Just to prove there is more than fucking, sucking and hockey pucking in Toronto, let’s take a tour.  The things one learns when chatting on the second floor of Rem’s with other shems like myself, while mesmerized over the dangling sparkling ornamental man things.

               I had never met the producer until then.  Late 40’s I would say.  Other than that, she could not be “read.”  Only real men and trans allowed, but she either had the most expensive transformation or she was the real deal wearing a strap-on to get-it-on (and to get in).  Then, too, it could have been her money – opens a lot of doors, opens a lot of asses of canine-collared cuckolds barking on all fours.

               She was stunning.  That rare but interesting trans-lez feeling fell on me.  Two big black purple-mushroom-headed great-to-give-head things passed by; I nearly passed out but passed quickly back into reality.  So much for the lez attack, had the wrong crack there for awhile.

               I’ve seen some of the outstanding out-takes.  Her project is at least a year old – a series of well-written, well-acted (well enacted), well-hung (well un-hung), CBP (cock-and-ball porn).  One of the series of movies will be “Men-Men-Menu.”

               Appetizing.

               She pointed around the room at the naked dancers working the crowd – 20-buck lap dances in private booths, and the dancer calling himself John Wilkes was conspiring for a lot of cash.  He did have a nice ass!

               Many, she said, had “parts” in the movie.  Looking closely at an uncut phallus you could see that it just looked uncut – it was actually more-than-cut.  Headless.  Hanging soft at 10 inches long and several wide, only when it flopped did another un-conceal a scrotal vacancy. 

               Stubby did have a nice set of balls (practiced saline and piss injection we were told), so we assumed the little pecker just looked small by comparison.  No, it used to be a heck of a pecker.  The producer had bought it.  We gasped in unison.

               “You know when the men dance downstairs in NF on weekends for the steno pool girls, well I was there one Saturday night,” said the producer.  “You know how the dancers trick the straight girls into thinking they’re straight by playing cock jokes on them?”

               “Actually, no I don’t,” I choked.

               Usually my gag reflex is well controlled.  Might have been trying two too much at once – table-side dances are only 5 bucks and they do it so everyone else can see.  Trick is to spend $10 for a two-fer and make sure you get BF’s or at least BF wannabees so they’re down-on-their knees with each other when you make your offer.  “Try putting both of those in my mouth together and you get a 50-dollar tip.”

               All guys want to rub hard cocks together anyway. So, my challenge is always accepted and I nearly had them both down, but I was trying to listen to the producer’s story too.  I finally had to choose between too and two.  Anyone would have choked, right?

               I paid the 50, so she could describe her adventure without anything else popping up seeking adventurous distraction.

               “Well, the guys not on stage walk around selling shots and what-not.  If the girls are hungry, they can even buy special hot dogs carefully cut to look like cocks.  It started as a joke but now the girls come from all over to eat cock-dogs while they howl at the real cocks.  So, one guy came by and offered the tray.”

               “He had the tray down low, so I knew what to expect, so the dick trick doesn’t work on this chick.  As you guessed, he had his own cock in a bun next to the roasted pork parts.”

               “I squeezed hard on the bun (don’t get me started on bare bun jokes now) and said ‘how much for this one?’  When I didn’t release, he winced and took a seat.  Still with an iron grip, I repeated the question.”

               “Not for sale!” he said.  “Everything is for sale!” I said.  “He said.  I said.  We all said.  Why doesn’t laid rhyme with said?”

               “Of course in the move version, his name is Royce and I get him out to my Rolls after settling on $500,000 but only having to pay him my pocket change of $50,000 in advance.”

               “We drive to the Men-Men-Menu restaurant set, walk in the back way to the kitchen and get my cock prize all set.  He takes a check for the rest after I convinced him that only my huge tits bounce (I had him rip my clothes off me while I was driving – my type of thrill ride through downtown TO).”

               “And for the rest, you’ll have to see the movies – the Men-Men-Menu series, soon to be released so wannabee cock-less cuckolds can release their loads over and over.  To think I had been jealous of the centerfolds over which young men dump their loads, now they are doing it to my video productions!”

               I have to meet her again to open up on more of this series of great porn.  She did say that once her cock prize had been elastrator-strapped for eventual excision, he ass-fucked her with determination and precision.

               His last sex instance.

               “Oh, butt a fair exchange,” they were thinking while moaning and groping all over the stainless steel prep table.  He excited about being chopped.  She excited being excited right on the spot where so many last long sex instances had stood to be stop-chopped short.

               By the way, the Men-Men-Menu series does not get labeled Part I, etc. or even Parts I, etc.  Each has a great title in itself.  I suggested she do one more about her:  “Shop-aholic Chop-aholic.”  She added something about chocolate.  Then it was late, and we all realized we hadn’t yet ate.