I walked down the corridor strewn with plaster and knocked on Callista’s door that opened into a well-organized pink room with a large bed. There was Callista, nearly nude with ‘Princess,’ a tiny white toy poodle on her lap. I started to play with the small dog, which broke the ice.
I looked up to see two yellow canaries in separate cages, singing happily as the afternoon sun poured through the window. For that moment, it might have been a typical household. But the heady aroma of “Chanel No. 5” filled the room, reminding me of the smell of a New York City women’s canasta club card party. Callista must have splashed the perfume around the room.
Callista and I talked a while before she pulled me down on the bed with our lips locked as I relieved her of her bra and panties. The little dog jumped off the bed and scampered away, disappearing under a piece of furniture.
My head moved between her small breasts, back and forth, sucking her nipples when she grabbed me by my cock and pulled me closer to her. I was like a wrestler pinning an opponent. Her position under me gave her easy access to my cock that soon was inside her open mouth. She started to blow me rapidly, I whispered,
“I want to fuck you,”
Callista stopped sucking, rolled over belly down, and lifted to all fours, spreading her long slender legs. I fitted myself behind her doggy style. Her plump little ass was a welcome target. She handed me a dab of lube, which I’d rubbed into her anus and on my cock. I was quick to slide bareback into her tight vortex.
It was as if time had stopped. Callista moaned agreeably with each gentle thrust as I fucked her slowly. Now and then, she’d say something stupid, like
“Fuck me, Poppy,”
which was what the Latina T-girls say. But she wasn’t Latina, nor was I. Finally, I could no longer contain myself. With my arms around her back, my hands squeezing each of her small pert breasts while my fingers pinched her large nipples, I came copiously, moaning and mumbling primal sounds, including,
“I love you.” which really meant, “I love fucking you.”
Unfortunately, I didn’t speak Tagalog, or I might have said something memorable, but there was no escaping that I was well pleased. We lay coupled together like two empty trains waiting to be unloaded, undisturbed on the side tracks. I was so relaxed and sexually relieved that I fell asleep. Callista had also fallen asleep, but realizing my stupor, I awoke. As I withdrew my flaccid penis, she stirred. I took her hand in mine and whispered,
“Rest my darling, rest,” hoping to make my getaway.
A few moments later, I got out of bed, put on my clothes, and left her some money on her night table. I didn’t know where the bathroom was, and I didn’t want to open the wrong door, so I retraced my steps to find my way out of the labyrinth. I wasn’t even able to wash my dick off, so I’d just pulled on my underwear, my body smelling from perfume when she matter of factly said the oddest thing which I’ve never forgotten,
“Do you want some lotion for your cock?”
Was what I needed? Callista meant well, but it seemed a strangely personal thing to say but what could be too personal after you fucked someone in the ass? Maybe it was a good idea?
No one else had ever made such a suggestion. But as the years have passed, whenever possible, I wash my cock after sex or urination and often apply a dab of lotion, thinking of her.
That was the first time we had sex. After that day, I visited her frequently in the early mornings. The house was still, but when I arrived the door was unlocked. I’d let myself in and find my way to her room, where she was sleeping. I would crawl into bed next to her, caress her until she was amenable, and then I’d fuck her, relieving myself of every anxiety.
It wasn’t easy to remain in contact. Callista’s phone was always out of service. It was some cheap burner phone sold at the 7-11 Store. Callista would forget to recharge the sim card, whatever that was, for lack of money or because of more pressing purchases.
Callista never asked for much money, compared to other T-girls I had frequented; she was a cheap lay. I say that, with respect, as she was a good lay, very satisfying, and like any good sex partner, I kept coming back for more.
With time we became friends and lovers, and without hesitation, she began to open up about her past. She talked about her ex-lover and sometimes her family. Her sister was always mad at her because the phone was out of order. I never met the sister she frequently spoke of, though not lovingly. Her father was ex-military, she rarely mentioned her Mom.
She also mentioned a black guy, ‘Slicker,’ who was just a friend. I had noticed him hanging around on more than one occasion.
“Boyfriend?” I said.
“No,” just a friend.”
I saw Slicker several times throughout my relationship with Callista, either arriving or departing, book-ending our fuck sessions. He was about my height but slighter, very dark-skinned with white sparkling teeth. He wore an oversized brown leather jacket and a blue Los Angeles Dodger baseball cap pulled down, so you never saw his eyes. Later, I found out just what the relationship was. Slicker was not her friend. He was her drug dealer.
.
She always promised me she would make other clients wear rubbers, but who really ever knows what your sex partner does when other guys are fucking her ass. You try not to think of it and. tread the path between life and death without knowing which was the high road. Such is the lure of complete sexual pleasure that can obscure the chance of contagion.
It is safe to say that the sensation of anal sex without using a condom holds no comparison to fucking while wearing a glove, albeit so much safer. I always fervently suggest using condoms until an HIV test and a monogamous relationship are established with a sex partner. If such a thing is ever possible, baring accidental condom failures, that is the safer row to hoe.
When I first met Callista, she seemed relatively passive on most topics. She was apolitical, pro-fashion, pro-sex, and she loved Filipino food. I took her frequently to a well-known Filipino restaurant. She was young, and she was fun to be with.
I liked her most the fact that she had few clients, just a wealthy boyfriend from a previous relationship, whom she had lived with for a short time and who’d shown up now and then. She said she thought she would have married him and been on easy street.
Callista said, “If he had footed the bill, I might have become a sex change and married him,”
but as I learned more about him, I wondered if he was a better candidate for the surgery than she was? In any case, same-sex marriage was not yet an option, and their romance seemed to have run its course, even with occasional fits and starts. For them, still being together seemed out of the question.