Tuesday, July 13, 2010

I'm Going Straight . . .To Trannytown!

I’m a straight shooter. I’m talking pure heterosexuality here. But sexual identity isn’t as black and white as some think. On a chart where one is perfectly hetero and ten is perfectly gay I’d say I’m a solid three. Everyone has their creepy little sexual taboos that they’re into even though sometimes they try to hide it even from themselves. In the spirit of withholding nothing I thought I’d divulge some of my sexual fetishes.

Now at first glance they may seem strange but trust me if I sat down and analyzed your fantasies I’d find some weird stuff locked away in the dark recesses of your imagination. Don’t worry we’re just humans. See that’s just it: I don’t worry about it! I worry about a million other things but not this. I’m entirely at ease with who I am as a sexual person--bizarre sexual fantasies included. Hang-ups are for telephones man. I wish I was gay. I would have come out of the closet when I was a toddler. Could have hosted a preschool Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

I’m too goddamn honest, I wouldn’t be able to hide such an integral part of who I am unless I grew up somewhere like Uganda where my head could get lopped off for admiring another mans pectorals wishing they were mine and dreaming about all the dirty things I would do to this town with ‘em. I’m eternally baffled by gays in countries like Canada who have vast support networks and still feel inclined to stay in the closet. I know everyone has their reasons and my heart goes out to them--there must be a gnawing pain in their gut that makes them want to scream: “I LOVE COCK!” in the middle of some place entirely inappropriate like church or gym. I should start a support group for gay people stuck in the closet. A very clandestine group, like the Marines or the Seals. We’ll go around to sports bars and wait for the Leafs game to end and then we’d straight-bash the heteros with baseball bats emblazoned with slogans like Straight-Hate, or Gay Power or Fag Force One.

I detest macho behaviour. I detest small talk about the weather, I detest most humans, and I probably detest you…well not you but definitely you.
My sexuality will never be a problem for you so I’m going to pre-emptively tell you to STFU already and go suck a lemon. Stop being threatened. Look outside it’s a wonderful day, go and do something with your life.

(Note to the reader: From this point on I will refer to any and all transexuals as ‘she’ and not ’he’ just because I feel like it and it looks better in print to just pick one or the other. Biologically speaking yes a tranny is a ‘he’ but for these purposes it makes sense to use ‘she’ out of respect for the trannys because after all wouldn’t they want me to use ‘she’?)

I suppose that technically speaking I’m bi-sexual but as I stated at the beginning (remember I’m a three) there is a continuum on which to judge sexuality. I like to occasionally sniff cocaine and for those of you who do not partake in the devils dandruff it can make you do things of a sexual nature that you wouldn’t do while sober. Me? Among other things I like transsexuals. Yeah I said it, and what the fuck are you gonna do about it? Tell my mommy? I’ve jerked off to tranny porn on the internet. Ahh…I feel so much better. I just want to scream it from a mountaintop: “I”VE JERKED OFF TO TRANNY PORN!”

But I’m very particular about which trannys I like. I mean come on I don’t like just any guy in a dress with tennis ball tits. What am I a fag? Hell no! I like refined trannys; the more fem the better. Particularly I like Asian trannys because Asians it appears have the softest most womanly features of any race I‘ve come across. I swear, some of them are so fem that it’s difficult to tell if it’s a man or a woman. And just so we’re clear I definitely don’t want to do any gay stuff with a tranny. I want to think of her exactly as a girl. I’m not going to be S’ing any P or getting F’d in the B. The way I see it is I’m so straight and I love women so much that I even like men who are dressed as women. Maybe I’m really a One masquerading as a Three?
I’ve only had one encounter with a transsexual. It was five in the morning and I was high and drunk out of mind downtown Toronto (Isn‘t that how every good story starts?). Actually it was a mistake. It should have been an encounter with a female prostitute but through my drunken wandering I ended up, after walking for kilometres in what is branded as--wait for it--Trannytown. The wrong side a’ tha tracks Jack. I wasn’t looking for a tranny per se but I thought what the hell I at least have to see what I’m missing. Now you have to understand that by this point I was hell bent on making it with a prostitute (a female one) and I was so horny that I just wanted to get it on with someone, anyone. Doesn’t anyone love me? I didn’t even think anything was non female about this neighbourhood until I got closer to one of the girls. Shit I saw one that looked like Gene Simmons with shaved legs.

I went up to the first passable tranny and said hi. She was white, about twenty five, blonde blue eyes, the whole package huh guys? Take her home to meet the parents and everything.

“Take a walk with me honey. You wanna get a room?” She said in a semi-fem cigarette stained voice.

“Yeah but I don’t want to pay for a room let’s just go into this alley. I just want a blow job, no sex.” I didn’t want to go all the way with this tranny, somehow I thought that would be too gay if I fucked her. If I’m just sitting back, relaxing and getting a blowjob, how gay can that possibly be?

“You sure you don’t wanna fuck the shit out of me?”

“Ah yes I’m quite sure.”

She begrudgingly agreed with a sigh and we went into a nearby alley. The sun was coming up and it was turning into a beautiful July morning. I grabbed her tits and gave them a good squeeze--what were they made of? I was like a detective. I was about to ask her but thought it would kill what constituted as a mood. At the same time I felt a pang of guilt for the people in the house right by the alleyway. What if they look out their window? They get to see a guy whacked out of his mind on booze and drugs about to get his dick sucked by a man masquerading as a women. What a world.

She unzipped my pants and got on her knees. I was starting to get excited. At this point I had long abandoned any care that this is indeed a man--I just wanted a human being to suck the poison out of my system.

She took me into her mouth and began expertly jerking and sucking my penis. Something was up though because she kept stopping and looking around nervously. Christ another tranny whore dope fiend.

“Ya know I really think if you want to continue we have to get a room.”

Again with this fucking room. I was out of my head but had enough sense to know that going to a slime ball tranny hotel full of gender bending debauchery with two grams of cocaine tucked into my sock was a bad idea.

“I am definitely NOT going to a hotel with you!” Geez what’s a guy got to do to get his rocks off in this town? And with that she got up in a huff and started to walk away. I made some futile attempt to make her stay, an “Aww shucks come on” or a “Please baby don’t leave” but what could I do but watch her walk out of my life. Parting is such sweet sorrow. In the end I was out eighty bucks and an orgasm.


After getting that horrible quasi-gay experience out of my system I feel a need to restore my impoverished masculinity. As gay as that last story was you must know that I’m incredibly hetero when it comes to my non human species relationships. I would never in my life consider getting a male cat. Ewww…that’s disgusting! And totally gay! How could I cuddle up at night with a manly furry animal? It has a penis no less! I couldn't hug and lovingly shake a male cat. No! Cuddling and kissing are for fags and grandmas.


I have French kissed some of my male friends while extremely drunk. I really only did it for shock value--it’s not like we were all alone. We were at a bar--yes, a straight bar. It seems perfectly normal to me to engage in behaviour that is repulsive just to see what’s happening on the other side of the fence.

People say that your true intentions come out while you’re drunk but that’s not true. I've dry humped a fat old bearded man while singing Dancing In The Dark during Karaoke Friday at the Jekyll and Hyde. It was not my true intention. Anything done while drunk is excusable; shit I stuck a wine bottle up my ass sans lubrication. Though I was quite intoxicated I remember the bottle incident quite well. There was a group of us in my basement after a night of boozing at the bar. It was mostly just us guys but there was one girl there--a beautiful Iranian with pouty lips and a great ass; definitely not the niqab type. She was passed out on the couch and awoke to the drunken guffaws of our rowdy gang laughing like only you can when someone spontaneously tries to stick an empty wine bottle up their ass. She had the most distinct look of horror as she awakened from her deep drunken slumber to the sight of this skinny white guy cringing as he gets a good two and a half inches of glass up his butt.

It almost became a macho thing--like fast cars or arm wrestling. All the guys were rooting for me, egging me on. “Get MORE up there Tay! Get more up there!”

Without their support I don’t think I could have forced that last half an inch up there.

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