many years since I’ve seen him.” 

Dee Dee kissed me. “Poor baby. You had to go through with it…you know that, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Yes, I know that now, but I didn’t at the time.” I went on with my story. “It was a rainy Saturday, when Mr. Royal was doing his police business, or so he said, and I was jumpy and eager for him to touch and hold me and couldn’t wait for next Sunday, which was the next day. Suddenly, in the rainy, drizzly street, I saw him, walking confidently and holding an umbrella over a young boy who was walking beside him. Mr. Royal said something and I saw the boy blush as they entered the Old Bavarian Gardens. I didn’t know what to do. Was the kid a cop also? But he was even younger than I was…or was he just another kid that Mr. Royal was using, sexually?” 

“What did you do?” asked Dee Dee. 

“The guy at the hotel knew me from seeing me so many times that he just nodded as I went upstairs. I was nervous, but it was six months or so that I had been visiting Mr. Royal and I just had to know who the kid was. Well, I knocked on his door. At first, there was no answer, so I knocked again, and a little louder. I heard someone shuffle across the room. Who is there? I heard Mr. Royal ask. Benny, I told him, using the fake name like he instructed me to do. Benny, your friend, can I come in? It’s important, I said, ready to make up a story. No, he said, through the door. Come back tomorrow, like you were instructed to do. Now, go away!” 

“What a bastard!” said Dee Dee. 

“I suppose, but I stood there, very saddened and confused. I had heard of couples breaking-up, of cheating, but never thought it would be like that, like I was being discarded and another was already there to step into my shoes.” I sadly smiled. “Hell, my shoes were still tied on my feet, but another was walking in them.” 

Dee Dee put my head on her shoulder and gently patted it. “Some people are creeps, and those we have to meet very early, hun.” 

“Oh, I know,” I said. “But even now it still hurts.” I went on. “I don’t know how long I stood, five minutes, an hour, two, but it’s like I was frozen in time, like a phantom, a ghost, a specter out of time or place, not knowing what or why I was there. Knowing he was with another took away my own existence and I would never be whole again…but maybe I wasn’t whole to begin with? Sexually, by using me, he had given me existence, the right to live, and in a flash, I no longer had that. I was like a hard dick…but now uselessly soft.” 

Dee Dee winced and said, “Gee, you sound like you were lost and confused.” 

“Oh, I was,” I answered. “Not lost, but thrown away, discarded like the trash, and all I could do was stand there and cry, which I did in the grubby old hallway. A few times people passed me and saw me weeping, but I heard laughter as they disappeared down the hall. That’s when I heard Mr. Royal’s door open, and I saw him. He was very angry when he saw me, but behind him stood a little boy of fourteen or fifteen years old. And you know I hated that little boy for stealing Mr. Royal from me. I mean, where did that little brat get the nerve to do such a thing? Before I knew it, I grabbed the boy’s shirt ready to punch him in the face, but Mr. Royal stopped me. He cursed at me. What the fuck is this? How dare you? He was pissed, real mad, but so was I, at the little kid. I know what you did in there, you little faggot, you sucked his cock, didn’t you? That’s when Mr. Royal hit me, a slap really, but it surprised me. How dare you! he screamed. How dare you! But the boy didn’t know what was going on. He was frightened, and let out a wail that pretty much woke up the rest of the hotel. Doors were opened and sleepy eyed vagrants came out in all sorts of being dressed or undressed, with all sorts of partners or lovers, who the hell knows who was who in that hotel.” I stopped, looked at Dee Dee, took her drink, had a swallow and shook my head. 

“Drink, hun,” she said. “Drink more.” 

I downed her drink. 

She went to make another one and came back with two. “This will do you better. Trust me.” 

I took the drink, had a sip and giggled. “I think I’ve had enough. After all, I just finished your drink. I’d better watch it, or I’ll get drunk and make a fool of myself.” 

She looked at me and together we had a drink. “Let’s finish your story. What did you do to the little boy? You know it wasn’t his fault.” 

“Oh, I understand that now, but at the time I was projecting from Mr. Royal to the little boy, made him my worst enemy when it was Mr. Royal I hated. Anyway, it was all the people who came out of their rooms that stopped me from doing anything silly or dangerous, I simply pushed Mr. Royal’s arm off me and ran downstairs and out of that hotel. Thought I would hurt him by staying away, really show him how I felt, so I stayed away for almost six or seven months until one day I found myself unable to take my longing for Mr. Royal and instead had myself looking at a vacant lot where the Old Bavarian stood. They tore it all down. No trace of it was left, neither wall nor lamp nor an old sign that it was ever there. Another part of me was uselessly swept aside. In a way, another door had closed and for good, too.” 

Dee Dee looked at me thoughtfully. “That reminds me, George lives in a place like that, too. Broadway Central, it’s called. An old place down in the Village—It’s falling apart, too—used to rent out rooms to rich folk, but now has a hard time getting customers in and keeping them there. I heard it’s going to be condemned and torn down, too. Have to ask George. He would know.” She yawned. 

I laughed. “Someone’s getting sleepy.” 

“Aww, but I don’t want to go to bed alone.” She looked at me. 

“Good,” I said, “I hate sleeping alone, too. Think I’ll carry you to your bedroom.” And picking up a woman of her weight, barely a hundred pounds, if that, meant nothing for me. 

 We retired to her room, with her in my arms, and I shut the door. 

Chapter Four 

I awoke early and looked at Dee Dee so peacefully sleeping with Freckle’s at her feet, I gave her a soft kiss on her forehead and went out of the room. My God! George was sitting on the couch. He hadn’t been there when we retired, but he was now, with a few books around him. His head and he was tilted back and snoring feebly like an old man that he was. I shook my head. Dee Dee’s good sense of giving out her keys, but I guess he was an old, old friend. I tried to move about without making a sound, but my stirring brought him to. 

A raking cough rattled from George’s throat as he tried to sit up. He pulled out a handkerchief and coughed some more, then shook his head. “What are you doing here? Or has she started already?” 

I studied him. “I beg your pardon, but that’s none of your business.” I wasn’t going to take any crap from this old geezer, that’s for sure.

“Is she about?” he asked, struggling up from the couch. 

I shook my head. “No, she’s sleeping in her room.” 

He looked at me. “How would you know that?” he said, snorting “Unless you were just in there.” 

We looked at each other, him waking up from a half-asleep, half-awake sluggishness and me barely dressed in a tee shirt and Jockey shorts. It was obvious whose bed I had just crawled out of—Dee Dee’s. 

The poison in the air hung heavily about us, as if you could cut it with a knife and still keep on cutting as you drew closer and closer. It was as if something was draped over us and neither George nor I could get through. He hated me and I hated him, too. 

“I go where I’m wanted,” I said, “and needed, too. If not, then the hell with you and the rest.” 

We glared at each other. But I saw a change to softness, his cheeks quivering, his eyes slightly tearing. “Just don’t hurt her,” he said, very quietly. “She’s all that I have left.” He sat back down and teary-eyed, looked at me. “She’s the last one.” 

I stared at him curiously when Dee Dee opened her door. 

“What are you doing up so early?” she asked, looking from one to the other. “I wondered what the heck was going out in here. I should have known George would be here, but where else could he be? Certainly not in that dump he calls his home.” 

He angrily looked at her. “It will get better. Just takes time.” 

“Haa!” Dee Dee shot back. “Yeah, when?” She turned to me, her pink negligee hanging limply, but feverishly around her as if searching and seeking arms to hold her. 

I regretted George being in the room with us. 

“The place is falling apart, and fast, too,” she said, waving her arm dismissively. We looked at each other. “Make some coffee, hun, I could really use some.” She smiled as I looked at George and then went into the kitchen. 

I heard them talking from the other room. “Were they loud again?” Dee Dee asked. 

“This isn’t going to end,” said George. “The bar gets louder each and every day…and there are more people every night, too.” 

“Get another room,” she said. 

“I took that room because it was nice and quiet…and it was. You know I can’t walk up the stairs anymore, it takes forever, but last month, they opened this new bar in the empty room they had, and the entrance is just below my room, yet when the racket starts its Boom! Boom! Boom! All night long… Jesus! I can’t stand it anymore!”

George fell quiet. The percolator was brewing and giving off a very nice morning smell. I stood at the side of the sink, breathing in the aroma, watching it brew, as I listened to their conversation. 

“Well,” said Dee Dee, clearing her throat, “I offered you a room, but you wanted your…little boys in there, well, I wasn’t going to have that, not in my house, you know.” 

My eyes perked up at that. 

“But Dee Dee,” he said, “I was very discrete, that’s why I took the room right above the desk. It had a side entrance, and I could come and go without anyone being aware who I took with me.” 

He must have said this proudly because I imagined how smug he may have looked—smug and proud. 

I heard Dee Dee getting up. “But little boys? Who should be in school? C’mon…” 

I’d had enough. I filled two cups of coffee and carried it to them in. Dee Dee was standing by the fireplace and smiled when she saw me. “Oh, good, here’s the coffee.” She took a sip of the warm drink as I handed a cup to George, looking at him curiously. I wondered if he was cleanly shaved down there, too, as Dee Dee instructed her men be, but I shook my head, dismissing the thought. 

“Aren’t you having none?” said Dee Dee. 

I shook my head. “Guests first,” I said, looking at George. “Mine’s coming up.” Smiling, I left them to get my own cup… 

“Now isn’t that a nice boy,” said Dee Dee, “and legal, too.” 

“I suppose he is,” I heard George, “if you like them like that.” 

“Ha! And you don’t? What is he, too old for you?” 

I didn’t hear George answer anything. I picked up my filled cup and joined them in the living room. 

“George thinks,” said Dee Dee to me, “that you’re too old for him. George only likes ‘em ten years old or even younger, isn’t that right?” 

There was no answer. George kept drinking his coffee. “I wonder,” she said. “How young do you like them? Would you do it with a boy that was five years old? Or four? Three? How young does he have to be?” 

George was pissed and angrily stood up. “I’m not listening to your crap trap. Anyway, you’re talking drivel.” 

“Do you let the boys enjoy the sex?” she asked. “Or do they even know its sex?” 

“Shut up!” George bellowed. “Why do you always do that, attack me in front of others? Whenever someone’s around, you make sure and get your two cents in. I want to know why?” 

Dee Dee looked at me, rocking her leg back and forth, and sipped her coffee. “Georgie Porgie wants to know why…should we tell him?” 

George shook his head and sat back down. “As if I didn’t know,” he softly said. 

“You’re damned right you know it, you old fart,” said Dee Dee. “And I won’t let you forget it!” 

Dee Dee sat there looking very smug and contented as George seemed to shrivel up into himself. In a way, I felt sorry for the old guy, no matter what he may have done. I don’t know what it was, the father-grand-father air about him, like whenever I was in his presence, it’s as if I had been caught by an adult and had to follow him where he wanted. But now, knowing George a little bit more than I did before, I wondered about the sexual longing I had for him. Where did that come from? I blinked my eyes and sipped my coffee. 

“But George wasn’t always into little boys,” she continued. “Isn’t that right?” 

George didn’t answer her. 

“After Billy left for the Army, he went for the little school boys, now why’s that, Georgie Porgie? You seemed to have been such a great lover of men, why did you go after the young boys?” 

The air in the room was very rapacious, hanging there as if by animal whose teeth were gnawing the neck. I shook my head, finished my coffee, but was hesitant to go and refill my cup. The sun had just peeked in and the room was brightening. Morning was here, but the bitter scorn of the night still remained. 

“So, Georgie Porgie,” continued Dee Dee. “Do you have the boys dress as girls?” 

I turned a deep red just as Dee Dee turned to me. 

“That’s his favorite. Of having his boys as if they were girls, little school girls.” 

Again George jumped up and shouted, “Oh, shut up, you bitch!” 

“Tell us, Georgie,” she smirked, looking at me. “Tell us how you just adore little boys.” She winked an eye at me and said, “With something little and hard between the legs. Don’t you, Georgie Porgie?” 

“Go to hell!” yelled George and pounced out of the room. 

“He deserves to be picked on.” Dee Dee looked at me and then exploded in laughter. “That’s the bathroom, you clown!” she chuckled. “Thought you were leaving for good, eh?” Again she chuckled, but shook her head. “Shouldn’t make fun of him. No, he’s just a year older than I am.” 

I was surprised. “I thought he was much older, you’re a young lady compared to him.” 

She smiled. “Always pretended he was so much older, I guess it stuck with him.  

We heard the bathroom door open and a beaten, tired looking George came out. 

“Oh, George, you look bad,” said Dee Dee, as he staggered and made it to the couch. 

“I’m so tired. I can’t get any more sleep.” He shut his eyes. 

Me and Dee Dee didn’t say anything. We sat and listened to a ticking clock. 

Dee Dee nodded and gestured with her head. “Let’s leave him be,” she whispered, quietly taking me by the hand and leading me out of the room. “Poor baby needs his rest,” she said, as we went back to her room. 

We got back in bed and just lay there, looking at the day going by. I like Sundays in New York. It’s very peaceful and relaxing, kind of laidback, meaning you have time to eat slowly, talk slowly, take those slow walks wherever you wanted to go, and better yet, walk back slowly to where you started from. Sunday in New York meant the world can do whatever it wants and shuffle right on by, but you can’t, you were taking the time to appreciate it. 

I yawned. Dee Dee did, too. She settled in my arms. “Does he come by often,” I asked. 

Dee Dee sat up, looking at me. “Do I detect some jealousy?” 

I felt uncomfortable and blushed. I shrugged. “Just asking.” 

Dee Dee kept studying me, then wickedly smiled. “Yes, you are! I can see it right in your blushing face. You can’t fool me.” She settled back in my arms and said, “But why, hun? He’s an old man and you’re not his type at all.” 

“I don’t know,” I answered. “Guess he reminds me of someone…” Meaning Mr. Royal, I wanted to say, but she was silent so I kept quiet as well. Dee Dee dozed off with my arm around her. 

She must have awoken too early, since she fell asleep rather quickly. I lay with her over a half hour, then slowly got out of the bed. She turned on her other side and continued sleeping. I looked at Freckles still lying at the foot of the bed and stretching, then quietly went to the other room…didn’t want to wake up George…but my God, he was already up and feverishly masturbating! 

His eyes were closed as his wrinkled old dick stayed limp and futile, unresponsive to his tugging, but I guess that’s what the old have to do for enjoyment. When he opened his eyes and from somewhere far away, saw him looking at me, all the time, beating and beating… 

I awkwardly smiled at him and bit my lower lip, then turned and was about to leave when he said, “Please help me, I can’t get it hard anymore.” 

The look in his eyes was pleading, begging, asking for comfort and release from the tension that had been holding and clutching him for so long. 

I looked around and though it was early afternoon, the shading in the room made it seem as if it was on-coming evening, very comfortable and enticing. My mouth hung open and I approached the couch, taking a seat beside him and feeling the strange sensation of holding the limp, but feverish muscle in the palm of my hand. I stroked it, up and down, up and down, slowly, but not too fast, just keeping the tense muscle alive, as if giving it the life that it needed. And I felt something tingle in my hand, a tension, a buildup of it growing much larger and firmer than it had been…it was getting stiff and hard as it pulsed upward in my hand. 

“Such a nice boy,” he whispered softly. “Kiss daddy,” he said. 

I licked my mouth and bent down. Shutting my eyes, I engulfed the growing muscle in my mouth. There’s something about having your eyes shut when you suck another’s cock. It’s like a surprise that you expect when the other cums and explodes in your mouth, a flooding, a drowning that tears into your entire being. It’s almost as good as cumming yourself. As a matter of fact, I look forward to that moment of surprise. It’s as if you don’t know what’s coming when you hopefully do, a mouthful of explosive ecstasy, of divine bliss…oh God, there it is again! 

When next I opened my eyes again, feeling peaceful, satisfied, serene, and George’s scum pouring out of my lips, there stood Dee Dee, looking very sad, but expecting this from the inevitable unfairness of life. George’s cock plopped out of my mouth. Dee Dee turned and went back to her room. 

“You bastard!” I cursed at George, wiping my mouth and gurgling his scum between my lips. “You knew she was here, why did you make me suck your cock?” 

“Make you?” George said. “I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do, young man. And furthermore, you enjoyed it.” George was reinserting himself in his pants, looking very pleased and content with himself. 

But I suppose when your old age has taken your ability from you, you must get depressed at times, but to have that spark again, that lust, desire and satisfaction that renews you into being alive again. 

“Don’t mind her,” he said. “Boys will be boys even if they pretend they’re girls.” An ugly smile and leer spread over his face. 

I hated him, but strangely, he looked ten years younger than he did just maybe a half hour ago. “I hate you!” I said, but he just shrugged and put on his overcoat.

“Many do. But many love me, too.” He walked out the front door, very proudly, very smugly, very conceited. 

I approached Dee Dee’s door and stood there with bowed head. Man, what an asshole I turned out to be. The door was locked. I bit my lip and softly called, “Dee Dee, please let me explain.” 

Almost instantly she spat out, “You have a room? Go to it!” And there was silence. I stood for moment, then turned to my empty, desolate room upstairs. 

Chapter Five 

The following days came and went, one after the other, on and on. I went to work, came back home and the next day repeated my dull routine until I felt very stupid. Dee Dee and I were like two ghosts passing in the night. We were aware of the other’s presence, but did nothing to attempt contact or reconcile. But we were more than just ghosts…we were two specters fated to meet, pass each other in the hall and relive our shadowy stagnant existence. 

One chilly day when I had almost gotten home and stood on the corner waiting for the light to change, I saw Dee Dee mounting the stairs and going home, too. I was surprised. I had never seen her outdoors…and this after a year or so of living and renting a room in her house. 

I hurried across the street and got into the building just as she was opening the front door. The silence was immense between us. 

“George is dead,” she said, “I just ID’d the body. Was badly burnt—” 

“My God!” I said. “What happened?” 

She opened the door and I followed her in. “His home was the Broadway Central.” 

“You mean that place that just burned down in the Village?” 

She nodded. “Had been there many years, he was an old timer.” She smirked. “Used to attract boys to the place…I don’t know how or why they let him get away with it.” 

“So the body was his?” 

She shrugged. “Who knows? It was just a burned out corpse…a blob really. When they found it, he was holding a little boy’s body tightly to him.” She sniffled. “It wasn’t the fire that killed them both. Smoke got them earlier.” 

I shook my head. Dee Dee had gone and fixed a drink. I gladly took it when she gave it to me. “Wow, how horrible! To go in a fire. I never want to go like that.” I readily downed the gin and tonic and shook the ice in the glass, but declined another drink. 

“It’s the smoke that’ll get you,” she said, shrugging. “Fire will come later and burn you out.” 

We looked at each other and she bit her lip. Did I take something precious from her or did she take it from me? In either case, it was over. 

I stood. “Think I’ll go upstairs.” 

“Yes, you do that,” she said, but did not get up as she sipped her drink. 

I stood in the doorway looking at her. “Listen, Dee Dee.” I came back and fell to my knees. “I’m very sorry for what happened.” 

She finished her drink and looked at me. “People die. Some in fires, some on the highway. No big thing.” She shrugged and stood, walking away from me. 

 I slowly stood back up. “I’m not talking about that. But what came between us, namely George.” 

She stared at me, made herself another drink. 

I noted she poured more gin than tonic and sat back down. 

“George didn’t come between us,” she said, twirling her ice. “You were down on your knees and sucking his hard cock, which it hasn’t been for awhile.” She looked at me over her drink. “How did you get him hard? Must have an erotic sucking mouth, no? That makes you a very good cocksucker. You must have a waiting list a few blocks long.” 

“Stop it, Dee Dee. You drink too much. Way too much.” 

“You bastard!” she said, jumping out of her chair. “How dare you speak to me like that? When you took me to bed with you, you made damn sure I was drunk, didn’t you?” 

I facetiously laughed. “I suppose you can call it rape, so why don’t you? You were molested, too, by a big horny dick that was looking for a victim to rape and abuse.” 

She slammed her glass down, the ice hitting the sides, but not jumping out. “Get out of my house!” she screamed. 

“Gladly! You bet I will!” I shouted back at her. 

She held the door open as I marched out, slamming it shut behind me. “Fucking bastard!” Her footsteps pounded and disappeared across her floor.

“Bitch!” I answered back, marching up the stairs to my room, but I stopped halfway on the stairs. I felt bad and sadness fell upon me. What am I doing? Throwing a beautiful relationship away, and for what? I headed back down and gently knocked on her door. “Dee Dee, it’s me. Can you open, let’s talk?” 

There was silence. From somewhere, a clock was ticking. I knocked again. “Dee Dee, open the door!” 

The lock on her door clicked and turned open. 

 “Oh, Dee Dee. I’m so sorry. I was a fool.” I expected to fall into her arms, but she stood at the doorway, holding the door, as if blocking my way in. 

“Yes,” she said. “Did you forget something?” 

“Oh, Dee Dee,” I said again. “We can put that thing behind us. Life is too short and wonderful to just let it drift away.” I looked at her, but there was no response. She just stood staring at me, out of touch, out of feeling. I repeated, with my head bowed down and ready to cry, “Dee Dee— please—” 

She quietly shut the door. 

I think I died at that moment. My life was meaningless and futile. I staggered up the stairs and fell on my bed. I lay there most of the night, weeping, cursing, mumbling obscenities at myself…and at her. In the morning, unshaven and uncaring, I staggered down the stairs and stood at Dee Dee’s door. 

Should I knock and try again? After a night has gone by that I’m sure she must have thought things over. I knocked, gently at first, then increased my rapping, louder, firmer. The door was opened. A blond boy in his twenties without a shirt, in tight blue jeans, opened it and looked at me up and down, with a look that disapproved of my tired lack of sleep and my unshaved chin. I hated him instantly. 

“Yes?” he said, looking gruffly at me. 

“Dee Dee, please,” I answered. 

He turned back to the room, as if getting a message from someone, then turned back to me. “She’s still sleeping. Come back later.” He tried closing the door. 

I blocked it with my foot. “I have to see her! Tell her, her neighbor from upstairs is here. She’ll come to me.” I imagined he must have read my expression, worried and uncertain, because he looked behind him again, and a moment or two later, stepped out of the door…and there sat Dee Dee on the couch. I rushed into the room. Dee Dee was like him, half-undressed and just in a skimpy negligee with a frilliness that should have been worn in the darkness instead of the early morning. 

“Yes?” she said. 

I knew she was drunk and the smirking guy was tipsy, too. I turned back to him, the top button of his pants was undone and his muscular chest looked very appetizing indeed. He must have seen my desire because he smirked and nodded downward at the bulky mold pulsing from his crotch…at least that was what my gaze went to. I blushed and turned back to Dee Dee. “Dee Dee, I’m here for you,” I said. “I’ll do anything, and I mean anything. You know I will.” Again I glanced at the blue-jeaned boy. I was certain the bulge in his pants had grown wider and bulkier. 

 “Oh, yes,” said Dee Dee. “Today’s the first, isn’t it? Your rent is due. You can leave it under my door.” She looked at me, very malicious and dismissive, as if I was intruding on her time with such a flip reason for it. But there was nothing in her eyes, just a superior landlord with a lowly Dee Dee Day 109 troublesome tenant. 

I sighed and staggered out of the room. 

Chapter Six 

As the weeks progressed, there were other men, some incredibly handsome, others soso, while still others ugly as hell. But she didn’t seem to care about their looks and I assumed all she wanted was their penises ramming into her face, her mouth, her ass. Many times I saw her as I came down the stairs, but there weren’t any other words between us. I just continued working at Scribner’s Bookstore yet the enthusiasm and eagerness I once had for the place was slowly dwindling away. 

Customers now had to ask for help where before I was always ready to serve them. My supervisor even mentioned my surly manner. 

“Is something wrong?” she asked one day, obviously fed up with my manner. “You’re not polite or courteous anymore.” 

I looked at her, wanting to say Go to hell! Instead, I removed my store nametag from my shirt and walked out on a sunny day. I don’t know what my supervisor thought I was doing, but I was gone. 

The day was bright, cheerful and playful, spring was in the air, but it didn’t feel playful to me at all. I walked down 5th, making my way to the Village and my now shabby one room apartment. But what am I doing? It wasn’t going to be easy finding another job, but I didn’t care. Me and Dee Dee had to get it out. Why am I letting my life go to waste? 

I turned the corner and instantly fear gripped me. A ripping tearing slashed though my soul, and immediately thought of Dee Dee. Two police cars were in front of my building. As I approached, a policeman came out and was going down the stairs. He stopped me.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said, as he continued down. “Building’s closed.” 

“But I live here. What happened?” He looked at me, as if reading and assessing my identity, then said, “You’ll just have to wait awhile. Go to the bagel coffee shop on the corner,” he said, shooing me out of his way. 

I went to the corner and paced a bit. An ambulance rolled up and parked outside. Two medics got out, one carrying a large medical bag, and also started up the stairs, disappearing into the building. I stood some distance from the stairs. All I could do was think of was Dee Dee. What did she do now? And who did she have up at her place? Must have been a rough night for her. I shook my head. 

 Again, the front door opened when I saw the two medics coming out of the building. I scurried to them. “Is everything okay? I live here.” 

They looked at each other, then one said, “Everything’s okay for us. They just got to wait for the City to come by.” He had stashed his large suitcase back in the ambulance and was getting in his seat. 

“Wait for what?” I said, looking quizzical. 

The other ambulance attendant spoke up, “To claim the body. The…big lady now belongs to the City.” 

They looked at each other again, then exploded into laughter and drove off. 

But whose body are they laughing about? I sadly knew… There was no one around. The cops were inside. I took a chance, climbed the stairs and entered the building, my building, where I had lived and loved this past year. 

Dee Dee’s door was opened and loud voices were coming from within. I stopped, very downcast, and took a step in her doorway. Three cops looked at me. One said, approaching the doorway, “Place is closed. Police business.” He made an attempt to shut the door. 

“Where’s Dee Dee?” I said, blocking the door from shutting on me. “I’m her boyfriend,” I blurted out. “Where is she?” 

The officer’s hold on the door abated, but he stood in the doorway, preventing me from entering. 

“Ain’t you a bit young,” he said, looking me up and down, “for her?” He turned and grinned at the other cops. “Hey, O’Reilly,” he called into the apartment, “one of your…fruits is here!” And again he looked me up and down. 

I turned red, more from anger and rage that I couldn’t do anything about it, than from shame at what they identified me as, a homosexual fruit, which I certainly was. 

A cop approached, whom I assumed was O’Reilly, frowning and looking a bit mad at the smirking cop, who I guessed had gone a bit out of line in saying what he just did. Those were the early years when police words had to be curtailed and made more civil and less derogatory, less inflammatory and less likely to provoke a fight that the civilian would certainly lose out on anyway. Even though this was a few years after the Stonewall riots, many years still had to be boiled over. 

“Can I ask who you are?” said O’Reilly. He was a well-fit officer, more in shape and disciplined than the others were, even his necktie draping down his chest was crisp and hung in stiff and Mykola Dementiuk 114 ready attention. 

I turned red from awkwardness, “I…I…live… upstairs.” I cleared my throat. “Where’s Dee Dee? She owns the building.” 

“And you’re not an immediate relative?” he said. 

I saw Freckles looking at me from under the couch. “No, I’m not,” I said, but he was shaking his head. 

 “Sorry,” he was saying and leading me back out the front door. 

“But she has no one else,” I protested. “She’s all alone in the world. The only person she knew was George who died in that hotel fire some weeks ago.” 

The officers looked at each other. “Oh, yeah, The Broadway Central,” said one to the others. 

“Sure,” said another. “Four bodies were found in that fire, one old man holding a kid that was never identified. Maybe his son?” He shook his head. 

“That was George. A friend of Dee Dee’s,” I cleared my throat and silently added, “He had many young boys, that was just one.” 

O’Reilly cleared his throat. “Yes, well…” 

“Oh, Tommy…” one spoke up to O’Reilly. “Give the kid a break. Let him see what the old timer was playing with.” Chuckles broke out from all three as Tommy O’Reilly turned red again. 

I bit my lip and looked at the cops. O’Reilly nodded his head toward Dee Dee’s room. “Go on. Say what you have to say. And make it snappy. And don’t touch anything.” 

I looked at them, saw O’Reilly nod at me. I then headed to Dee Dee’s room. I didn’t know what to expect. But she was on the bed, wearing a garter belt and nylons with a huge penis standing erect, stiff and bold, as if she had been jerking off. It must have been two or three sizes bigger than when I last saw it, but how was it possible for an old lady to get it so big? And dead, too? I was amazed. My mouth was open and it was as if a horny teenager had taken over Dee Dee, her body, her soul and mostly, her stiff penis. What a regret I had in knowing I had never touched or played with it while it was stiff and hard…I bit my lips. 

I turned around and saw the cops looking at me. I looked back at Dee Dee and took a step nearer. Desire was tearing through me. I needed to touch her a final time. I bent down… 

“Mother fucking bastard!” 

I felt four cops rush into the room. Last I remember, a cop struck me in the face. I saw stars and felt a fist again shatter my cheekbone…then nothing. 

When I came to, I was laying on my side, my arms handcuffed behind me, my face filled with blood, my eyes straining to see about. 

“Hey, O’Reilly, the pervert queer’s awake. Good thing he’s cuffed, or else he’d be after your dick, too!” There was laughter and chuckles as I slowly sat up, not being able to wipe or soothe my face from the hurt I was feeling. O’Reilly stood before me as I looked up at him. 

“You’re pathetic,” he said, “You were going to suck his dick, weren’t you? You bastard creep! Good thing I was there to stop you.” He got of the way for the City to take over. The two City guys looked at Dee Dee, shrugged and zipped her up in a body bag with her huge erection pushing out before her. 

I started crying as they carried her out the door. 

Chapter Seven 

Back in Chicago. Glad I came back. Found Randy, after a few days in town. She was wearing makeup and dressed in a girl’s sweater going to the movies…and we’d been together ever since. He’s been skirting the issue of getting married, but of course that’s not allowed by the laws of this state. Many times, Randy gets dressed up in a wedding dress and we’d pretend we are undergoing a ceremony, and I must say, she looks incredibly sweet and beautiful that I would have given anything to be her groom…which one day I just might. 

But I came here after the sadness of New York and the mystery of Dee Dee Day. 

The cops held me for just two days, then told me to get out. No apology, no criticism, no laughter, just Get out! And my cheekbone wasn’t broken, but I got punched a few times and that took me back to the beating I received back in Chicago, more than a year ago. 

Of course I missed her funeral. She was inurned, with her ashes still unclaimed. But at home, word had gotten out what I had done, and though I had hardly seen my neighbors—just a Hello, nice to see you on the stairs as we’d pass each other—now there wasn’t even that. They’d just stare and hurry away. 

But I didn’t care. I knew I had to get out of there, and fast, too. I overheard that an attorney found an overly fat cousin of Dee Dee’s, whom she never even seen, a distant cousin. The fat cousin came to New York up from Texas and in about a week, announced that the building was up for sale. The few tenants had a tizzy over that, but in those years, there was little anyone could do about it. 

I had tried to get Dee Dee’s ashes, but to no avail. They were family property and since I wasn’t a family member, I had to stay out of her apartment. And since the fat cousin was staying in a hotel while the property was settled, the urn was left in the house where Dee Dee had lived. 

I entered when the stillness was throughout the building. It was easy to jimmy the lock open and tiptoe quietly through her rooms. It was the first time I had been in there since I left. Standing right there at the corner coffee table was the urn. I felt nervous, tense, as if I was being watched. I took a quiet step toward her ashes, my penis getting harder by the minute. 

 At the coffee table, I pulled my stiff dick out, a sort of an honor guard, and began to slowly masturbate. Whomp whomp whomp… It was delicious and peaceful, my strokes affirmative, my passion robust. In a minute, I felt the jism rushing through my body, tearing my soul to shreds, ripping my being into torrents of peace, contentment, satisfaction… Oh God, I have never cum like this! 

I fell on my knees before the urn, my eyes tearing, but my soul content…and saw a slim Freckles looking at me. I knew he hadn’t eaten in days. He disappeared in the shadows of the dark apartment. 

I knelt there maybe five minutes, ten minutes, heard the building front door open and close, footsteps shuffle about and go upstairs. What could I do about the Freckles? Nothing. 

I listened to the quiet noises of Dee Dee’s rooms. And even heard a clock ticking. Tic tock…tic tock… 

I stood, clutched the urn, than saw the two books Dee Dee had favored so much, I Am a Woman by Ann Bannon and The Why Not by Victor Banis. They were right on top of the bookcase as if momentarily set aside. 

I smiled, put the two books in my pocket and left the door open for Freckles to find a new home, then took Dee Dee’s urn…and disappeared into the night. I finally possessed what I so wanted and desired, Dee Dee Day…the lady and her books were mine.

**** 

About the Author Mykola Dementiuk was born in 1949 of Ukrainian parents in a West German DP camp, immigrating to America when he was two. After Catholic grade school & public high school in New York City, he graduated from Columbia University in 1984. A writer with varied employment, from gyro seller at Lollapalooza to roustabout at the Big Apple Circus, Mykola helped create the magic of Cirque du Soleil performances of “Alegria” in Santa Monica, Chicago, Washington DC, Boston, and New York with his electrical work. After suffering a massive debilitating stroke in 1997, Mykola eventually returned to writing, using one finger to execute the fantasies and psychological stories of his mind. Mykola’s writing has appeared in various issues of magazines. He has other books and checking Amazon will direct readers to those. Mykola Dementiuk may be reached at: mydem@comcast.net