WARNING: Graphic descriptions of sex with a transexual - penises involved!
Tranny Street action Sao Paulo, Brazil.
After doing Scandelo Lounge I was reeling from the financial hit and settled into a couple of days of not punting. But I was curious about the tranny scene in Sao Paulo and I had a look around online. Online prices were expensive but there was some mention of street action. In particular around Bar Elenice, Rua Rego Freitas. This was not a million miles from my grimy digs in downtown so I decided to walk it. I made a rookie mistake – I left without cash. I told myself, still smarting from the absolute ass raping of my night in Scandelo that I didn’t HAVE to punt, that I probably wouldn’t, I didn’t want to take out more cash and spend it etc etc. This would end up costing me time, energy and even money on uber rides but there you go. Denial is not only a river in Egypt, but a central part of a punters existance.
These back streets of downtown are buzzing, filthy and feel very sketchy but nothing untoward happened. I came across the first tranny street walking quite far from the forementioned “ground zero” of she cock action. Tall, fair skinned, masculine yet sexy as fuck. I approached. No English (common in Sao Paulo) and I had to resort to google translate. I wasn’t comfortable with this because 1) I had to get my phone out in some pretty sketchy looking backstreets and 2) I was outing myself as a gringo. Not any gringo, but a fat juicey tranny cock loving gringo. It was akward. Our quick interaction revealed she was up for it, couldn’t host, but was willing to come back to my hotel so I could slide down her leaning tower of geeza. Again, red flag – apart from the obvious security concerns of her being in my digs, I had also struck up quite a warm rapport with the reception staff, one of whom was fascinated by the UK and chewed my air off about obscure UK places he wanted to visit. I couldn’t face the walk of shame past his smiley face. Anyway, took her number and continued on.
As with everything in a megalopolis like Sao Paulo, things look close on a map but are fucking far away. Anyway, I pushed on, through the grime, past the crackheads, thumping music and jolly drunk Brazilians. I closed in on the intended target and I started to see the unmistakable silhouette of street walkers. Some were absolutely smoking, others looked like bruisers in bad wigs. Prices started very reasonably – circa £20-£30 for a bloke in drag upto £40-£50 for a pork sword wielding sexpot. And then I saw her. Tall. Slim, red lips, in a sheer lace dress with a fake fur coat draped over one shoulder. She looked like something out of an old 1930s movie, proper classy old school glam. She seemed a bit shy, again phone came out. I didn’t feel so self-conscious here because the area seemed safer and the little head had taken over – I was full on running on lizard brain at this point and I needed some depravity. We negotiated, back and forth – there wasn’t much back in fourth because I was smitten and at this pittance of a price compared to what I would pay in London I didn’t really care. We negotiated 500BR – circa £70 – for a half hour active/passive in her local hotel with the possibility of her cuming for me. I was somewhat skeptical of the latter as sometimes shemales agree to this knowing they cant perform but hey lets see.
The next problem was actually getting cash as stupidly I had come half cocked. I soon found out that finding an ATM at midnight in Sao Paulo was a total nightmare. Yet another downside of lack of security in downtown is that nearly every ATM is locked behind re-enforced shutters at night. Finally, I tracked one down, money withdrawn, I had kept her informed via whatsapp as I didn’t want to miss landing this “whale” of a tranny punt and she was cool. I felt somewhat ashamed both that I had gone out with no money, and also that I was going for a tranny punt but there you go.
I pulled up and she was still there in the shadows and she looked better than the first time I saw her. However, the rabble of other trannys all perked up at me returning after an obvious cash point run thinking maybe I had come back for a bloke in a wig. I made a bee line for my soon to be lover and I took her arm and we went to a local “love” hotel. This wasn’t a lavish place it was a fucking dump, a real shithole. We joked about this and she seemed to have a decent sense of humour which was promising. She was fucking gorgeous, and it got even better as we stripped. I had a quick shower and we got down to business. It was passionate from the beginning. Deep kissing with tongues, rotating between her sucking me without, then coming up to kiss, ticking my balls sucking my nipples. She asked if I wanted to be fucked. Luckily she was not huge – a reasonable 6-7 inches and not too thick. Not the 10 inch, can of shaving foam thick monsters that seem to do the rounds of the Edgeware Road of Queensway (If only the shawarmas in London were that big for £12!). I wasn’t feeling particularly “anally receptive” as the twinks say, but YOLO lets see how this goes. She started with a condom covered finger, and instructed me to kneel on the edge of the bed and she wiggled her way into me. I tried to relax and she pumped away furiously and it was fucking good. Very good. Way too good. So good it must be wrong. She gripped my hips as I have done so many times bending over a woman in doggy and I could here “slap slap slap” as she pumped away as I furiously wanted my semi erect cock (I can never remain rock hard while being sodomised) until I exploded over the cheap well-worn sheet on the rock hard grubby bed. I am always amazing how much I can with some anal stimulation. She kept pumping until I was fully spent and I was so sensitive I gasped as she slipped out of me. I dropped down on the bed into my own ejaculate and I was shell shocked. She wasn’t done. She got her phone and through google translate asked me if I still wanted her to cum. The last thing I wanted at that moment was a mouth full of she cheese but I am a fucker for getting my monies worth so went for it. She was rock hard and tasted of condom as I pushed myself to suck her still rock-hard cock while I tickled her balls as I felt her smooth glans satisfying slide across my lips and tongue. She started to moan and let out a sour, thick warm load into my mouth and I slowed down to gently suck her to prolong her orgasm, which she appreciated. It was a lot, and I gulped it down and was stuck with an unpleasant after taste. She smiled and told me it was her third nut of the day, again through google translate (I hope no one ever hacks and leaks my conversation records!). We lay together in post coital bliss and strolled each other. It was hands down the most intimate and lovey-dovey I have ever been with a trans. She told me she had friends working in London and hopes to one day ply her wears, probably in shawarma central W2!
Eventually we got up, got dressed, and in the time it took for me to piss, wash my cock and try to spit the unwelcome astringent sperm aftertaste into the sink, she went from naked sexpot back to 1930s glamazon. We walked down the street together, said good bye and I walked up the street a bit to try and confuse the uber driver but I was feeling so vulnerable and paranoid I was sure he could tell I had just been bent over and used like a flesh light by bazooka wielding tranny.
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