Secondary Education
Tyla Flowers
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Chapter 10
Reincarnation

I am asleep in the arms of my Bodhisattva. He strokes my forehead.
“Look within to find consciousness of the skandhas that survived your rebirth.”
I concentrate, and focus on a fuzzy, black and white image. “I was Private Flores, an American warrior in the jungle battles of Laos. I killed many and died filled with guilt and hatred. These passions survived inside me, and even they roil and disturb my karma, to disturb my feminine equilibrium.”
“Now, look deeper, pull asunder the veil of your consciousness, and be reborn a woman.” I visualize a curtain, and pull at its draw cord. I hear a loud, metallic chatter, the clink of breaking glass and the skitter and pop of rounds ricocheting on the cinderblock walls and cement floor of the garage. It’s the sound every ghetto kid knows and dreads, so I roll off the bed and onto the floor and keep as low to the ground as I can.
But Matt’s from the other side of Olympic, and doesn’t recognize this strange sound. He jolts from his reverie, bolts to the window, and peers out.
“What the fuck….”
The AK-47 chatters again, this time much closer. Matt spasms, spins, and drops through a aerosol of his own blood, bone and brains. It falls like a mortal dew on me. I roll next to him and pull his body on top of me as the next fusillade of ricochets rattle through the room and thump down on his back. His body pulsates with a death rattle. His blood pours from the gaping exit wound at the back of his neck, and cascades over me. I struggle to catch my breath, and inhale a hot, stick gulp. I gag and cough. My tears mix with his blood. His body goes limp. I am trapped, but for the moment, I am protected from the rounds that snap and sizzle around the room.
The steel door creaks open and a dark shape crawls in. I squint at Freeze, dragging a sawed off shotgun. He kicks the door closed and huddles beneath the window where Matt died, hiding from the Mara barrage. He notices me, cowering beneath Matt’s corpse.
“Flowers, get up and help me, you double crossing little cunt.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were coming so soon. Something got fucked up. I never got their call.” I don’t mention the message alert that I ignored in my post-coital reverie.
“What’s fucked is you, but it doesn’t matter, we’re both fucked. Here, load this.”
He slides a Glock and a box of ammo toward me, and then fires round from the shot gun through the shattered window. It’s answered with another burst of automatic weapons fire, and Freeze hits the floor.
I slip the clip out of the gun’s handle and begin fumbling in the 9 mm rounds. The clip’s spring fights back, the rounds are slippery. It’s slow going, but I get a few rounds loaded.
Freeze fires another round, ducks, and screams “Hurry up, cunt, before I cap you.”
Freeze is bent of fighting to his own suicidal death. What does it matter if he kills Crazy 8, or Hector, before the Mara kill him. He is going to die no matter what.
The only variable is who dies with him. I decide that it need not be me.
He fires from the window again. As he reloads, I raise the Glock, and call his name. When he turns, I fire a round into his chest. He looks surprised as falls backward to the floor. He makes gurgling sounds like he’s drowning. The AK pokes through the shattered window and fires another half dozen rounds into the room. One thuds into the Freeze. He gasps, and then goes silent. I scream into the din. “Ocho Loco, stop shooting, the Crips are all down.”
The firing pauses. “T-Chica, is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Open the door slowly and walk out backwards.”
I polish the Glock free of my prints, and then push Freeze out of the way. His body lolls to the side, and he groans, barely audible. I push open the door, and walk out backwards, looking back into the carnage in the garage, uncertain whether I will encounter welcoming allies or a summary execution. I am naked, bloodstained and trembling with fear, for while the Mara have won a great victory, I have tried to betray them, and then failed in my mission.
“I’m coming out now, alone.” I put my hands on top of my head. My hair is caked with Matt’s blood, which is slowly coagulating to a sticky crust.”
“Is anyone else in there with you?”
“Two, both shot and down.”
Unseen hands grab my shoulders and hustle me aside. “Get in the car.”
Hector’s Escalade is pulled into the lot. The back door opens and I am pushed in. Pineapple is in the back seat. He grimaces, and hands me an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. As I slip them on, I hear a couple more shots and then Hector gets in on the other side. The Escalade screeches out of the lot and into stream of traffic heading east on Jefferson.
“I finished them. Who’s the Anglo?”
It hurts me to defame him in death, but I must lie about the identity of my fallen lover or I will certainly die immediately. “Kid from Fairfax. The Crips pimped me to him.”
“He’s toast. I hope you gave him a good last fuck. Where’s the money?”
“One of the Crips took it.”
“It looks like he died happy.” I wonder what the afterlife has in store for Matt. Bhuddha, let me be with him, and not with these pigs. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to text you. They kept me too busy.”
“That’s OK, it’s good you kept them busy. Besides, you were only my Plan B. Plan A was, we tailed you and the mayote from your school.”
I think back to the moment that Antoine and I left Fairfax High. Our last stop had been at the principal’s office. I had spoken to Rojas. He had seen us together. Hector is studying me. My eyes must have betrayed my insights.
“T-Chica, don’t make any crazy guesses. Just remember that the Mara has eyes everywhere. And don’t fuck up again, no matter what, or there won’t be another next time.”
Pineapple grunts disapprovingly and draws his finger across his throat.
Hector says “The T-Chica brought us good luck on this mission. We are giving her a free pass, even though she did fuck up by not texting.”
Pineapple presses the muzzle of the Glock against my temple. “I’d kill maricone now if it was up to me.”
I close my eyes. “No, please don’t. I am Mara. I shot the fat mayote.”
Pineapple lowers the gun. “Maricone can’t be Mara soldiers.”
Hector grabs my hand and sniffs. “I smell powder. T-Chica fired the Glock, and the mayote had powder burns on his chest. So now she’s one of us, a Maracone.” He kisses my bloody cheek and licks Matt’s blood from my neck. He grins and gold glitters from his front teeth. “I love the taste of a dead man’s blood.”
I am a killer, as evil as any Mara. Matt and Antoine are gone, the victims of my scheming and negligence. Freeze is dead, his blood drenches and stains my karma. I am a child soldier enslaved by a criminal army whom I fear and detest. The skandhas that followed me into this life have polluted my soul and ruined my afterlife. I am damned. I must live, to redeem my soul from an afterlife amongst the damned.
I submerge my torment and smile seductively at Hector.
“I love the taste of a hero’s penis.” I grapple open his belt and fumble his pants open. Cheerful Marachis decorate his sweaty boxers. I slide open the flap and his cock flops out, deflated by adrenaline and stress. I look over my shoulder. Pineapple is staring balefully out the window. I inhale Hector’s fetid odors and slip his soft, sour organ between my bloody lips. It hardens and rises as I lick and suck it. The flavors of Matt’s blood and Hector’s seed will soon mingle and make a toxic stew in my mouth. I will swallow it, and beg for more. With serial sex I will erase the horror, and sooth the incessant tingling of Matt’s semen, swimming through the abyss inside of me.

Hector takes a seat at the head of the rickety dinette at the Casa
Bella. Pineapple stands over one shoulder, Ocho Loco stands behind the other. His arm is in a sling, broken by a Crip bullet during the Jefferson street affray. The other Mara of the Pico Union set gather along the walls of the living room. I am in the last rank. The guns are hidden for now.
I hear Sonic whistle from his sentry post. A few minutes later, he leads into the kitchenette at the Casa Bella a grim faced contingent of Salvo soldiers from the Lynwood set of the Mara. They are having a summit. The rout of the Jefferson Crips opened a power vacuum south of the 10 Freeway, and in rushing to fill the void, the two sets have collided as the competed to control the street corner distribution of crack and whores.
On orders from the overlords of the Mara, reaching out from their prison thrones, Hector and his co-chieftain, Roberto, are having a sit down. Roberto is a light skinned mestizo, like Hector. He wears a collared shirt and pressed pants. He has a professional haircut. He could be a businessman, a bit paunchy and soft with success at running his larger, better established set, whereas Hector looks like an upstart guerrilla in his sweaty wife-beater tee shirt and baggy jeans. Roberto settles comfortably at the other end of the dinette and rests his gold ringed fingers on its stained. He looks around and flashes a bright smile.
“Nice place you have here>”
Hector drums his fingers nervously. “Mi casa est su casa.”
“Thank you.” Roberto yawns and stretches, and smiles proprietarily, as if he had taken Hector literally.
I eye the group of visitors. One is a dark haired, buxom beauty standing in the rear. We make eye contact and clock one another as trannies instantly. She whispers something to her neighbor, who relays it to Roberto.
Hector stands. “May the Mara live forever in peace with one another, and stand united against our enemies.” Hector is nervous, out of his depth, and speaks as though he’s reciting. Someone above him must be telling him what to do.
Roberto opens his palms expansively. “That we come to your hood shows we come without fear.”
“There is nothing to fear. We are brothers.”
Roberto settles his hands to the table with an audible thud. “Sometimes brothers disagree, or even fight. But they owe it to their family to work things out. When a Mara raise arms against other Mara, they betray their common cause.”
Hector voice is cracking with suppressed rage. “The Pico Union set beat the Crips on Jefferson. We own their territory. Why are your people collecting dues on our turf?”
“You don’t control any of it. It’s wide open. That’s why we took over Jefferson west of Hoover. We had to, or someone else would.”
“You never gave us a chance. You just grabbed our territory.”
“There were Crips from Compton running ho’s and selling crack and ice on Jefferson and Virgil. You left a no man’s land on our border. We did what we needed to do to keep the mayote off our turf.”
“So you’ll hand it over to us when we build our organization there.”
“No. Once it’s our, it stays ours. We already lost a soldier defending that turf.”
Hector gestures toward Crazy 8. “My man Ocho Loco here, he got shot there, and we had another soldier killed too. We killed three Crips on turf you’re claiming.” He includes Matt and the Freeze in the body count, but I don’t correct him or claim credit.
Roberto smiles. “OK, you keep that block. We take the rest of Jefferson.”
“And you pay us rent for a year. A thousand per block, per month.”
“Five hundred.”
“Seven fifty.”
“Seven hundred.”
“Deal, if you pay three months in advance now.” Roberto turns to his lieutenant, a hawk nosed scar face holding a satchel. He counts out a stack of hundreds and pushes them across the table. “And we take that trannie as a pledge of your good faith.” The Lynwood war lord points at me.
Hector turns and confers in whispers with Pineapple and Crazy 8. I look desperately for support, but they ignore my eyes.
“OK, but we take that trannie whore of yours, and get the T-Chica back in a month, in good condition.”
“Our trannie is going into the shop.” Everyone laughs at the automotive allusion. “She’s getting cut and pumped. You can have her when the job’s done.”
Hector shrugs his shoulders magnanimously. “OK, we’ll wait, if you get this one fixed the same.” Roberto nods assent, and the Mara standing behind me giggle and push me to the other side of the room.
I am a chattel to be bartered. I look back pleadingly to my erstwhile comrades. No one meets my eyes. Ocho Loco pushes me across the room like a pawn, and the Lynwood set closes ranks around me. I am hemmed in next to the other TGirl. She clasps my hand in hers, the only solidarity I sense from this evil parley. Her hand is pudgy, moist and childlike. She is heavily made up, but her Mayan features seem too young for her body, which has the bosom and buttocks of a grown woman. She give me a gap toothed smile cups her lips to my ear.
“My name is Patty.”
“I’m Tyla.” I pronounce it “Teela”, to emphasize my T-ness.
“That’s so pretty.”
I want this trans sister to bond with me. Although she looks like a simple soul, she knows this set, and her knowledge can help me.
The Mara soldiers of Roberto’s set seem much older and tougher than Hector’s ragtag band. None of them smile or talk to me as we file from the Casa Bella and climb into the pair of identical Jeep Cherokees which arrive to fetch us in a convoy with military precision.
Patty and I share a back seat. The Mara who sits with us ignores us and keeps his attention focused on the streetscape, occasionally texting messages along the way.
I tap the shoulder of the silent soldier.
“You guys seem more like cops than gangbangers.”
“Roberto’s set is mostly ex military, either Salvadoran or U.S. I just got discharged by the Marines after a tour in Iraq. I’m a stress case.”
“Is this how you relax?”
“We relax later, back at the HQ. Don’t we, Patty?”
“Oh yeah, but my booty is going to have a vacation now that Tyla’s here.” She laughs.
“You’re both going on medical leave after the party tonight.”
I let out a little squeal of anticipation, but I wonder what he means.

Patty and I are side by side, my left leg and arm touching her right leg and arm. We are naked, on hands and knees, bums up on a king size bed. Over the blaring of Salvadoran hip hop, she giggles nervously with anticipation. I breathe deep, and work the muscles of my ass, gaping it wide, clamping it shut.
In the mirror, I see Roberto taking pictures of my ass.
“That’s a good trick, you have to teach it to Patty. If I light my cigar, can you blow a smoke ring out of your booty?”
“I don’t smoke. It causes butt cancer, and assphysema.”
“Ha-ha, you’re a funny trannie. Why do you suppose Hector was so eager to get rid of you?”
I flinched with fear. Did Pineapple bad mouth me? I don’t know enough Spanish to find out. The unknown scares me, but I suppress it.
“He’d heard all of my jokes.”
“I think he didn’t like you so much. Should I like you?”
Had Roberto heard about my lapse at the garage? Was I marked for death for treason?
“You’ll have to decide that for yourself.”
“That’s why I am doing a side by side comparison.” He climbs on the bed and kneels in front of Patty. “OK, Patty, suck me.”
Patty smiled up adoringly and murmured “Si Signore, tu est gigante.” Her smile revealed large, smooth, wide set teeth and thick, flat lips. She jutted out a long, thick tongue and expertly licked the tip of Roberto’s uncut, long, slender cock. Her tongue traces swift circles around the cock head. As he hardens and erects, she elongats her tongue strokes into parabolas that reach his ball sack, until she reaches his hairy ball sack. She pops first one, and then the other of his testicles into her pouty lips, leaving a residue of her ochra lip gloss on each of the, returned to the tip. Her neck is short, thick and muscular, like the Mayan peasant women from whom she is descended. She swallows him to the hilt in a single gulp, and pistons her head energetically up and down, burying her flat nose deep into his wiry bush, breathing easily through flared nostrils.
“Oh, that’s good, baby. Can you suck cock like that, Tyla?”
“I’m a fast study. I learn something new every time.” I’d never studied another girl’s technique up close before.
“She’s good, I taught her well. Look at her cock.”
I look back and glimpsed between the swings of her pendulous breasts and see a fully hardened cock, at least eight inches long, thick and meaty.
“When I’m done, I’m going to have you suck her until she finishes.”
“That would be new, to get cum-faced by another T-Girl.”
“Do you fuck guys or just take it.”
“I’m a bottom.”
“That’s what I like. Patty here gets horny like a boy, don’t you, you little slut.”
Patty nods her head.
“OK, your turn, Tyla.”
He pulls out of Patty, who takes a deep, wheezy breath. She’s a sweet girl but not too bright. I wonder how well she takes care of herself, as Roberto offers his saliva-glazed penis to me.
I roll my tongue and jut it into his cockhead. I tweak his glans with tiny thrusts, and circle it beneath the flap of his foreskin. Patty’s mouth has left behind a salty film.
“Ayee, that’s good.” I relax my tongue, roll my lips and swallow him deep, so he slides past soft ridges of my tonsils and into the wet depths of my esophagus in a single rush. I force breathe back my gag reflex and peer upward with what I try to make a worshipful gaze.
“Oh, yeah, baby.” He grabs two clumps of my hair and with these pigtails as levers he fucks my face. I breathe through my nose, inhaling the ends of his wiry bush as he presses my nose to his pubis, but I have trained myself with yoga, and hours of practice, so my neck stays supple, and my mouth and throat are a compliant, soft hole for his penis to plumb.
“I love your Asian style, Tyla.”
He’s getting tired, so I take the initiative, pulsing my head up and down on him. I constrict my throat around him on each back stroke, and relax it when I piston my face down on him, so each time he enters me he pierces a cushioned and moist vessel.
“Yeah, I like it when you make it tight, like an ass pussy. Hector taught you well, Tyla. Let’s see what else you got.”
He slides out, slaps either of my cheeks, and presses his cockhead into my eye sockets.
“I love to fuck both of your pretty little heads. You’re locked in a tie so far.”
I want Patty to remain my friend despite Roberto’s incitement of competition, so I turn to her.
“I think he prefers you, and is just being polite.”
She smiles back and offers her lips to my kiss. Our lips touch, and then our tongues join in a carnal tango. We rise, lock in and embrace. I touch the soft flesh of her breasts, and stroke her broad, ochre areole and flat nipples.
“Down girls, and save that hot stuff for me.”
He brings Patty a condom and me a tube of KY.
“You can lube her while she covers me.”
Patty tears open the wrapper, and pops the condom into her mouth. She guides Roberto’s cock between her lips and rolls the condom on without touching it again. I study this technique and then get to work on her.
Patty’s anus is burnt sugar brown against her caramel skin. It’s much bigger than my own hole, and unlike mine, which I can constrict to a tiny, wrinkled ringlet, Patty’s ass marred by a few bulging hemorrhoids. I have plucked my ass fanatically, but she has a fringe of black hair fledging inner surfaces of her thighs and butt that frame her anus. The round mounds of her buttocks are adorned with scars shaped like the ends of cigarettes, and the remains of a deep, ragged welt shaped like a belt buckle. Patty has been damaged in transition.
I apply the film of lube gently, circling her hole, and then sliding in first one, then two fingers, and splaying them carefully apart to prepare her. Here ass first resists, and then succumbs. My fingers slide through her outer ring of sphincters. She moans in indecipherable Spanish as I retract, re-lubricate, and slide them in again, even deeper.
“Patty, open up your butt like Tyla does.”
She strains her bowel. Her rectum bulges, along with her hemorrhoids.
“No, not like that. Show her how.”
I pry open her butt, rolling her muscles inward, toward her core. She struggles to make them follow my guiding hands, but she is not strong enough.
“That’s good, just hold her like that.”
Roberto climbs astride Patty’s upturned, spread open ass, and points his cock into the hole that I have opened. I brace Patty’s body against the impending thrust. Patty squeals broken Spanish phrases and then emits an animal shriek as Roberto descends and impales her to his hilt.
“Oi, non, oi, oi, ma, por favor, non, oi.” Her face contorts into the visage of a tormented saint suffering her final anguish, a horrifying death mask which also evinces a tragic, but angelic beauty. She digs her face into the mattress, to stifle her cries and hide her shame, and pinches her breasts so hard that she leaves lurid marks in her caramel skin. Roberto lunges forward, and presses his sole into her face, and slams into her laterally. Patty eyes are glazed, doe-like and semi conscious. Like me, she’s a natural bottom, who likes being overwhelmed. She loves submission, and Roberto loves to dominate.
He grins at me conspiratorially. “She likes it deep and hard.”
He rams her until her back collapses to the mattress, then gathers her belly and pulled it into a ball and rams her doggie style until she collapses again. She gurgles incoherently. Then he rolls her over onto her back, tilts up her legs, and bangs down from her from above. She gazes up with a look of adulation and submission.
Roberto grimaces critically. “It feels like she’s made of plastic. She’s like a marshmallow inside.”
He rolls her back over. His cock corkscrews in her butt, and she cries out again. “See, I have to fuck her hard so I can feel it. And that’s how she likes it. Fucking Patty is like driving a Town Car. I think you will be tight as a Porsche.”
“I don’t know about cars. But I know a lot about cocks.”
“I am sure you do.” He hoists her to her hands and knees again. “Now slide under her, and suck hers.” He pulls out, revealing her anus, now gaping from repeated penetrations. It glistens with sweat and glows ruby red from friction and exertion.
I walk to her head. Her head lolls and bobs. I kiss her lips, and she rouses from her reverie and lifts up to her chest to let me slide beneath her. Her skin is filmed with a patina of perspiration. The chasm between her dangling breasts is redolent with perfume and body odor. I lick a rivulet of sweat from between them. It is sweet and salty. Her stomach is bloated from many hormones and too much snack food. Her belly ring dangles so low that it brushes my forehead as I slide under. I tilt my head back, and her cock brushes my nose.
Her flesh is smothering. I can barely breathe in the murky cavern beneath her. The air is a humid miasma scented by ass juice, precum and sweat. I slide her cock between my lips and tilt my head so that it slides down my throat. Her penis is thin, about six inches long, and curves slightly to the side, but I can easily take it into my throat. As I do, she twitches to life, and I feel her lips surrounding and pulling at my soft cock. We undulate in a single motion. I circle my arms around her waist and grab her buttocks, pulling them apart, and she slides her hands under mine and gently fingers my hole. Patty is a little too fat for me, but I like my first encounter with another T-Girl. I wonder if I am bi?
The her body jolts and her weight crushes atop me. The flesh of her abdomen bulges, retracts, and bulges again. Through the walls of the fleshy cavern around me I hear Patty’s voice crying out, and Roberto’s replying in harshly, but unintelligibly.
She resumes sucking at me with desperate intensity. I am suffocating under collapsing weight. I twist my head to find an air pocket so I can breathe again and begin sucking at her again. The palpable drum beat in her belly intensifies. The blows are far too powerful to be cock strokes. He must be fist fucking her. I imagine him pressing his knuckles deep inside her, massaging her atrophied prostate. I am stirred by the vision of the helpless Patty, caught in vice-like between Roberto’s Scylla and my Charibdis. My cock has hardened. I dig my fingers into her buttocks, opening her wide to Roberto, thrust my thighs up toward her lips, and take her cock deep inside my throat. Her body pulsates and resounds with the thump of Roberto fist strokes. I hear a thunderous cry and feel a geyser erupt deep in my throat. I force myself to swallow, one, two, three gulps, before I must breathe and release her to spurt once last droplet of her cum on my cheek. She quivers, and caves in on my. Roberto rolls her off me, twisting his forearm once more in her butt before pulling it out. It is coated with a film of pink colored mucus, and he grunts and walks to the bathroom, leaving Patty in an unconscious heap.
Her face lolls to the side. Her body is limp. Her stomach heaves with tired breaths. A slick of lube and anal mucous drizzles down her chubby buttocks. She is asleep.
“OK, baby, I’m done with her. It’s your turn.” His cock is rock hard and still covered with the same rubber he used with Patty. It’s stained pink and greasy.
I am afraid that a swarm of pathogens will transfer from Patty’s ass into mine on the bloody and poop swathed rubber. I know that saliva will probably neutralize the worst of the pathogens, like AIDs and Hepatitis C, so I say “I want to suck it.”
“OK, suck it clean, you crazy slut.” I take the filthy rubber between my lips and lick it, trying to dislodge every blood cell, every virus. The old condom is salty with mucous and blood, rank with pulverized fecal bits, and caustic from the latex of the rubber. I am nauseous but lick his cock with obsessive feline precision.
He laughs at the spectacle. “You love it, you little cock and shit eater. Now bend over, and open up.”
I glide my lips up to the roll and suck it back and release the flume that lodged there, push it back into place, and scour it with my tongue from the hilt to the reservoir at the tip.
“Can I get some more lubricant?”
“No, you put too much inside her. I want a tight fuck to finish.”
“How do you want me?”
“Down doggie. After that blow job, I don’t want to smell your breath.”
It’s the most difficult position to receive anal penetration. Ass muscles tighten, and the sphincter naturally constricts in the face-down, prone position. I lie down, and hide my face in my arms. He pulls them away, yanks them forward, and cuffs my wrists to the head board.
“I like to watch the girl’s expression when I fuck. Now make that big circle for me.”
I pull my ring inward and open it, and try to pretend that it’s Matt. But all I can conjure is the memory of his blood drenching me and his death rattle. I imagine it’s Antoine, but he too is gone, probably dead. I have tried the impossible, to be reborn in this life. But everything backfires, and instead of changing myself, I have killed my friends.
I would like to join them now, in whatever afterlife my karma serves me. Part of me hopes that my lips missed a viral colony lurking on the filthy rubber, and that I get HIV from Patty. When Roberto is finished with me, the Mara will return me to the street. Perhaps I will become a bareback streetwalker to hasten the onset of disease, and then refuse the treatment and die in an alleyway. For my sins, I deserve to die alone, and in misery. But I don’t want to die, only to leave this life behind me, and to be reborn a woman.
“Just fuck me,” I whisper. “Fuck me dead.”.
Roberto drizzles some spit on my ass and rubs his cock in it. I open my butt, and he glides in. I stare impassively into the mattress as the first jolts of pain rip through me. I concentrate my response in my toes. They curl back until they are pointing toward heaven in supplication. I bite my lip and squeeze my ass muscles around his member. I summon my muscles’ memories of milking the seed from Matt the hour before he died, and my ass opens to Roberto’s penis as he thrusts, and envelopes and sucks at him as he withdraws. He speeds up, and I reciprocate like a well tuned motor.
“Little putana, how do you make your mouth fuck like a cunt and make your booty give my cock an anal blow job?”
I look back, blow a kiss, and concentrate on perfecting the motion. I am a sex robot, the perfect fuck. I am the best bottom in the world, a perfect girly boy. My ass harmonizes in perfect synchronicity with his cock. Roberto accelerates. I hastening him to ever greater speeds. Our flesh slaps like the surf upon a rocky beach.
Finally, he shout out, “Slow down, I’m not ready to cum.” But my butt muscles suckle his cock relentlessly.
He pulls himself out, pulls off his rubber, and tries to control himself, but he cannot contain it, so he jerks himself to his finish, shouting out with each stroke, “You-god-damn-fucking-whore.” With each word, a gob of hot semen spurts forth, drizzles down and plops on my back and butt. I smile as the hot puddles form my back, imagining Betty Boop drowned in a sea of his spilled sperm, frantically swimming for their lives.
He nuzzles his cock against my rectum, and I feel the warm wet drip on my ring. I gape again, and he shakes the last droplets to fall on the rim of my hole, but squeeze my anus shut to keep the semen outside.
He collapses on the bed beside me, panting.
“You’re incredible. Patty is a sexburger. You’re a filet.”
I feel the dark cloud of depression lift. I am pleased with myself. I have become a perfect performance artist in the bedroom. “Thank you. You’re great lover too.”
“You’re prettier than she is too. You look different.”
“I’m part Asian.”
“I like that you don’t have hair down there.” He strokes my cock. “You didn’t cum.”
“I can’t any more. Too many girly hormones.”
“I like this.” He pats my cock. “It’s nice and smooth, and soft, like a big clit. But you should lose these.” He squeezes my testicles, which have descended from my perineum, where they hide during sex. They are small, and flabby.
I blush, for I am self conscious about them, that I have them and that they are so tiny. “My hormones shrink them to nothing.”
“I am going to have someone cut them.”
My heart starts pounding. I want a sex change, not to be mangled by some back room hack. “Is that what you were talking about with Hector?”
“Yes, that’s part of my agreement. I am going to return you cut and pumped. That means these come off.” He tweaks my scrotum. “And you got boobs, like Patty’s.”
“Why?”
“With big tits you are worth twice as much on the street.”
I am panicked. Patty’s dangling tits are far from the teardrop shaped “C-cups” that I covet.
I want to run away, but my legs feel leaden. I want to argue, but my thoughts are dull, my mind is slow.
“I don’t like her boobs. They are too big and saggy .” And I don’t want free floating silicone traveling through my body.
“I know. Your tits have a nice shape. He cups my breast and pinched my nipple between his bejeweled fingers “That’s why I’m going to do something special for you.”
I am confused and scared, but there is nothing I can do. Perhaps to be a fat street whore is my karma, what I deserve. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a surprise. Now, it’s time for you to sleep, like Patty.”
She has been inert for the last half hour while Roberto fucked me. Now, I too am l woozy and exhausted. The sex, the role play, and the anxiety have tired me. I wonder about the bottled water that I drank. Had it been drugged? My head feels heavy, and my mouth feels cottony and rough. I feel a black cloud settle over me. I want to tell Roberto something, but I can’t shape the words. I try to frame a dream to carry me into the next world, but my Bodhisattva has abandoned me. I slump to the mattress and fall into a black well of sleep, alone.

TBC

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