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Maxie: The Tale of the Exploding Penis

The use of the word Tranny is not meant to be disrespectful, it is used as it was in the past although not politically correct at this time.

*****

Did you ever see the old film, “The Tattooed Man” or maybe it was called” The Illustrated Man?” Was it Rod Steiger who stared in that film, I really can’t recall anything but the tattoos coming to life and foretelling the future? Anyway, long story short, my brother-in-law Maxie looked a lot like the guy in that film.

Maxie was somewhat of a celebrity in the world of “tattoo-auge,” if that’s the word? When the professional tattoo artists, I got’ta laugh but that’s what they call themselves, “artists,” would have tattoo festivals around the state and beyond at the local convention centers, Maxie would be invited and paid to go exhibit himself. He was covered with more “ink” than an old fashioned school desk, the kind that had the inkwell built it, of course I am dating myself, but when I went to school those things still did exist and some moron student was designated the ink monitor and it was his job to fill up the ink wells. I often got ink all over my fingers as well as slopping the ink all over the desk.

But I digress; Maxie was the original tattooed man. Well, maybe not the original but he was one colorful character. A few years out of high school he got this obsession for tattoos, I really never understood why. But that was his thing. He was exhibited at these Tattoo Conventions inside a makeshift cage wearing a leopard print thong that just about covered his big cock and balls that were quite grand in them selves. I was amused to hear that his most frequent request was from women, mostly housewives, who would pass him notes asking if his cock and balls were tattooed as well. Naturally they would add a phone number and the time to call when their husbands were not around. He would usually make arrangements for a private showing sometimes later that night at his motel. Obviously there was more happening in his motel room than a simple show and tell. I really don’t know if his dick was tattooed, I haven’t seen him pee since we were kids and cock peeking isn’t a thing for youngsters do. We would just whip it out, hold it in hand and spray, maybe see who could piss the furthest.

As I’ve said, I have known my brother-in-law since Junior High School and a few years after when he started dating my younger sister. Maxie and I were both in our senior year when his Pop got sick. He didn’t last too long. I was there in the hospital room on the days before his Dad died of prostate cancer and on his last day. It seemed Pop waited too long for the Doctors to do something about it. His dad, a notorious cocksman, worked most of his life as a traveling salesman for a factory that made custom bathroom shower doors. They were one of the biggest factories on the West Coast, located in Burbank where all the old airplane factories were located. They worked mostly in aluminum since it was rust free. They had converted over to a domestic industry when the Second World War was over, during the war they had made airplane window frames out of the lightweight metal for those old prop bombers, and they later developed those pop out sections in the canopies of jet planes.

Pop traveled everywhere. It is fair to say, from the stories he told us, that there was no city within 300 miles where he didn’t spill his sperm in more than one pussy. Young gals, old ones, married or divorced, if they had a pussy and even if they were seated in a wheelchair, Pop was into them like a bear climbing a honey tree or maybe more like a humming bird spreading his nectar. He loved women. He loved fucking women. He loved fucking. If he couldn’t find a woman he still made do with whatever the alternative was. Without his cock in some new paramour, he felt like a dead man. I was holding his hand in his last moments there in the hospital over on Main Street when he turned his head with difficulty, looked at me and said,

“It’s up to you young guys to fuck for me, God damn it son, I can’t even fuck no more, it’s my time to go,”

And with that remark, his spirit took leave and left him a cold white corpse right there in the hospital room, just as Johnny Carson came strutting out onto the stage on that little TV hanging from the ceiling. I have to confess I watched the monologue before alerting the family to Pop’s demise.

Even though Pop was busy fucking half the county, he still serviced his wife a few times a week. We knew this because we could hear her loud climaxes right after Pop left us while we were watching TV with a beer can in our hands. Clara, Maxie’s Mom, was so use to having sex, it was no surprise to me that she soon became a fuck cushion for any guy who approached her within weeks of Pop’s death. She was so used to being plowed that she could not live without a cock jammed up her receiver.

I think the local parish priest was the first one to “widow-fuck ankarakazan.com her” (that is the time most women are especially vulnerable). “Widow fucking” was Father Pete’s specialty. I guess in all fairness to the church, it is better to have priests “widow fucking” then molesting little kids and I must say Father Pete also did a nice job officiating at her second wedding several years later.

Once his Dad had passed on, I think Maxie saw more of his Mom’s foot soles and her naked ass with her feet up in the air, then her face. Clara was still a good-looking woman. About five-three, blond dyed hair, a big curvy ass, big 40 inch tits and a pussy that needed fucking the way a gas guzzling Hummer needed gas. All the guys in town were busy pounding her home base on the living room couch. When Maxie would get home from football practice and for the few years afterwards when he had a paper route before the Mattress Factory job, he walk in on his Mom and the guy for the day. His only comment when he opened the door and saw them going at it was, “could you guys please take it in the bedroom.” For some reason, the bedroom was still sacrosanct or maybe it was just because his Mom was such a lousy housekeeper.

If you ask me if Pop’s stories of his conquests were true or if he was just a blowhard, I can tell you he wasn’t a liar. He took Maxie and me with him a number of times and we both got sloppy seconds off his out of town girlfriends; Maxie’s Dad was the real thing. We even got chased out of some married bitch’s apartment down in San Pedro, when her longshoreman husband got home that night an hour too early. I was halfway finished fucking his sister-in-law against the front door when the bastard pushed the door open, knocked us over, came in and started shouting. Just before I began falling over, at that moment when my cock was unexpectedly yanked out of her tight cunt, my dick exploded with a cum shot that stopped him in his tracks. I don’t think he cared about me fucking his wife’s sister, but when he looked down and saw my cum dripping down his pants leg and saw Maxie and his Dad had just finished double teaming his wife, he let out a huge roar, as he ran by me he tripped over my leg and as he crashed into the wall and seemed half knocked out we took that occasion to ran like hell out the door.

When Pop was driving us back to the hotel, he asked how I felt and I said I was still horny after being so rudely disturbed in the middle of my passionate endeavor.

“That’s called coitus interruptus, that’s not supposed to happen, that’s no good, can give you blue balls, we gotta’ set that right.”

Next thing I knew Pop was driving over to the South Side of town where somehow he knew there were a group of hookers parading around under a street lamp.

“Pick any one you like, my treat,” said Pop. Maxie had fallen asleep in the back seat. He obviously wasn’t interested in the proceedings, but I certainly was. I picked out a young girl that looked a little like a famous French actress, nice tits, full lips, long legs and a short mini. Her face was nice until she started to smile.

“Buck teeth make for a good blow job,” said Pop, “open the door and let her in boys.”

Maxie woke up enough to open the back door and the whore got in filling the car with the smell of cheap perfume. I looked back and noticed her tights were ripped. She was grabbing at Maxie’s cock but he just pointed forward at me. Pop asked her if she had a room.

“No, but we can get one for $25 over on Broad Street”

“No need, this young sprout will fuck you standing up with you leaning on the car trunk.”

He pulled the car into an abandoned parking lot that she directed him too. It was pitch black except for a lone street lamp. I got out with the girl and walked behind the car. She turned around, leaned forward onto the trunk lifting her ass into the air, rolled down her tight half way and lifted her mini skirt.

“What are you doing,” I foolishly asked.

“Sweetheart, don’t you know, I’m a Tranny, and this is the way we fuck.”

At that she turned around, knelt and unbuckled my pants, my erection had shrunk in the cool air,

“I think you are going to need a starter,” she said, gave my soft cock a few hefty jerks as if it was the hand crank on a Model T, and when my dick came to life and started to blow me, then she stopped, “ewe, who have you been fucking, tastes like pussy.”

I didn’t answer.

She turned around, still holding onto my now swollen cock, with an odd expression on her face, rolled a rubber over my stiffy and leaned forward on the car trunk again as she guided my dick right into her well lubed ass hole. I have to say, it was the best fuck I’d had up to that age. Back then my sperm production was so plentiful that it was like a running faucet.

When I completed the task at hand, a little to quickly to suit both of us, I pulled out. The condom was brim filled. I turned to see Maxie and his Dad grinning at me.

“Well, you made up for the one that got away. Pussy is pussy anywhere you find it.”

By this time Maxie had worked up a full stroke hard-on watching me and the whore going at it, for a few bucks extra he got to go second.

“Boys,” said Pop, after Maxie was finished, and we were back in the car headed for a late night hamburger joint,

“Remember this, when you share the same pussy, or whatever, you are brothers forever. Don’t ever forget that!”

I guess we never did.

My brother-in-law stayed married to my sister for almost twenty years, enough to raise two daughters and then Sis started having an affair with her boss in the Real Estate office, I mean right in the office. Maxie walked in on them one afternoon when Rosie was bent over a desk, her dress over her back and the boss’ cock buried in her snatch or her ass, we never knew for sure.

So Maxie and Sis divorced and Sis is still working in the Real Estate office for Clive Benson. She say’s she’s waiting for Benson’s wife to die, fat chance of that happening any time soon. I remember Florence Benson, back when she was Florence Upchuck in high school; she was built like a fullback, but her Dad was the local real Estate Mogul and Clive fit right in to the office and into Florence’s pussy as well. If it weren’t for her Dad, I’d a bet Florence would have ended up a Nun with nothing in her puss but a candle or some old priest’s bible bookmark.

Of course, through all this upheaval, Maxie and I remained good friends, why not? I had known him since we were kids and he still tried to be a good father to my nieces. He still kept in contact, called them frequently on the phone and tried to give them advice on keeping young guy’s cocks out of their pussies. Meanwhile and to my surprise, Maxie’s health began to rapidly deteriorate. In about three years he found he could no longer keep up with the other guys in the shipping room down at the Mattress Factory, so he was fired. Enough said for the fair labor practices of our dear American Industry.

About that time Maxie, who had little to show for all his efforts, moved in with his Mom. Clara had just buried her second husband and was living in the Old Guy’s home, so Maxie was a welcomed guest. He did what he could to keep the place up. Painting and fixing the leaking plumbing as best he was able, sweeping up the leaves, shoveling snow and what need attention. He worked slowly but he meant well. He’d often drop by my place to borrow a ladder or tools, which he took forever to return, and he loved to talk about old times, especially our adventures with his Dad.

I guess my Sis was entitled to getting her sex on the sly, like most married couples the desire to fuck dries up after the first ten years and Maxie was getting lots of fresh snatch back then with his tattooed cock or whatever. I got to admit the gals in my family are a good looking bunch of women, big tits, narrow waists and long legs and they keep fucking even in their old age because they like being fucked, unlike most other woman over forty that I’ve known. But, as fate would have it, before Maxie hit fifty, the same pox that hit his dad came after him, except 15 years sooner. Talk about the “Hand of God” or more appropriately “getting the finger?”

By now the Doctor’s had somewhat of a handle on prostate cancer, as well as a cold finger, but his tumor was so fast growing that they had to remove a lot of his gumbo just to keep him alive. When they were done slicing him up, he had no chance of getting a hard on, sounds familiar?…even with Viagra? But the Docs did have one trick up their sleeves, they installed one of these high tech penis pumps inside his empty ball sack that he could pump up and that would fill the sleeve they had inserted from one end of his penis to the other, with silicon or some damn fluid and vola’, he had a boner!

My sister called it divine intervention and laughed at his “pre-dick-a-ment” as she called it, especially when he got amorous late one night when he was invited to share dinner with the kids and Maxie asked her, “For old times sake, please just let me fuck you one more time.”

“And pump you up too?” she added. She peed right down her legs laughing at him.

“You’ve fucked yourself, now live with it, you ain’t fucking this pussy no more,” and with that she lifted up her dress to show she wasn’t wearing any panties and there where her cunt used to be unshaven, was a neatly shaved cunt with a tiny tattoo with the inscription, “Clive’s”. Sis could be so cruel.

Clara sort of inherited her second husband’s house. According to the Probate Paper’s, the home was classified as a Life Tenancy for Clara, which means she could live there the rest of her life but on her death the whole farm, furniture and all would revert to the Old Guy’s kids.

I met the Old Guy for the first time when he married Maxie’s Mom. They had a nice reception at his home after the church service. I recall him saying that he’d raised four kids in that house and wondered aloud why the kids had not come to the wedding. He seemed a nice enough guy, told a bevy of fart jokes and to tell the truth he farted a lot, but when Joe died, Maxie’s Mom made out like a bandit, which was her specialty, getting the house and a bunch of money in his bank account. When he keeled over three years later and it took four of us to lift him up and rushed him to the Cross County Hospital where he croaked the next day. When I say that was her specialty, by that I mean taking advantage of old men. By the time she married the old guy, Joe, she had started to slow down a bit. Maybe the fact that the Old Guy weighed over 340 pounds was part of the reason, and it was about time. How would you feel if you were Maxie and everywhere you’d go in town, guys would poke other guys in the gut and whisper, “I fucked that guy’s Mom.”

In any event, once the Old Guy was dead and buried, Maxie got the idea that he and his Mom should rent out the basement of the place and use the cash to pay the utility bills and other bills that papered up the mailbox. That was when Gwendolyn showed up and became a tenant, and I use that word loosely.

Guenn, as Maxie called her, was a Goth; when I asked Maxie what a Goth was, he said it’s kids who hate the world but are deep into sex, drugs and booze. What I observed when I’d drop by to reclaim some tools Maxie had failed to return, was a twenty year old tall thin girl dressed in a short black skirt with too much black makeup, her long straggly hair was tied up behind her head but still damn near down to were waist and it was died jet black. In late October I came by and she was wearing red Vampire fangs. The nice thing about here was, and I mean always, she wore a tight transparent top with her tits showing. There was something funny about the way she talked, kinda’ swallowed her words, maybe it was her bite but she had some great pair of bassoons. When a girl has tits like that you don’t worry about a lisp, believe me!

Maxie believed me, he was the one who took her rental application and before you knew it, she was living there rent-free. I never heard or saw a penny collected from her, which didn’t please his Mom very much. Even though Maxie’s prostate was long gone, probably sitting in some jar in a medical school, he still found fucking was pleasurable and Maxie was no one if not a good time Charley, in fact that was his Dad’s name, “Charley.”

Since he had no sperm there was no way he could get her pregnant, and so he began the marathon, every morning and every night Maxie fucked that Guenn Goth raw. He even had to go buy her special lubes and crèmes that a woman her age shouldn’t need. But there is no question; Maxie and that pump-up dick of his were working overtime.

Finally, on the day of the Super Bowl, Maxie got this crazy idea he called “A Marathon Fuck Day” with one fuck tied to each touch down; that is to say, every time a touch down was scored he would pump’er up and fuck Guenn. That day the score was 23 to 28. He fucked that poor girl silly during those 2 ½ hours or however long the game ran.

Next morning I got a phone call from his Mom. Maxie was in the hospital, it seems his state of the art pump up penis had exploded and he was out of commission for good. The doctors had never seen an exploding penis before; that cockamamie invention is warranted for 15 years. Naturally they got him a new one under the warranty but his surgery was not covered by his insurance and God knows when the Penis Pump factory was going to pay the medical bill.

I was feeling lousy with a headache hang over from drinking too much beer at the Super Bowl After Party down at Clancy’s when I got the call from his Mom filling me in on the news. That’s how I ended up with the job of evicting Guenn. Since she had no rental contract and evidently had been hiding a new boyfriend, Mom said something about a dyed black haired skinny kid who been sneaking to visit her for some weeks when Maxie wasn’t around, and to hear Guenn tell it, when I went over there to help arrange her departure, she was truly sick of being cluster fucked God knows how many times a month by his magical pump-up dick wand. So we negotiated and I gave her $500 out of my own pocket and she packed her lone suitcase and left her new boy friend was waiting outside in what looked like a converted funeral parlor hearse. Before she left she asked me,

“Could you make it an even $600 and I’ll thrown in a fuck and a blow job.”

I’d rather not discuss my answer but I went home that night feeling relieved of all my tension and my headache was gone for good.

Oh yes, one other thing I learned that afternoon, Guenn wasn’t even a real girl. That was a detail Maxie had left out, but nobody is perfect, except maybe Guenn. I say that after spending a few hours with her that afternoon, as we used to say in Brooklyn, “she was’a some-a tomato,” but that will be a bareback story for another time. She was nice enough to leave me her cell phone number.

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