Secondary Education
Tyla Flowers
[email protected]

Chapter 4

Initiation

I wait in line at Target behind a squat Latina and her raucous brood. She barks shrill commands and threats, which they cheerfully ignore as they slip cheap toys into her already stuffed shopping cart. Her boyfriend ignores the anarchy as he adds an armful of last minute items to their tottering pile of goods. The cashier rolls her eyes at me she mindlessly scans the items, oblivious to the ongoing bedlam. I wink back, and smile. She is the perfect clerk for me.

I point at mom’s bulbous butt, smirk, and throw my arm around Cesar. “No wonder you Latinos prefer T Girlfriends.”

“It’s not the booty, it’s the way you ladyboys suck cock. It comes naturally to you, because you got one to practice with.”

I punch him playfully, and he grabs my butt. The clerk notices and gives me a sisterly smile. I submit to his slobbery kiss, meet the clerk’s gaze again, and she’s still smiling. I am bright spot in her dreary landscape. My shopping day at Target will be a success.

For even Target, though a cheap chic fashion leader, doesn’t offer the droplet earrings, the crystal drop pendants, oval link bracelets, zirconium encrusted rings, and True Religion jeans for the bargain prices that I pay. I am high tech shoplifting. My cart is loaded with miss-marked goods labeled with counterfeit bar codes that Cesar and I have printed at home, and surreptitiously substituted for the Target’s. Isaac Mizrahi tops for $4.99? Ridiculous, I agree, but that is what the new label says. And that is what I will gladly pay with the drug money that I am laundering, and multiplying for MS-13.

Mara will sell the Mizrahi’s on E-Bay for $20. The proceeds will go into Pay Pal accounts Mara has set up for the friends and family, aunts and countless cousins of Mara’s members. The ragged slums of Colá³n will be flooded with precious cash, which I will have helped to multiply and launder. Mara will use this bounty to increase its wealth and power, for it uses charity, as well as terror to maintain its grip on the barrio. For my part in devising and implementing this scheme, I get to keep the prize gleanings of my shopping sprees. I love my job with the Mara. I am its number one shopper. We pay for our purloined load of luxury goods in cash, and with a friendly smile. I wish the clerk good day, and I mean it. I am having a great day.

Jose is waiting in parking lot. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel of the battered Astro, bristling with speed-induced anxiety.
“What took you so long? I thought you were busted.”
I sweep aside a greasy pile of food wrappings and sit in the passenger seat. I swing the rear view mirror toward me and freshen my lip gloss. “The longest lines are the safest.”
Jose abruptly swings the rearview back in place and checks it.
“Yeah, I know what you mean about long lines.” He produces a shard of mirror from beneath his seat, snorts up a pile of crystalline powder, and exhales pleasure. “Too bad, it’s all gone.” He waves a smudged fragment of mirror at me.”
“That’s OK, I don’t want any.” I have witnessed my mother’s spiral into addiction. I have enough problems without adding drugs.
Cesar comes to the driver’s side window. “All loaded up, boss. Let’s go.” Jose clunks the van into gear and it jolts into motion. “No room for you, cholo.” He dismisses Cesar with a wave of his bejeweled finger bling.
“We are late on the drop off. Hector’s called five times, driving me crazy.”
Cesar waves and lopes off toward a bus stop. “See you back at the Casa.”
I blow Cesar a kiss, and then gesture at the merchandize piled in the back of the grimy van. “I have to take my time when I shop. I got True Religion, Mossimo, all of the best brands, for about one tenth price. Mara will double its money from this haul.”
“It’s too complicated. I’d rather sell dope, or maybe your faggot ass, out on the street.”
“Why do you hate me so much? I work hard for the Mara.”
“Mara is not short for maricone. We are not a bunch of faggots like you are.”
“I am a T-Girl, and that’s different. You were happy to let me blow you.”
“Once was enough. We Mara should have real girls, not
dressed-up vestidos like you.”
“I think I look good, and Hector wants to initiate me.” I pout provocatively, but Jose looks away, concentrates on the bumpy ride down Virgil toward the Mara’s home base in Pico Union.
“Maybe Hector’s got too much crank up his nose to smell the difference between pussy and a shithole.”
“Don’t say that. Look at this, I look good.” I pull up my crop top, and show off my boobs. “Look, almost a B-cup, and shaped like a girl’s.” A passing car cholos honks and yells admiringly.
Jose reaches over and yanks my top down, then pulls a hard right down a littered alley. “Shit, I think those guys are 18 Street. You are going to get us killed, you loco skank. If you want to be Mara, you should be a man, fighting for Mara on the street.” He pull another couple of rights, speeds down chain link bordered rows of dowdy apartment buildings, and gets back on Virgil.
“But that’s not what I do best. I use my head for Mara, both ways. I invented the new logo, and the fake bar code scheme. And I suck cock good.”
“Your shoplifting scheme is risky, too complicated, not for us. Mara gets what it wants by force, not tricks. You are making weak with your schemes.” José snorts disgust and blasts his horn at a laggard Toyota that pauses too long at the stoplight.
“I’d like to fuck that fucker up. And you too, before you ruin this posse.”
“You won’t, though. Hector is the boss. And he likes me, my mouth, and my ideas.” I purse my lips and wriggle my shoulders.
“You just shut your mouth for now.” Jose stares straight ahead drives faster toward the apartment complex near Rampart and Third where Hector’s posse of the MS-13 has its headquarters.
Bella Casa Manor’s walls are filigreed with MS-13 emblems proclaiming its status as the center of Hector’s fiefdom. A nine year old clutching a cell phone eyes us warily until Jose flashes him a sign. We park, and the kid jumps nervously, and then quickly complies when Jose barks an order to watch the van.
The kid smiles obsequiously and posts himself atop a neighbor’s stoop to better watch over the haul from my illicit shopping spree. The trove belongs to Mara now, so it is inviolable.
The Bella Casa Manor’s security doors are propped open with a garbage can. Jose and I staggers in, burdened by the dead weight of stuffed shopping bags. We walk through the graffiti and trash encrusted foyer, past an abandoned, algae-scummed swimming pool. A partially deflated float toy bobs forlornly in the greenish water. Pico Union is even dirtier and more run down than Hollywood.
Still, I am glad to be out. I have been trapped in my own little hell for the last two weeks, as I recover from my belly piercing and tattoo. At first, the belly ring hurt so much I couldn’t wear anything except pajamas, and even sucking Cesar off made me feel like I was going to break open and bleed out. Getting laid was out of the question, but today, for the first time, I feel ready. And I want it. But Jose has made his distaste for me clear. I wonder how Hector react when he sees me.
Cesar has been very nice to me, but he seems weak and powerless compared to Hector, who has done hard time and has killed rivals and enemies. Hector exudes manly ruthlessness. Cesar is a wannabee.
Still, I am grateful to Cesar. He introduced me to Mara, and now, for the first time in my life I feel like I have someone watching
my back, and taking care of me. While I was getting better from the belly ring, Cesar brought me magazines and beauty products, and even picked up my independent study work from Mr. Knudsen. When I felt good enough to get out and around Cesar took me to a Vietnamese nail salon for a manicure and pedicure, and to a Filipino hair salon for a haircut and highlights.
I think I look hot in my French tipped nails and my fashionable haircut. I copied my from Paris Hilton’s picture in Us magazine. I want to be a celebrity. I would love to have paparazzi taking my picture in front of hot nightclubs. I want to drink martinis and sleep with hip hop stars. I think I almost look the part.
I awake from this daydream when five inch pumps slip on a discarded needle. I have practiced walking in high heels around my apartment, but I am unaccustomed to wearing them out in the real world. I nearly tumble down the cracked staircase. Jose drops his packages, catches me. He is holding me in his arms, and I smile and say thank you. But Jose frowns, and curses.
“Watch where you walk, maricone.” I tread carefully past the fetid garbage bags which line the balcony, holding the wobbly railing. We pause at the door of unit 13.
Jose puts down his burden of Target merchandise and knocks in a measured pattern. A syncopated knock returns, Jose responds, and the door opens on a dark, smoky and rank smelling apartment, crowded with MS 13 members and acolytes. Hector stands at the center of this knot of gang bangers stands Hector. At his feet a bloodied body sprawls on the stained linoleum of the kitchen. He kicks the inert form in the mid section, and grunts an order to two of the home boys, who pick pull the body to its feet and lug it away. The head lolls I see that it is Cesar. His face is swollen nearly past recognition and drips blood. I gasp, and turn away in horror and disgust. Jose seizes my head and forces me to look closely.
“Congratulate your lover boy. He’s our newest member.”
“Why did you kill him?”
“He’s not dead. He’s just resting after his initiation.” Jose’s joke draws laughter from the audience of a dozen or so MS soldiers.
Hector sees me. “Time for you now, T-chica.”
I want to leave. I can’t imagine surviving a beating in like the one Cesar has suffered. Hector sees my fright. “Don’t worry, we have a special procedure for the chica’s.” A couple of beefy young MS soldiers grab me under my arms and pick me up. I kick my legs helplessly as they lift me across the crowded living room. Random hands paw at me as I pass through. I hear fragments of their commentary. “Yeah, the T chica’s got tits,” and “the he-she’s got a hot little twat.”
They push me into a tiny room and fling me face down onto a narrow, unkempt twin bed. Groping hands pop the snap of my new “7 For All Mankind” jeans and yank them down to my ankles. “Strip and lie down on the bed.”
The door slams and I hear a lock snick behind me. I jump up to try to get out, or to appeal to Hector, but it’s locked. I look for an escape but the windows are barred. Outside, the streets glimmer in the fading afternoon light. Inside, the room is dark, filthy, and strewn with the residue of bygone orgies: condom wrappers, discarded underwear, and cigarette butts. On the other bed, I notice the prone body of a young girl. She moans quietly. “Get out, go away…”
I draw near and whisper “Are you OK?”
She replies with another groan, and replies “Yeah, cuz it’s your turn now. Just do what they say. It will be over soon enough.” She rolls over to face the wall, and exposes her backside to me. Her back tattoo bears a disconcerting similarity to my own. I hear a few stifled sobs.
“Can I help?”
“I don’t need any help. I’m Mara now. They just sexed me in.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those guys out there, they all just fucked me, I’m officially MS now. Now it’s your turn, so my troubles are over.”
I hear thudding and a crash from outside our bedroom. I am panicking. “What’s going on now”
My roommate replies “Now they’re going to jump in another guy. In a few minutes, they are going to sex you in.”
I am hyperventilating. I force control over myself. I need to be relaxed and receptive to survive a gang banging, and to this chica, one of my soon-to-be sisters, I must appear cool and confident. I relax on the bed, and pull off my spaghetti strap top, and unhook and slip off my lacy purple Wonderbra. “How many of them?” I feign careless indifference to my fate, though inside me, my heart pounds, and my mind races with anxiety. Will I die in this filthy, smelly room, and be carried away dead to a burial in a dumpster? This mattress is filthy, redolent of curdled vomit, stale beer and sex. The steel bed frame is chipped and squeaky. I want to get away, but the windows are barred, and the door is locked. I try to find solace in Hector’s lust for me, but after the cruel fate he dealt to Cesar, I am afraid for myself. But I can’t show it to this girl, or to them.
She too affects an eerie calm. “I don’t know. I just closed my eyes, pretended it was a dream, so I lost count. Tell you what, I’ll keep track for you.” She rolls back over and looks me over. “I don’t know you, where are you from?”
Before I can answer, the door resounds with a loud knock. “Shut the fuck up and get ready.” Hector’s voice is ominous, impatient. I turn around as I slither out of my panties. I am tucked, but my roommate notices the bulge. “Oh, you’re the trannie. You’re so cute, I never would have known if I didn’t see your little thing. This should be interesting to watch.”
“Thanks. I’ll try to put on a good show for you.”
I lie face down on the bed and wet my anus with some saliva. Outside, the jumping in is ending, and the fusillade of kicks has subsided. I hear laughter, and the swish of a limp body dragged across the floor. Then, the lock turns, and the door opens.
“Who want first fuck?” Hector is making a generous offer to his followers, but they reply in unison, as if rehearsed.
“Esta primo, jefe.”
I realize that this initiation is as much as proving Hector’s primacy over his gang, as my subservience to it. But I am willing to play my role, if that is the price of acceptance, and protection.
Hector grunts and grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks up my head. I take him into my mouth, and taste a fishy residue on his cock. I recognize the aroma from my mom’s panties. It is my first taste of pussy, and to my surprise, I like it. It makes me feel sexy, and I start to relax. I like blowing Hector in front of a crowd of horny cholos, and I want them to want me. This is my chance to be accepted. I decide that I should perform like Paris Hilton. I close my eyes and imagine that I am in a movie, performing oral for a camera. Hector is my co-star, and the gangstas who catcall and whoop are the camera crew. As my fantasy deepens, my fear subsides.
When I open my eyes, it is still Pico Union, not a porno set, but it is still performance. I give it my best. Hector is small, so he is easy to suck. I am glad he is first. I know he will want to finish in my ass, where his smallish cock will ease the way for the others..
I pump my lips on his cock, moaning enthusiastically. From the crowd I hear hoots of appreciation. “Ladyboy, ladyboy got to fuck the ladyboy.” I put on a show, swallowing Hector’s cock all the way, while gazing up toward him worshipfully.
Hector whoops with glee. “Look at that, isn’t the ladyboy the best little cocksucker ever.” He pulls out and gets behind me, pulls my butt up high in the air.
“Look at that. Isn’t that the cutest little trannie ass you ever saw?”
“I haven’t seen that much trannie ass before,” someone answers. Hector laughs, spits on my ass, and presses his cock against my ass.
“It gets a little dirty back here in the bootie, so I’m going to cover up. Somebody throw me a rubber.”
He rolls on a condom, and barks an order. “Crazy 8, you fuck ladyboy’s face now.”
Hector grabs my thighs for leverage and then rams and penetrates me to the hilt in a single swift lunge. The intrusion is so sudden that even his short and slender cock jolts me with pain. I let out an aggrieved gasp, and the crowd grunts back appreciation, high fiving their leaders’ brutal assault on me. Hector rides me with short, rough stabs that set the bed squeaking and my tiny ball sack and boobs swaying. Hector slaps my cheeks, and says “I always wanted a little fuck pony. Tyla’s my cock’s favorite ride, oh yeah.” Our audience laughs, and chants “Ladyboy, ladyboy, ladyboy” manically.
I force a smile and throw a wanton glance, but before I can say a word or make eye contact my mouth is plugged by Crazy 8’s cock. His is a large uncircumcised penis several shades darker than Hector’s,. It’s coated with the same fishy film of dried vaginal secretions. I swallow it as deep as it will go, and the grab his buttocks to force it past my tonsils. I look up at him with blurry eyes, watery with the effort of forcing the cock in and quelling my gag reflex. I roll my lips over my teeth, arch my palate, and pump him down my throat, taking short breaths on the upstrokes. I reach one arm back and stroke Hector’s thigh, which vibrates as he slams his cock into me.
I find a harmonic in their wild motions, and my body bounces between Hector and Crazy 8 like an oscillating spring, rippling rhythmically as Hector drums my ass and Crazy 8 drills my mouth. They synchronize and accelerate in an unspoken conspiracy of sexual motion.
I am hot with the friction of two cocks flailing at either end of me. My ass feels moist and supple and my lips are puckered and full. I answer their rhythms with my own undulations. I go down on Crazy 8’s cock as I retract my ass from Hector’s cock, then thrust back on Hector as I pull back, breathing hard on Crazy’s retreating penis. Hector tugs my hair one way, and Crazy pulls my head the other. Hector slaps at my butt cheeks, and Crazy gropes at my jiggling boobs. I let them control me, possess me, and descend into a helpless thrall of pain and pleasure as I await their finish. Hector finishes first, banging so hard against my ass I can visualize the new bruises on my thighs, and then Crazy geysers a load cum into my mouth that leaves me coughing, choking, and gasping for breath. My eyes cloud with fatigue from my exertions, relief for my success and anxiety for the future. I am winded, wounded and wired from my encounter with Hector and Crazy 8. How will I survive the onslaught of the baying mob that crowds around my soiled bed, demanding to be next?
Hector praises me as he departs. “Ladyboy ass is skanky but oh so much tighter than pussy. All of you should try it.”
And so they did, all but Jose, who lurks in by the drawn curtain, counting Hector’s soldiers as they one by one, attacked me. Some of them enter for a few strokes and leave quickly. A few fuck me until they come and then stagger off to rejoin, and regale their comrades in the living room. The nine year old lookout who called himself Sonic can’t get a hard-on, so I suck his childlike penis and hairless balls futilely, until he gets embarrassed, slaps my face and leaves. Only Jose and I know how many different penises penetrate me in the four hours I spend in the squalid bedroom of Unit 13, Bella Casa Manor.
I am alone with Jose at last.
“Get up, strip, and go to the bathroom and shower. And stay there.”
Night has fallen, and a cool damp marine layer has crept over Los Angeles. I shiver in the cold and dark as the plumbing rattles to life. My bowels are swollen and full, but paralyzed with the pounding I have endured. My stomach is bloated and achy, but when I stick my finger down my throat, it provokes only dry heaves.
I look apprehensively into the dark, chipped mirror. I am pleasantly surprised. My lips are puffy, my make up is smeared, and my hair is matted with sweat and dried cum. But none of the slaps and punches or the scratches, bruises and marks of grasping have really hurt me. I gingerly finger my ass, fearful that it will be frayed and bloody, but is puckered but still feels tight. The bruises on my buttocks are faint and shallow. My nipples are raw and sore, but not scratched or scarred. My lips and tongue are swollen, and my jaw is sore, but my face looks fine. I cast a sultry gaze into the dark, spotted mirror. I decide that I have become pretty, better than most girls. I want to be the most beautiful of all. From my make up bag I take my second Diane-35 of the day.
I feel strong, and more confident. I have endured initiation to the Mara, and can call myself one with them. The Mara were rough, but careful with their new ladyboytoy. For this, I am grateful to my new comrades.
I shower in the dark, dirty bathroom. Over the hiss of water, I hear celebratory voices. I look forward to greeting my new friends, sharing a beer, and maybe even a hit ice from a glass pipe. Through submission, I have become Mara. I am happy that they will have me.

TBC

Secondary Education
Tyla Flowers
[email protected]

Chapter 5
A Hard Road to Ho.

I awake alone, my limbs twisted in rumpled sheets. The tattered window shade flaps in a desultory breeze billowing in one moment, sucking against the screen in the next. The cheerful trill of a passing ice cream truck making its final rounds makes me hungry, and I drag myself from the bed. I look out the window into the gloaming. It’s night. I have slept a couple of hours. The giddy party that was my initiation has broken up, and the Casa is quiet except for the chatter of Univision on the neighbor’s Spanish TVs and the wailing of their babies. The floor beside me is littered with torn condom rappers. I gather them in my hands and count eleven.

I gather my clothes and dress. There is a Target bag by the side of my bed. I recognize the clothes as some of the mis-priced bargains that Hector and I had hauled earlier. I smile at my good taste and expertise, and pull on pair of red lace thong panties, which creep into my tingling crack and alight it with sensation. I think about the collection of condom wrappers and smile at my accomplishment. The touch of satin in my ass crack makes me want another cock there, but I decide I should recuperate before getting it. I pull on a tiny denim skirt embroidered a pattern of beads on the butt, and a wide leather belt. Then, I slip on a slightly padded push up bra. My breasts converge into a pert cleavage. I squeeze them together, and they quiver. I am surprised at how big I look. I pull on a glittery, low cut halter which displays the upper portion of my boobs, tuck it at the waist to accentuate my curves, cover up my slim shoulders with a little silver jacket.
I find at the bottom of the bag a pair of gold, 5 inch heeled Michael Starrs sandals and a make up bag from L’Oreal. I lace the straps of the sandals in a pattern that ends just below my knees and carves into the soft flesh of my slender ankles. I walk to the bathroom, tottering bit but gradually acclimating to the steep slope of my foot, and look in the mirror. My face is clear, no bruises or scratches. I am relieved. The Mara have been careful with their new possession. I comb out the my bed head hair into a glossy ponytail, and as I put on my make up in the spotted mirror, my beauty emerges from the brush strokes and colors. I like my new look, edgy and a little slutty.

In my purse I find another pack of condoms, a few bucks and a fresh supply of Diane-35. I pop one and swallow it dry. My throat is still raw and it barely goes down. I listen again at the door to the neighborhoods sound. A man and a woman argue incomprehensibly in the courtyard of the Casa. But the apartment is quiet. I emerge from the room, still tottering but with silent footfalls across the ancient, stained shag carpet. The only cholo still around is passed out on the couch, so I silently leave the Casa. I smile at Sonic, still guarding the corner, and he gives me a surly nod and flips open his cell phone. I walk up Rampart, flinching at every passing car. I am dressed like a hooker, and my hair is disheveled. I feel like meat at a market. I want to go home, to take the first bus that comes by, even if I have to transfer at Melrose. I want to get away. A black Escalade with tinted windows and spinners glides to a halt and the door opens. It’s Jose and Hector.
“Where are you going, baby.”
“Home. There was no one there. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You don’t go anywhere without our permission, understand? Now get in the back.”
I climb in and he drives away. “I understand now. What am I supposed to do?”
“Well, here is what you’re going do, baby. You’re going to stand on a street corner and smile and shake your booty. Jose will take care of you, and you take care of the Business. You’re Mara’s street meat now, baby.”
I have always fantasized about being a whore, selling my lips and booty to horny strangers, taking their money and giving them what they want. Now, I have no choice. Mara make the rules for me. I am scared, but thrilled.
“I’ve never done it. I don’t know how.”
“You were great this afternoon. Jose’s turned out a dozen girls before. He’s your teacher tonight.”
Jose grunts.
The reality of streetwalking, right here and now, overwhelms me with a mixture of guilt and excitement.
“Do I have any choice?”
“Sure. I can beat the shit out of you and leave you in the gutter. Or you can do as I say.”
“You’re the boss, Hector.”
“Jose is the boss too, so you listen to what he says.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to drive around look for the trannie stroll. Tyla’s our trannie experiment, isn’t she, Jose?
“Jefe Hector, if you ask me, we got too many experiments. We should stick to what we know.”
“Jose, what we know isn’t enough. Mara has got to get bigger and stronger. I want to be like one of those Moslem militias, what do they call it, the Mahdi Army. Get some bombs and rockets and shit, a kill the fucking mayate and drive them from our hoods. Like those Shiites killing the Sunni’s. Grab up the mayate, torture them, kill them and dump their bodies on their doorsteps. That’s what I want Mara to be.
“Where we going to get those bombs, Hector?”
“Maybe we hook up with some terrorists, get the shit from them.”
“Bring the FBI down on us. Let’s stick to Ice and Ass. Kill the mayate one at a time, drive by shooting, walkups, like we always have.
I am frightened and confused. “I don’t understand. What’s a mayate.”
“What we call the black. Means dung beetle, or shit eater, cuz that’s what we think about the blacks.” I gasp, astonished the violence Hector’s hatred toward another minority.
“You don’t feel that way about Asians, I hope.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t kill the Asians. We’ll keep them around to get vegetables from, and rob. And fuck.” Hector laughs at his own joke. “But the mayate, they’re just like dirt, and they compete for our street.” He drew is finger across his neck. Then he slows as he spots a figure pirouetting in the glow of his headlights. It’s tall, large breasted Latina with red hair piled high on her head. She is wearing a tight mini dress and heels even higher than mine.
“This looks like a good spot.” Hector pulls over. Jose gets out of the car, and smashes the streetwalker across the face. She tumbles to the ground and cowers, whimpering.
Jose stands over his crumpled victim. “We’re Mara. And this is our corner.” He kicks the hooker in the stomach and she doubles up into a fetal position. “Now get the fuck out of here, puto, whore.”
The injured hooker pulls herself to her feet and hurries away into the shadows, bleeding profusely from the nose. I get out of the Escalade and Jose guides me toward a little pool of darkness between the street lights. Hector waves and drives off into the night. His cruelty frightens me. In his eyes, I see the same brutal indifference to me as he felt toward her. Only his aim differs. In her, he saw unwanted competition. In me, he sees a chance for profit.
“How much do I charge?” I wonder how little they value me...
“Fifty for a covered blowjob, a hundred for bareback, hundred fifty with CIM. Anal top or bottom is 200, covered only.”
“I can’t top. I don’t get hard any more.”
He hands me a blue pill. “This will do it for you.”
“Where will I perform?”
“Do it in the customer’s car, and don’t let them take you far. Get in and tell the customer to turn right and cruise to the end to the alley.” Jose gestures in the direction of a narrow, trash strewn alley. “There is a parking lot at the end. We’ll take care of any trouble. You just take care of the customer, take his cash, and walk back to this corner. I’ll take care of the money. Easy enough, huh?”
“I’m tired from this afternoon.”
“I figured. Here’s something to rev you up.”
He hands me a still-warm pipe. I turn away from the oncoming headlights and take an acrid puff of smoke from the pipe. In a few minutes, my jaw sets into a forced smile, and my body tingles with a manic energy that demands to be sated by sex. The gusting Santa Ana winds caress my skin and carry my spirit away from this dingy corner to a jeweled paradise of light and sound. I am a princess on an adventure in the night. I am living a dream that has lurked beneath my consciousness for all of the months that I have been remolding my flesh into the contour of a lithe young woman. I am a whore. I will be paid for my beauty and my sexual prowess. And I am glad. I flash my eyes and waggle my mini-skirted butt into the glare of the traffic. Jose lurks in the shadows.
The cars drive by in a choppy river of light and noise. I stare into the headlights and their glare makes my eyes halo and water. I try not to squint or tear, but the constant ebb and flow of bright lights strains me, and I attract no attention at all. From the darkness I hear Jose chattering commands over the phone. He pauses, and says “C’mon, chica boy, shake your booty. Let’s get some action before I fall asleep.”
“I’m trying. The cars are going too fast here.”
“This is the best spot on the street. You make something happen, bitch.”
I reach into my purse and put on the Dolce and Gabbana shades from my day at Target. They must make me more enticing, for now a few of the passing cars slow to take a look at the new street meat in the mini skirt and silver jacket, but none stop for me. I feel naked and alone poised on the curb. The speed courses through my vain, and makes me hyper alert and jumpy. I need some action too.
I look up and down the street. Just beyond the pools of light from the nearest streetlights I see other figures tottering on high heels at the curbside, my competition. I watch my neighbor intently, to imitate her methods and improve my own. She waves and blows a kiss as a car slows, and throws back her hair. A big black sedan slows to a stop, she steps off the curb and leans into the passenger’s window. She shakes her head, and backs away. The car eases away from the curb, and slows again when it reaches me. I throw my little jacket open and lean forward, to afford the occupant a glimpse into my modest décolletage, and to make a decision on whether to negotiate with them.
It’s a late model Beemer, and he’s a white guy in a business suit. He flips on his dome light so I can see him. He’s gray at the temples, and good looking in a lawyerly way. I decide to go for it and give a thumbs up to Jose behind my back.
“Hi baby, you looking for a date?” I lift my shades and bat my eyes. His car smells like air freshener. Bocelli sings wistfully over the Bose.
“Yeah, but how old are you? You look young.”
“I’m 18, barely.”
“OK, get in.”
“Let’s talk about business first. I’m trans. Is that OK?”
“Why else would I be driving this block?”
“What’s your interest?”
“Just some of your pretty little head. I’m in a hurry.”
“Turn the corner and go to parking lot at the end.”
“I’d rather take you over to the park.”
“OK, it’s 50 covered, 100 bareback, 150 CIM, up front.”
He hands me seven twenties and a ten. I roll down the window. Jose approaches and I tell him the plan. He takes the money and nods approval.
“Make sure you bring her back by 11:00.” The car’s clock says 10:10.
“Fine with me. I’m in a hurry.”
We drive in silence for a couple of blocks as the opera drones on.
“Could we listen to something else? This is depressing.”
He switches to the radio. Fifty Cent is dissing hos. I reach across the console and begin rubbing my date’s thigh.
“My name’s Tyla. What’s yours?”
He pauses a bit before he answers, “Jack.”
“That’s perfect, I love Jacks. Sharp pricks and bouncing balls. My favorite girly game.”
He laughs. “You’re a funny one.”
The speed is making my mind and body race with wit and sexual energy. I shift my hands to his crotch. His cock is already hard, pointing down his pant leg.
“Oh, that can’t be comfortable, being trapped like that. Can I help free the trapped beast?”
“Wow, you’re hilarious. Do the jokes cost extra?”
“Everything’s included. Except this.” I point to my ass. “That’s extra. Get it while it’s hot.”
“I’d love to try it but I’m in a hurry.”
He pulls into the parking lot at Wilshire and Alvarado finds a spot away from the lights.
He opens the door, rolls his seat forward and gets in the back.
“Back here, Tyla.” I sit next to him. His pants are already pulled down. He puts his hand on the back of my scull and presses my face into his lap.
“OK, baby. I’m late and in a hurry, so you’ll have to finish your monologue when you’re done here.”
I take him in a gulp and push him past my tonsils. He’s clean and smells great, like he’s just showered. It’s the most delicious cock I’ve ever tasted. His pubes are soft and fragrant, and his skin is silky but his flesh is firm. I begin bobbing my head, craning over him, and arching my neck so his cock slides past the gag point and deep into my esophagus. I want to impress him, to make him think he’s with a real pro instead of a first time streetwalker.
He grunts appreciation. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good little cocksucker, that’s good, you little whore, oh yeah, oh yeah.”
His grip tightens around my neck, and he digs his fingers deeper in my hair. I glance at the clock, it’s 11:32. I pump harder at him, trying to ignore the pain as he tears at the hair at the nape of my neck, and the twisting of my back as I lean over him and piston my head onto his up thrusting thighs. His cock spews a telltale flume of precum, and I pump even faster, hurrying him to the finish.
He spasms and grunts. “I’m gonna cum, I’m cumming, and I slow and pause as his motion become too rapid and jerky to coordinate with. Then his back arches up as a geyser of ropy cum jets into my mouth. He tastes like spray of salt from a breaking wave, and I suck and squeeze until my cheeks ache, to fill my mouth with him and gulp it down as another wave crashes into my mouth, and then another.
I want to keep my top clean, so I suck down every drop until my throat aches with the effort. Then is squeeze his scrotum and milk out the last drops.
I sit up give another swallow, to make sure it stays down. As I do, I burp quietly, and then giggle. “Excuse me.”
“You’re excused, baby. Where did a sweet little young thing like you learn to give a blowjob like that? That was amazing.”
“I guess it just comes naturally to girls like me.”
“You mean, because you have a cock of your own?”
“No, I think I feel like I just have to try a little harder to please, because I’m different.”
“You get an A+ for that effort.” He buckles up his pants and returns to the front seat, gesturing me to follow.”
“We have a few more minutes. Would you like a bottled water or something?”
“Yeah sure.”
He hands me a twenty and starts the car. “Get one for me, too.”
He pulls up in front of a little bodega on Alvarado and I buy two Crystal Geysers and a pack of gum for three bucks. The owner, a squat Salvadoran woman, gives me a dirty look as I pay and mutters “Puta” under her breath. I don’t care. At least she thinks I’m a woman.
Jack pops open the locks for me and I hand him his water and his change. He waves his hand and says “Keep it, it’s a tip. Great service.”
“Thanks. You were great too.”
“Hey, I’d like to hook up again without looking all over the street for you. Got a phone number.”
I have a throw away prepaid phone that the Mara used for drug deals and discarded. There are a few bucks left on the card. “This is only temporary, I am getting a new phone soon.” He types the number into his phone while he waits at a light. He pulls up to the corner where we met and says goodbye, and screeches away. I take my place on the curb and resume flirting with the torrent of oncoming headlights. The girl up the block from me is still there, and she turns my direction and makes an obscene gesture, I am competition for her and I have taken a customer away from her. I feel a bit smug and my confidence is up. I roll my hips at the passing cars. Soon, a big black SUV with tinted windows and spinners rolls to the curb. I step of as the window rolls down.
Inside sit four black bangers. My heart leaps as I peer into the car. Freeze is driving, and Antoine sits behind him, on the passenger side of the towering Suburban. The acrid stench of crack smoke wafts from the open window.
If they recognize me behind my shades and where my streetwalker clothes, they don’t let on. I hear a question barked over the cacophony of hip hop throbbing from the open window. “Where are you from, ho?”
I back away from the car. I hear Jose stir behind me, and curse. “Get the fuck off my block, mayate.”
Antoine swings the door open and grabs at me, saying something that’s inaudible over the thump of subwoofer powered rap, but I spin away from his grasp. I collide with Jose, who thrusts me aside. I stagger to the ground and look back as Jose points a Glock into the car. A voice from within the car shouts, “Fuck you, Salvi.” I look up as Antoine hoists a shotgun and fires a blast, just as Jose dives to the ground. The Suburban screeches its tires and speeds away. Buckshot from the ricochet rattles across the pavement and the sulfurous stench of gunpowder assaults my senses. My eyes water, and my ears ring in the aftermath of the deafening shotgun blast.
I pull myself to my hands and knees and crawl over to Jose. His head is sticky with blood, and his eyes are rolled back. I grab his cell phone, stagger to my feet and run as best I can down the alley, away from the bloody scene on Rampart. I find Jose’s last received call and push send. Hector picks up.
“Hola Jose, que pasa?”
“It’s Tyla. Jose got shot and I think he’s hurt really bad. He’s down at the corner of Rampart and Third.”
“Grab his ID and gun and walk away from there as fast as you can and go to over to the Park, Sixth and Park View. I’ll pick you up.”
“What about Jose? He needs a doctor. I’ll call 911.”
“No, don’t do that. We take care of our own.” Hector barks orders in the background. “What the fuck happened?”
“I think it was some Crips. I recognized a couple of them from Fairfax.”
“Do these Crips have names?”
If I tell him their names, he may ask questions, and find out about me and Antoine. So I lie.
“I don’t know them really, just their faces.”
Hector barks more orders in the background.
“Then, you’re going to help us find these mayate bastards. You’re going back to Fairfax and point them out.”
I take Jose’s wallet, already sticky with his blood and begin walking back down to MacArthur Park. My thoughts are racing, and they keep hitting a terrifying dead end, for I have trapped myself with my own lies. I must keep secret my encounter with Antoine in the locker room. I can’t risk telling the Mara now, if I be revealed as the old sexual conquest of Jose’s murderers, the sloppy seconds of their worst enemy. I will be ostracized, or worse. But now, I need the Mara more than ever. Will Antoine or Freeze make the connection between the streetwalker witness and Tyler Flowers, the femme boy from their PE class? If I return to Fairfax and to finger Antoine, he may recognize me first as the witness to his crime, and kill me to silence me. For the first time of the night I feel a cold dread of fear. But I live now under the orders of the Mara. I will have to confront my tormentor, Antoine, and set him up to be slaughtered by the Mara. Unless he slaughters me first.

TBC

Secondary Education
Tyla Flowers
[email protected]

Chapter 6
Night on the Town

I sit in the back seat of a speeding, SUV, wedged between two Mara soldiers. Jose’s corpse lies under a bloody blanket behind us, his face obliterated by the pointblank blast from Antoine’s shotgun. Hector drives the Escalade up and down Jefferson Boulevard, the uneasy border between the Crip and Mara fiefdoms, speeding past its many shuttered used furniture stores, but slowing as he passes its bright lit liquor stores.
“How many fucking black Suburbans have I seen tonight? Chica, are you sure you didn’t see the plate?”
“No, I was down on the ground, facing the wrong way. It has tinted windows and silver spinners.”
“Just like every other ghetto buggy.”
The Mara soldier next on my right, a skinny, sharp faced kid named Crazy 8, slams Jose’s blood-smeared Glock against his thigh. “Let’s just go fuck up the first mayate that we see, Boss.” Crazy 8’s cast left eye twitches hideously. I wonder how can aim a pistol with his eyes staring off in separate directions.
My companion on the left, the one they call the Pineapple, punches the back seat. “C’mon, boss, we got to make a statement.” Pineapple’s acne pitted skin oozes oily sweat. He smells sour. I wonder if it’s the sweat or his breath, which hisses between his black, crooked teeth. I am claustrophobic, frightened, and angry. It was Hector’s decision to put me on the street, and Jose’s decision to pull a gun a car load of black guys. Yet I feel like Hector is blaming me. I don’t want to witness a random drive by revenge killing, and risk getting killed myself in the cross fire. I need to escape, and the combination of adrenaline, speed and Viagra is driving me crazy with tension.
“I want to help, but we can’t look all over LA for one car. Can’t I just go back to work?”
Hector pounds steering wheel, and the car hits a bump and veers into the other lane. He swings it back just in time to miss an oncoming Toyota.
“Shut up, you’re all pissing me off. I need to think.” We drive on in silence. Hector slows each time he passes a pedestrian, but none of them resemble the tall, athletic, light-skinned black man that I have described. We pass a couple of black kids wearing oversized, silver and black hang down sweat pants.”
“What about those two homies?” Crazy 8 raises his gun.
“No, not them.” The kids sprint away into an alley.
“I can pick him out at school next year.”
“We can’t wait until next year.”
“He plays on the football team. Won’t they start practicing soon?”
“Hey, Chica, that’s a pretty good idea.”
“Can I get out of the car? This driving around is making me feel sick. I’d rather go out and work some more.”
“I need all of my soldiers on the job, so I can’t spare anybody to pimp you. Chica.”
“I’ll be OK. Just take me to Hollywood. I can work there on my own.”
Hector turns north on La Brea. The neighborhood gradually improves, and north of Wilshire the street is lined with gaudily lit restaurants and bars filled with wealthy whites and Asians. How I wish I could be part of that life, to live and dress like the celebrities. But I am a poor kid. My mom is a junky, my dad is a criminal, and my friends are all gangsters. I think about Mr. Knudsen, about going back to school. Is it still possible?
“Hey Pineapple, what’s the name of that trannie bar on Santa Monica?”
Pineapple shrugs. I answer. “It’s called Peanuts, but I don’t have I.D.”
Hector curses under his breath. “Crazy 8, you take the Chica down to 6th and Alvarado tomorrow, get her a girly, eighteen year old I.D.”
“Sure boss. For tonight, ladyboy can work near a greasy spoon around Fuller, called Yukon. There are sometimes trannies out on that block of Santa Monica, especially on Friday nights.”
“OK, here is Santa Monica, which way?”
“Left turn, then about a mile.”
We drive through the gay revelry of West Hollywood on a warm weekend night. Guys walk arm in arm, groping one another’s tight-jeaned butts. The lights glitter and beckon, but the Mara jeer contempt for the faggots as we drive by.
Trans are completely different from gays. The boys on the street are cute and well dressed, but they don’t interest me, and I would not interest them. I prefer my companions in the Escalade, even though they are a bunch murderous low lifers who treat me like a sexual commodity, At least I feel sexy attraction for them. I want them to want me. I love their bad boy antics, as long as they fall short of physical violence. I liked being their sex toy. It makes me feel wanted and girly.
But now I wonder if they see the difference or just view me as a dressed up faggot rather than a special kind of girl. I don’t like being their street meat. Working nights on the stroll is dangerous and makes me feel like they only let me join so they could sell me on the street. I want to be their concubine, not some streetwalker. I want to be a beautiful and sexy woman, not a worn out street whore like the one on my block.
When they call me a ladyboy, I know that they are doing it to ridicule me. But I accept that, and being gang fucked my ass this afternoon, because I thought they saw me as a girl. As I hear them hurl insults at the “fudge-pounding faggots” we drive by I wonder if they will ever let me be a real part of the Mara. To fuck me, a maricone, makes them feel manly. But a guy who is fucked by other men is despised. They think I am like those guys. They are men even though they fuck me, but because I let them fuck me, I am a faggot, just as bad as the gay boys of Santa Monica Boulevard. So they treat me like product to be sold like dope on the streets.
“What did you to get Jose killed?”
“It just happened. It’s not my fault.”
I had backed away because I was afraid Antoine and the Freeze had identified me. But that was part of my secret. If I told Hector about Antoine he’d surely blame me. Even without knowing my secret, he blames me for his friend’s death.
“Fucking stupid T Cunt. You got to earn back from your ass pussy what we lost when Jose died.”
“It wasn’t my fault. Jose drew his gun. The black guy had a shotgun.”
“Why didn’t you just get in with them? If you had just let them fuck you, Jose wouldn’t be dead.”
“They didn’t look like good business.”
“Then tell them to fuck off.”
“I was backing away from them. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Jose’s dead, and you’re alive. You got to pay the price now, chica.”
I can’t say what I think or what I know. Jose didn’t need to point the gun. That’s why Antoine killed him. What was Antoine supposed to do? Jose got himself killed with his machismo and stupidity. And I get blamed, and might get killed myself, as a consequence.
Mara exacts a deadly tribute from its members, in blood from Jose, in sexual servitude and undeserved punishment from me. I need get away from the Mara.
We stop at the corner of Santa Monica and Fuller and Crazy 8 makes me climb over him to get out of the car and smacks my ass as a farewell.
“Get out and sell that nice tight butt, chica.”
“Ouch, that hurt. Could I have a little money to get a cup of coffee?”
“No, you go out and earn it, and make us some money tonight, chica. We need to pay to bury Jose, and buy a lot of bullets if we are going to kill all of the mayate.”
They waggle their fingers in gang symbols as they speed away into the flow of traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard. As they leave, I wonder how many people will die tonight. I wonder if through my bad luck and Jose’s blunder, Hector will realize his fantasy of brown on black ethnic war and cleansing.
I peer in the windows of Yukon. It’s a twenty four hour breakfast place, harshly lit, furnished with stained linoleum and Naugehide booths. It’s nearly empty, just a couple of old men nursing cold coffee and pushing the crusty remains of their meals around their plates. I can see the clock in the above the door to the kitchen. It’s a little before midnight. The Santa Ana winds have abated, and I’m getting cold and hungry. I scan the parking lot of the Trader Joe’s next door. There are a handful of cars. Through their darkened windows I see silhouettes. I begin a prowl.
The speed is still powering me, and the Viagra is taking hold. My long dormant cock and estrogen suppressed male libido are awakening. My nerves jangle with unaccustomed sensations and desires. I crave action, the slap of flesh on flesh, to obliterate from my consciousness the horrors of the night. My ass is recovering from the afternoon’s trauma and tingles with sensation. My cock is rock hard in my thong. It brushes the fabric with every click of my heals on the pavement, and sends shivers of pleasure through me.
My heart pounds, my nose is stuffed, and I am dizzy. I lean against the against the fender of a Ford pick up to catch my breath. My eyes are dazzled with auroras of blue light. I rub them away, through the windshield I make out a dim shape in the driver’s seat. Then I am bathed in its headlights. I cover, and then uncover my eyes. The driver’s window is rolling down. I step out of the glare to see who is watching me, but my eyes are blinded momentarily.
“You’re new here, aren’t you.”
“You could say that. Who’s asking?”
“Never mind. I’ve been here before and I’ve never seen you. So you’re new.”
My eyes adjust. He’s a pudgy, middle aged white guy, an ATM with a cock attached to it. I am a cat, looking for a meal and a warm place to hide. He’s a bowl of warm cream. I bend to his eye level.
“So if you’re a regular, you must be looking for a date.”
“I could be. What’s your price?”
I decide to raise my rates. “Seventy five for BJC, One fifty for BBBJ, including CIM, and Two Bucks Fifty for Greek, top or bottom, covered.
“I want to take you bare back if you can really top. Four hundred.”
I back away from the window. “I don’t go for bare back penetration.” A dozen stern faced sex education lecturers have convinced me of the merits of condoms for penetrative sex.
“Are you sure you can top?”
“If you suck me first, sure.”
“That’s included?”
“Of course.”
He hands me the money. “Get in.”
The cab has a lived in look, and the camper shell on the back is equipped with a mattress, pillows and blankets.
“You got a name?”
I decide to tell him a fake. “They call me Cat.”
“I’m Peter. Where are you from?”
I decide to keep on lying. “I live over in Pico Union, but I’m originally from, ah, San Francisco.”
“How old?”
“Eighteen.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not showing you my ID. I’m old enough.”
He pulls over on a side street.
“OK, let’s get in the back.”
I slither between the seats and crouch under the plastic shell. He follows and lies down on the mattress. He pulls down his pants to reveal a pudgy, shaved belly and pubes. His cock is almost buried under a roll of fat. It’s only a little bit bigger than mine, and it’s small and pink. He rolls over and points his ass up. It too is shaved, and it glistens with lubricant. The rectum is ragged with bulging hemorrhoids.
He looks up with a simpering smile. “OK, Mistress, you know what to do. Take me.”
But the truth of the matter is, I don’t know what to do. I am a virgin in this way, and would prefer to stay that way. But this was purpose for which Jose gave me the Viagra, and this is my duty to the Mara. I reconstruct the rough techniques that Hector, Cesar, Antoine and the other Mara have used when they topped me, and mentally rehearse my own performance.
I hike up my little denim skirt and slip my cock out of my thong. I kneel beside him and thrust my cock into his mouth, He takes every inch and groans with pleasure. He is playing with his own cock with one hand and fingering his ass with the other. I grip his head and slam it against me. He looks up at me with grateful eyes, and I glare down with contempt. This little slut has abrogated my role and forced me into his. I am angry and frustrated, and take it out on him, forcing his head back and forth, faster than his flaccid muscles can bob. Finally, his groans become articulate.
“Fuck me, mistress, fuck my ass.”
I crawl behind him. His ass is reddened by the clawing of his own fingers. I take one of my condoms from my purse, rip it open with my teeth and roll it on. I hike his ass up into the position that I feel cocks the deepest, and jam it in all of the way. He yelps and collapses flat, and I keep pounding away, taking it almost all of the way out and jamming it in. His ass slides over my rubbered cock, and my thighs bang into his blubbery, soft ass, over and again.
I pull out, roll him over, and pull his legs up. He looks up at me with googly eyes and I just keep fucking him, as hard as I can. His moans become more rhythmic and higher pitched, almost soprano, and then he squeals and a jet of sperm flies from his cock up to his chin.
Now that he has cum, I can finish. I try to go faster, and squeeze my own ass, but the sensation is dulled by the condom and by the softness of his flesh. If only his ass was tighter, or my cock was bigger, I could release my orgasm, but his ass is so slippery my cock can’t get traction. I want to cum, and get this nightmare over, but I can’t.
I am hot, sweaty and winded from the unaccustomed effort of topping this quivering, whimpering mass of flab. I start slapping his back fat in frustration, and he responds with “More, more, harder, harder, and I keep hitting him and he keeps crying for more but I can’t come. Finally, I stop and collapse on top of him. His body is like a pillow, and I rest for a moment. I am exhausted, but my cock is still hard. I pull out, and grab a tissue, and pull off the condom, and clean my cock with a wipe.
“I’m tired out, and out time is almost up. I can’t cum.”
“You’re not done until you cum on me, or in me.”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.”
“I’ll suck you.”
“Forget it, that didn’t work either. I guess I’m not in the mood.”
“I paid for you. You should cum for me.”
“OK, I have an idea. Roll over.”
I grab my lube and squirt it into my hand, and then I sit astride his chest. Even my slight weight made him struggle for breath, but he seemed to like the asphyxiation, which brings a smile to his face. I close my eyes and begin to rub my cock in my lubed hand. I emotionally project myself to the mountain meadow where Matt Frawley always brought me. He lays me down on a bed of flowering clover that tickles my nose and my skin as he presses down on me. He enters me gently, millimeter at a time, and fondles my breasts. Then he rolls me over, spreads my legs into missionary, and enters me again. Only now, I have a real pussy, and he’s fucking me there. The pounding of his flesh in this new, virginal orifice awakens something within me. My juices roil with the intensity of a gathering hurricane. As his lips touch mine, my mouth contorts into a howl of anguish and ecstasy. Like a firey flow of magma from a crevice at the bottom of the deepest sea, my orgasm has erupted.
I open my eyes and watch Peter lick droplets of my cum from his lips.
I collapse to the filthy mattress next to him, and for a moment, wish I was dead.
Peter pays me an extra fifty for the good service and after I give him a fake phone number he leaves me off in front of Yukon. I take a seat at an empty table and order a cup of coffee. I rest my head on the table and close my eyes. The Ice hit is wearing off. I am starting to get depressed, tired and scared. I am hungry, but I am nauseous. And I am afraid to eat, afraid of how the food will feel inside.
A voice calls from the neighboring table
“Hey little girl, you just do Peter the Pervert in the Ford?”
I look over, and see a voluptuous, caramel skinned, and quite pretty black transsexual. She’s smiling so broadly it’s almost a laugh.
“What if I did?”
“You better have covered up, because every girl I know has done him once, and not all of them did. He’s just as sick as the sickest one of them.”
“I covered. But he wanted me bareback.”
“He’s a freak. You’ll be OK.”
I glance over at her, still resting my head. “I guess I’m part of the club, huh?”
She laughs heartily. “Yeah girlie, welcome to our club. My name’s Cherry, mind if I join you?”
“Sure, as long as we leave room for a couple of guys.”
She slaps the table and laughs again. “You’re a funny one, aren’t you? I’ll save your seat while you go fix your make up. Got to look pretty for the after hours crowd from Peanuts.”
I look at my watch, a shiny new Movado that we lifted from the Target. It’s 1:45.
I stagger to my feet, nearly toppling from my heels. The room seems to lurch at me. The fluorescent lights buzz, and cast foggy halos. I am crashing from the speed.
Cherry catches my arm. “Are you OK, girl?”
I whisper in Cherry’s ear “I did some tweak earlier and I’m coming down hard.”
“Why didn’t you say so, girl? I can help out there.”
She follows me to the rest room. I almost turn into the men’s room, but Cherry grabs my shoulders and detours me to the ladies. We go together into the last stall and she produces a vial of powder and a tiny spoon.
“No smoking in here, but we can at least powder our noses. Here’s how.” She exhales, pinches off one nostril, and then sucks the heap of powder from her nail into the other. She repeats with the other side and then offers me a pile of crystal meth from her pinky. I suck it up my nose and a chemical blast sears my sinuses.
“It stings.”
“Like a rattle snake. But it keeps the snake happy, and wide awake.” She patted the slight bulge at the front of her dress at the groin.
The fresh hit of speed sends a wave of pleasure and confidence through my tired mind and body.
“I feel better already, but dirty.”
“Let me help you clean up.” She bends down to her knees and slides down my thong. She pulls a baby wipe from her purse and sponges my cock, thighs and ass clean.
“My oh my, aren’t you a pretty baby down there. Not a hair to be seen.” She blows a cool breath on my cock and pulls my panties up. “Got to save that for the paying customers. All you need are some boobies like mine and you’re going to be a star.” She opens the stall and we go to the sinks and start making up.
“I’m not old enough to get the surgery.”
“How old are you, child?”
“Almost sixteen.”
“That’s too young to start the Life. But still, I wish I’d started on the hormones back then. I would have saved a fortune in electrolysis and would have this.” She pointed to her Adam’s Apple. “It gives me away.”
“I know. Mine keeps trying to grow too. I feel it sometimes. Like it’s trying to burst out, and I smother it with hormones.”
“Be careful not to take too much. That can cause problems. What are you taking?”
“Diane 35 when I get it. Three a day.”
“I take ethinyl estradiol and cyproterone acetate.”
“That’s what’s in the Diane.”
“Then I guess you’re doing it right. Just remember, no bare back there.” She points at her butt. “They all want it, but they can’t have it.”
“I know. They tell us that every year in school. What do you think sucking bare back.”
“Most of the girls do it. The clients don’t like covers, they all want CIM. And I like it, so I do it every day and I don’t really worry about it. Back in ’03 I was living in Frisco, and I was in a study about it. The doctors said it was a risk, but a pretty low one. To keep going crazy about it, you just have to test regularly.”
“I don’t have a doctor any more.”
“They sell a test that you can do it yourself, it costs about fifty bucks, and they mail the results. I take one every couple of months, and I’ve been clean on every one of them.”
I finished with my gloss. “How do I look?”
“Like you’re ready to suck some dicks. Let’s go while we can still get our table.”
Yukon was beginning to fill up with people and sound. When Peanuts closes at 2 a.m. the remnant of the alcohol-lubricated crowd that hasn’t hooked up there slithers over to Yukon. Cherry and I take our places and she orders a couple of glasses of ice tea while we wait to be some drunken guys’ last chances. I am hyper aware, sensing every vibe from the guys as they circle us. I sit on the aisle, to ward away the pair of Arabs with slimy hair, and Cherry rewards me with a knowing smile and a confidential whisper. “I know those guys. They’re stingy and demanding.”
She looks over my shoulder and says “Don’t look now, but when the next pair of dress shoes and pin stripe pants passes by, look up at him and smile.”
I wait impatiently for the trod of leather heels, and when they come, gaze upward. It’s a tall, slender white guy with graying temples and thick glasses. He has a long nose, an even longer chin, and his face is thin. He has dark circles under his eyes and his skin is very pale. But his body is perfect, narrow at the hips, broad at the shoulders, and his pants hang perfectly, without any paunch or bulges of fat.
He looks like an ad for the suit he’s wearing, his white shirt is still pressed and clean, and his beautiful red silk tie is tied perfectly at his neck. He looks rich, like he could afford any TGirl in Peanuts or here, but I want him to choose me. My breast stirs with new energy, and I pick up my little fake Chanel clutch from the seat and switch it to the inside, out of his way. I catch his pale grey eyes and smile. He stops and stoops to my eye level, never diverting his gaze from my eyes.
“Mind if we join you ladies?”
I slide over to the inside seat of our booth.
“It’s getting crowded here. Of course we can share our booth.”
Cherry laughs as his companion, the blond banker, as I think of him, takes his seat. “I think it’s so crowded that we should leave.”
Cherry’s new friend says “That works for me. My name is Hal.”
Cherry laughs again. “Well Hallelujah, Hal. Mine’s Cherry, like what you put on top of a two scoop chocolate sundae with whipped cream.” She shakes her chest, and her big brown boobs jiggle like bowls of Jello.
Hal is transfixed. “That looks delicious.”
I am locking eyes with my companion. “She’s funny, isn’t she?”
“Yes, but you are beautiful. What’s your name?”
“It’s Tyla.”
“Like Thailand?”
I decide that’s a good enough explanation for this promising new stranger. “Yes, my mom’s Thai, but I was born here. What’s yours?”
“Eric Saunders. Oops, I guess I wasn’t supposed to tell you my whole name on a first date. It just kind of slipped out.”
“Do you want me to forget it?” I looked into his eyes. They are bloodshot from too much drink, but they seem warm and sensitive.
“No. I don’t. Let’s get out of here.”
We get up, the first girls to exit Yukon. I feel jealous eyes boring into me as I leave. But Cherry is ebullient. She just laughs and points and crack jokes to the girls she knows as she leaves. She is a pro, and I am her new student. I smile at our envious audience and copy her when she waves goodbye.
Eric’s opens the passenger door for me and shuts it behind me. He is treating me like a lady, not a whore he just picked up, so I decide that for the night I will act the part of his girlfriend.
Eric starts the car, which roars to life with a rush of power. I am a little cold, and shiver, and he flicks on the seat warmer. My ass starts glow with warmth, and I am feeling sexy again. He turns to me as he slips the car into gear.
“I am so glad we met you. The crowd at Peanuts and Yukon is so sleazy.”
From the back seat, I hear giggles, whispers, a zip and a rustle of fabric, the clank of a belt, and then the smacky, breathy sound of lips around a cock.
“I am glad you chose me. I really wanted to get away from that scene.”
“It sounds like your friend and mine our having fun. We should trade places at the next stoplight.”
I reach over and start massaging his cock, which immediately springs to life. “Mmm, I can’t wait to suck on this.”
“Your fingers are perfect for now.” I resume kneading his hard-on through the fine fabric of his suit pants. “We’re not going far, and I should concentrate on driving.”
“I think I could make you have a terrible accident if this thing weren’t in the way.” I banged on the center console.
“It would be the perfect way to die, I suppose.” He sighs.
“But if I must die with your cock in my mouth, it should be from suffocation.”
“I promise to remember to let you breathe.”
“If I pass out, just give me cock to butt resuscitation.”
Everyone bursts out laughing.
Cherry smacks her lips around Hal’s cock and says “Bitch, you almost made me choke on this piece of meat.”
“Cherry, you got to eat more carefully.” I hear a new round of enthusiastic sucking.
We pull up at the Elan Hotel. The valet whisks off the BMW, and we walk in a group, laughing a little too loud for the late hour, into the hotel. The night clerk eyes us warily as we tiptoe through the lobby to their suite. From his glare I can tell he has figured that Eric and Hal are well-dressed businessmen and Cherry and I are trashily dressed hookers. But I don’t care.
Eric closes the door and kisses me.
I push his lips away. “I want to get down with you, but can we take care of business first?”
“Oh yeah, how about a thousand for the night.”
I am shocked. “For both of us?”
“No, Hal’s on his own with Cherry.”
“OK, that’s really generous.” I am hypnotized as he piles the stack of Franklins on the night stand. I leave them there.
He’s naked now, and already hard. His cock is cut and about 8 inches. He’s taking off my sandals, unwinding the straps. He pulls open my belt, and slides down my skirt. He piles it neatly at the bedside. I pull off the halter and unhook the push up bra. It has drawn little lines in my flesh, so sit with my arms crossed across my boobs. He uncrosses my arms and kisses each of my nipples.
“Oh, baby, you are delicious.”
He pulls back the covers and pushes me back down on the bed. The sheets are soft, clean and fragrant. The bed is springy but firm. I scoot my body into position and find his cock between my lips. I kiss the tip and take it in deep, and start pumping. He tastes so clean, so fresh, that I feel dirty and cheap. I stop, and look up.
“Do you mind if I freshen up a little before we get started.”
“Do you want to shower?”
“I want to be perfect for you.”
“Long day and night?”
“I can’t even begin to tell you.”
“Me too. You go first.”
I cover up daintily as I walk to the shower. His eyes never leave me. I close the door, open it again, and blow a kiss.
I have never been in such a fine bathroom. It’s all marble, with two sinks, and both a shower and bath. I am in a hurry so I shower. There is a little plastic hat to keep my hair dry, like a head condom. The shower is filled with its own set of fancy toiletries, but I use only the shower gel, and dig my finger as deep as I can into my hole. It feels tight, and I make sure I am clean. I towel off with the thickest, softest towel I have ever felt, and use half of the little bottle of mouth wash by the sink. I check my make up. I look good.
When I come out, Eric is leaning over his desk and his nose makes a loud sucking noise.
He looks up, a little embarrassed.
“I got a little tired, and need a little refreshment. Want some?”
I take a rolled hundred from him and sniff the line of crystalline powder. It stings, but in a cool, minty way.
“That tastes really fresh, like menthol or something.”
“It’s coke. Don’t tell me you’ve never tried it.”
“Is it a kind of meth?”
“No, it’s better.”
I feel a smooth rush of energy, and sniff the other line. He leaves the door open as he pees, and showers. I can see his silhouette through the shower door as he carefully scrubs.
“God, the day I had, what a tough deal, and then Peanuts was not much better. The girls there are so stuck up.”
“I know.” I don’t. I am not even old enough to get in to Peanuts. But Eric hasn’t noticed that. When I was a boy, everyone thought I was younger than I really was. I guess I look older as a girl.
There are two pieces of candy on the bed. I snatch one. I’m starving.
“Can we eat these?”
He looks at me kind of funny, as if I have asked him something really stupid, and says “You have them. I only like one kind of candy.”
I pop one in my mouth and relax into the mound of pillows. I feel his body nudge my thighs apart and then his warm lips circling my cock.
“Mmm, you mean cock candy.” I enjoy the chocolate melting in my mouth and oozing down my throat, and Eric lips flicking at my cock, and then taking it in his mouth. He gently probes a finger into my ass and strokes my nipples, and I cry out with pleasure.
“God, that feels so good.” He nods his head and keeps sucking and pressing his finger against the rim of my hole. I love being Eric’s whore. For the first time, someone is trying to make me feel good and getting pleasure from my pleasure. I moan appreciation and he nods his head and sucks me more.
He slides his body up mine and kisses me. I let him put his tongue in my mouth and we twirl tongues and I feel his cock pressing against my inner thigh and I feel hungry and empty inside and I want him in me, to fill the place inside me that had been blasted open and abandoned by the Mara. He breaks off the kiss and rolls off me, onto his side, but his body is still pumping against mine.
He whispers in my ear. “Your lips are like a delicious chocolate dessert.”
I slide down the bed toward his mid section. His stomach is reasonably flat, not fat, but not a washboard like Hector.
“I want some cock candy too.” I finish my thought by taking his cock between my lips and twirling my tongue over the glans. His body quivers and stiffens, and he cries out.
“Slow down, baby, or I’ll pop too soon.”
I plunge my head down so his cock slides in all of the way, and bob so it slides past my tonsils and into my throat. He’s thick, I can barely breathe, but the coke and speed are rushing through me and I feel like I can do anything, so I bob up and down, ramming him so deep that my nostrils touch his pubes, and then out until my tongue is trilling the tip, and then again.
“Slower, baby, I don’t want to cum in your mouth.”
“It’s OK if you do. I want to eat your cum.”
“But I want to save it for this.”
He pats my butt.
“Mmm, I want both. I guess I’m just a greedy girl.” I slide up next to him. “How do you want to fuck me.”
“I’d like you to start cowboy, so I can see your beautiful face when I enter you.”
I reach over to my purse and rip open a condom. I roll it onto his cock, and then slather it with Astroglide. I wipe the extra on my butt, and poke some inside on my finger. “You bad boy, you want to see me cry, don’t you.”
“No, I’ll be careful. I just want to see how you express yourself, how your beautiful Asian face changes when I enter you.”
I straddle him, poise his cock against my ass. I lower my eyelids and bite my lower lip in anticipation of the rush of pain that’s coming. I let my thighs soften, and glide downward. The cock presses against me, and I press down my sphincters and feel it pop through. My lips curl back into a grimace, I force them into a pucker and bite them, to counter the pain rippling up from my behind. My eyes are pinched closed, and I force them open, to look at Eric through a blur of tears. He wants to see me suffer, so I open my soul.
I want him to fill the void that a dozen Mara cocks have drilled within me, to forget about them, and to revel in this paradise of clean sheets and safety. I want to use the intensity of this moment to obliterate every second of humiliation and degradation I’ve endured in my transition, from Matt, from Antoine, and now, from the Mara. I slam my body down on him and bury him to the hilt. The fabric of my flesh is ripped asunder as though by a knife, and a cry out in inarticulate agony.
I have started a bonfire inside me, and now I surge up and down, pumping the bellows to stoke the cleansing flames that are devouring all memory of Cesar, Jose, Hector, and the brutal soldiers who participated in my initiation. I just want to forget about Mara and the street and whore myself in warm rooms on clean sheets to guys who appreciate me and pay me more than I would have asked. I am crying, my head is thrashing, and my body is flailing up and down. I press my sphincters down as a lunge down, and squeeze them as I rise, because I want my ass to suck the sperm from his cock.
At first Eric tries to be gentle, to moderate the blows that I am self-inflicting. But my passion is infectious, and soon his body surges up against my down strokes and down as I rise. The full eight inches of his cock tear at me each time our bodies collide and retreat.
I want his sperm to burst the condom and wash through me, rinsing me of the filth of the Mara and the Street. I am angry at the Mara, who first took me to be one of their own, and when I gave myself to them peddled me on the street like some second hand clothes. If I am to sell myself, it should be Rodeo Drive, not garage sale. Now I am fucking a guy for a thousand bucks a couple of blocks from Rodeo, and I don’t want to go back Vermont and Third. I want Eric’s cock and to free me from theirs, his generosity to free me from the life sex slavery that the Mara have made for me. So I bang down even harder and faster, until at last I am winded and collapse on top of his chest.
He strokes my hair, pulls it behind my ear. “Whoa, baby, that was incredible. You are insatiable.”
“So are you. I just wanted all of you, all at once.”
“You got what you wanted. And so did I. I have never seen anything more beautiful than your face when it changed as entered you.”
“Is my face still beautiful?”
“It always was. But especially then. And your ass is like a velvet tunnel. I love the way you sacrificed yourself for me.”
“It wasn’t sacrifice. I needed you. I still need you.”
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“A little bit, but from the greatest pain comes an even greater pleasure. You make me feel like a real girl when you are inside me. And that is how I love to feel. Because I am a girl, even though I have this.” I point to my cock which lies soft across his belly. “But now it is time for you. How do you want to fuck me now?”
“On all fours?”
“Doggy is my favorite. I want to be your bitch.”
I roll over, point my ass in the air, and grind my face into the sheets. “OK, fuck me hard, make me cum like a girl.”
He kneels behind me and pauses at my rectum. I grab hold of him and thrust my thighs backward to re ignite the firestorm inside me, to burn more bad memories. My ass is wet and flexible now, and I grip my muscles tight around his rampaging penis. He grabs a handful of hair from the nape of my neck and holds it like the reins of a horse, and I buck against him like a rodeo pony.
“Slap my ass.”
He spanks me.
“Harder, harder, spank me harder.”
He hits me three more times. My ass tingles with warmth and prickles with sensation.
“More, harder, fuck your little teenage whore. I’m bad, fuck me, spank your little teenaged cum slut.”
My dirty talk excites him, and now his fucking jolts me so hard I collapse to the bed, and I get to feel his big, firm body atop me. It crushes me, traps me, I am helpless, and in this position his cock rams even deeper within me. It makes me feel girly to be so helpless, so totally fucked, and I grab one of his hands and place it on my little tittie and the other on my cock, which speed and sex have reduced to a shrunken nub. But it ripples sensation when he touches it.
“Fuck me really hard now, and I think I can cum.”
He must work out, because we have been fucking for an hour and he’s still going strong. The speed is keeping me going but my muscles are failing, I can’t keep fucking back, so I let my body relax as his moment builds. I put one hand on my other tittie and pinch the nipple, harder and harder and bite my lips as his body pulsates against me with ever greater force.
I close my eyes. I am the Empress of Cambodia. The barbarians have invaded, they are destroying my temples, slaughtering my people, and they are at the palace gate. I am their last hope. I offer myself to the barbarian chief, and he throws me on the bed and rapes me. When he is finished, he tells me, he will slaughter me and take my throne.
Will you rule wisely, and be kind to my people? Yes, he tells me, because then they will be my people. I close my eyes, thank Buddha for this opportunity to serve, and tell him to finish. As I do, my shrunken cock hardens and a burst of steamy cum leaks from the tip. I let out a happy shriek of release and my body vibrates with pleasure. My second orgasm of the night is much stronger and pleasurable, as though ever cell in my body had been released of bondage. I smile, for I feel that I have cum as a woman.
Eric senses the signal from my body, grunts a wild barbaric roar and throbs against me, stabbing his cock deep grabbing my shoulders and shaking them heedless of any care. I can feel the condom ripple as his load fills the tip and drives it deep inside me.
“I came. You did too, didn’t you?”
I nod my head, but I bury it deep within the sheets. I don’t want him to see my tears, because he would misinterpret them. They are tears of happiness.
“That was fantastic. The best sex I have ever had.” Eric rolls off of me.”
“For me too. I almost never cum, the hormones make it difficult.”
He rolls off of me and lopes to the bathroom. I hear the piss rattle in the toilet. When he comes out he brings me a robe.
“Hey, you’re welcome to take a shower before you go.”
I am speechless with hurt. I stare at the ceiling, at the luxurious bedding, at the stack of hundreds, at the coke-smeared glass desk top. It is not mine. I am not part it. I belong to the ghetto, to the Mara.
“You want me to go?”
“Yeah, I got a flight back to New York tomorrow and I got to get a few hours of sleep.”
I reject the robe he offers me.
“I don’t need a shower. I’ll just go now.” I swiftly get dressed, not even looking up. He dawdles in his robe, not helping me gather my scattered clothes. When I am done, I give him a mechanical hug but reject his kiss. I need to break away from Eric too.
“Here’s fifty for your cab. Leave me your phone number if you want to. I’d see you again next time I’m in LA.
“Sure. I will.” Now I am fighting back real tears. I have escaped the Mara for only a few hours, and now must return to their clutches. I must plan a new escape.

TBC

Secondary Education
Tyla Flowers
[email protected]

Chapter 7
The Tipping Point

The rising sun paints the smoggy sky over Los Angeles fuchsia. The air is dense with the smoke of distant wildfires. The breeze is already hot. It stirs the trash from overflowing garbage cans and sends it tumbling down the streets. Greasy food wrappers twirl in trash cyclones: In and Out, Jack in the Box, Weinerschnitzel. The sight makes me nauseous, and I choke back a gag.
My eyes sting with fatigue, the acrid air and the ebbing effects of meth. I slip on my DG shades and avert my eyes from the sun’s glint. It’s morning, and I am the last whore on the street. I have almost two thousand dollars in my clutch. It’s the most money I have ever touched at one time. For the moment, it’s mine, although I know the Mara will claim most of it as theirs.
A battered pickup passes me, and the wrinkled, squat Mexican riding in the open backs snarls an incomprehensible taunt and whistles derisively as he side arms a L’Opinion in my direction. It whirls by my head and skitters across the barren front lawn of a battered apartment.
I turn and walk up the cracked steps, for this is my home, a slumlord’s investment gone wrong on the bedraggled periphery of LA’s bright and shiny downtown. A homeless guy camps out in clump of dusty ivy by the walk, covered in cardboard. Asleep, he looks like a harmless pile of rags, but he reeks of urine and curdled vomit.
I pick my way through the litter and enter. The front door is propped open with a soggy, yellowed phone book that no one bothered to pick up or throw away. The pool is nearly empty and its walls are cracked. The bottom is filling with debris floating on a shallow, scummy puddle.
I squint back into the sunrise, toward downtown. There, the skyscrapers glint in dawn’s light like the fairy towers of a far away Nirvana. Will I ever see them, except from afar? I fear that I never will, for I am a creature of the streets, not of the sky.
My calves are sore from a night prowling the streets, on high heals. My head aches from speed’s brutal aftermath. After a night of feigned gaiety and passion, I feel empty and alone.
I need to sleep but the dregs of the coke and speed that powered me through the night are still with me. I open the door, cross the tiny living room to the cluttered, dirty kitchen, and look into the fetid, empty refrigerator.
My mom has been home, come and gone. She’s left a pile of unread mail on the kitchen counter next to an empty liter bottle of Shasta Orange, a blackened scrap of aluminum foil, and a pile of burnt out matches. I tear open a letter from the Los Angeles Unified School District:

Dear Ms. Flowers
Tyler Flowers has not completed LAUSD’s requirements for promotion to 11th Grade. He received an incomplete in Physical Education last term at Fairfax High School. In order to be promoted or to 11th Grade he must complete 10th Grade Physical Education in the Summer Session. In addition, Tyler Flower’s request for transfer to Hollywood High is denied pending completion of his 10th Grade Physical Education course at Fairfax High.
Summer session begins on June 19. Tyler Flowers must register on or before June 16 in order to complete this requirement.
Sincerely,
Felix Rojas
Office of the Assistant Principal, Fairfax High.

My mother is such a flake. She can’t read English well and she doesn’t pay attention to anything except her drug habit and the boyfriends who supply it. If I didn’t fuck up my own life so well she’d ruin it for me.
I rummage through the pile of papers and find a calendar. It’s July 7. It’s too early to call the school, and too probably too late to do anything about the incomplete. I’ll just have to drop out. That’s what Hector wants anyhow, so I can be a full time whore for him. But I think of Mr. Knudsen, and I don’t want to disappoint him by giving up on myself. I stagger to bed and close my eyes.
The room vibrates, my head is buzzing with waves of receding chemicals and fatigue. The speed, which had made me invincible in the night, now leaves me edgy and desolate. I struggle out of my clothes but can’t find the strength to fold or hang them. I need to comfort myself against onrushing waves of loneliness and fear. I am half a woman, half a boy. But has my transition ruined my life? Will I be a ghetto bitch forever?
I stroke my hands over my body. My breasts are sore from all of the fondling and sucking, my ass is swollen and battered, my insides feel clogged and achy, but I’m too tired to try to poop. My cock is limp and shrunken and my balls have seemingly disappeared. I tuck my cock between my legs and smooth my hand over the silky flat triangle from my hips to my thighs and imagine, as I have a thousand times before, that I am a girl.
I pinch my eyes closed, and try to banish the dirty street, the filthy apartment, the terrifying night, Hector, Antoine, and the Mara, and concentrate on my vision. In my mind, my fingers are tracing the contours of the body of a beautiful girl.
All that I need are big boobs, not as big as Cherry’s but big enough for a man to cup in his hand, or to press into a tunnel around his cock. I want to be castrated, to get rid of my balls forever, to reshape my cock into a pussy, tight like my ass, but pure and clean. Then, I am sure every boy will want me. But I will reserve myself for the strongest and most handsome, like Matt, or the richest, and most generous, like Eric.
I will live in a home with a marble shower and sink, and a soft, clean bed like the one in the hotel. I will receive them in a real pussy, and in the mouth, and the ass, and all three at the same time, and they will worship me as a goddess, and I will worship them as gods.
I will find a way. I will never go back to being a boy. If for a time I have to live the Life, I will do it in style, with a smile and perky enthusiasm. But is my walk on the stroll my path to my dreams or to my death?
A street whore lives on the edge between life and death every night. True, it is better to be a whore for the Mara than to toil through life as a hairy, ugly man. I decide that I will not live the life and not die the death of a street whore. I must escape from the Mara.
I am torn by conflict. The Mara made my transition possible. They accepted me as a girl, and gave me hormones, clothes, and protection. But to them a trannie is a maricone, to be used and discarded. My role in the Mara is to be their sex slave, and when they tire of me, they will kill me or sell me off like a bag of crack or a truckload of stolen property.
It’s different when you pick your own tricks. True, Eric used me and kicked me out on the street when he was done. But I have tasted what my new sexual freedom can bring me. As a cute young Asian trannie, I can have rich older guys like Eric pay me for an hour of sex what the Mexican street traffic pays for a long, dangerous, and cold night of back seat blowjobs. I am going to find, and get fucked by every one of those rich older guys that I can.
I dry mouth a Diane and a couple of Tylenol PM and close my eyes. As I wait for sleep, I imagine myself at work in one of those glimmering towers I spied in the dawn, the object of desire of a hundred Eric’s and Hal’s. I can be that girl, if I can make myself free of the Mara. As I drift into a dream, my fantasy of freedom becomes plan of escape.
I awake with a blinding ray of sun in my eyes. It’s late afternoon. I have become nocturnal like a feline. My phone shows five missed calls, all from the same 323 number. I push redial.
“Hola, TChica, where have you been?”
“Getting my beauty sleep after long night. Did you find the black guy who killed Jose?”
“No, but we found another black ho who’s never doing nothing again.” Hector cackles laughter.
“I’m sorry I missed the show. But I was putting on a show of my own.”
“I want to hear all about it. I’ll send Cesar over to pick you up.”
I pop another Diane, and quickly shower and dress, skimpy Lucky cutoffs, lavender glitter tube top, bare at the belly, platform shoes, my little silver jacket. I am still putting on my eyeliner when Cesar calls.
“I’m not quite done. Do you want to come up?”
“No, there’s no place to park.”
“Don’t you want me any more?”
“Of course I do, baby, but so does Hector. He told me to hurry.”
I hear a lie in his voice, and decide that I don’t care about him, or any of the rest of them. I finish my eyeliner in a rush. Then I hide half of my earnings from last night in hole in my mattress, and run down to meet Cesar.
He still has bruises around his eyes from the beating in. I get in and stroke his face, “Poor baby,” but he barely looks at me.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like the way I look?”
“You look hot. You’re too hot for me.”
“You don’t want me because I’m a ho? That’s what you made me, when you gave me to the Mara.”
“We’re both just soldiers now. I have to be elevated before I get privileges.”
“I’m a privilege?”
“Hector doesn’t want us together, says it will interfere with his plans, and my progress.”
“What’s his plan?”
“To sell your ass to some pimp in Rosarito.”
“I won’t go.”
“You won’t have a choice.”
“Take me away.”
“Then we’re both dead. Just do what he says. He’s crazy now that Jose’s gone. Mara’s at war with the Crips now.”
Suddenly, I hate Cesar for his cowardice and weakness, Hector for his duplicity and viciousness, and all of the Mara for their macho posing and brutality. I am just a couple of holes for them to fuck and sell. They have as little regard for me as for a half-used vial of Ice. I am just something to use up or sell. I am glad of my plan to get free of them.
We pulled up in front of Bella Casa and Cesar lets me out. Pineapple nods silently as I flounce by, and I flash a sexy smile and wag my butt. I need to feign complete loyalty and enthusiasm.
Hector’s tawdry courtiers are gathered around him at the rickety linoleum table.
I approach and put my clutch on the table before him. He opens it, grabs the money, and counts it, muttering out loud.”
He looks up and gives me a golden smile.
“Excellent, T Chica. You were my top performer last night.”
“Rookie’s luck, boss. I found the right groove.”
“And the Mara took part of your competition off of the streets.” He whips out his cell phone and flicks it open. It displays a picture of a dead black girl, her face obliterated, lying in a pool of blood, legs akimbo, on the sidewalk. She’s so mutilated that she’s unrecognizable, but her blood spattered clothes look familiar. I wonder whether my so called comrades have just killed my new friend.
“Why did you kill her?”
“That’s our new rule. To get made a jefe in the Mara, everyone kills a mayate.”
I am disgusted by this macho hubris, but hide my revulsion behind a smile.
“Kill a few more ho’s, maybe I can raise my rates.”
Hector laughs and slaps my ass. “I like your attitude. I’m going to change my plan for you. I’m going to keep you on the home team instead of trading you down to the Mexican League.”
I feel a rush of relief. But I keep up my act. “Oh, too bad, I love Mexican food. Especially the burritos.”
“We got plenty of pupusas for you here, don’t we?” He slaps my butt.
“Aren’t burritos bigger?”
“Ha-ha. You’re funny, TChica. But burritos are soft and soggy, like an old Mexican.”
“Pupusa means ‘for pussy,’ right?”
“Ha-ha, I like you T Chica, even if you did get my ayudante Jose killed. You can stay here for now, as long as you keep bringing me a thousand buck in the morning.” Hector brandishes the stack of bills and grins.
“And if I’m in Mexico I can’t help you find the black who shot Jose.”
“You didn’t help us much last night. I don’t think you want to find the mayate fucker, the fucking dung beetle.”
“No, I thought about it, and I have a plan. I have a way of getting back into Fairfax High. I’ll look around for him. I know I’ll recognize the black bastard when I see him.”
“I thought you dropped out of Fairfax.”
“They want me back.”
“What for, you gonna blow the whole football team?”
He grabs me and forces my head down toward his crotch. I don’t resist, but look up and smile.
“That could be part of my plan.”
“OK, tell me the rest.”
“It’s easy. I have to make up a class there. So I go to school, figure who he is, where he hangs out, and how he gets around, lead you to him, and you whack him.”
“If he sees you, he’ll whack you first.”
“He won’t even recognize me. I’m going back to school as a boy.”
“That reminds me. Does anyone want to fuck the maricone before she goes back on the stroll?”
“I’ll fuck anything with a hole in it.” I turn to see Pineapple. He must have followed me in from his post outside. I cringe, but keep it inside and affect cheer.
“OK, anyone else? I’m in the mood for a threesome, OK?” I am afraid of Pineapple and think a third player might make the game more predictable. But he grunts “Everybody else waits.”
He grabs my arm and pulls me toward the bedroom and throws me on the bed.
“You don’t have to be so rough. I want to get fucked, Pineapple. I like it.” It’s a white lie, of course. No sane person would want to be fucked by this greasy pig, who smells of bad food and a week of dirty underwear and sweat. But I am in a role, playing the loyal Marita.
“You are my first of the day, so be gentle. Enter me slowly, and then fuck me hard.”
“OK, but I’m on guard duty, and I’m in a hurry.”
“So am I.” I sit on the bed and pull his pants to his knees. He is already hard.
“Mm, that’s a big cock.” He’s uncut, and the glans bulges beneath the sheen of his moist foreskin.
“Do you want me to just blow you? S’ok if you cum in my mouth.”
“No, I want to cum in your ass.”
“OK, then fuck me.”
I grab a condom from my clutch and roll it on, and then squeeze some lube into my palm. I stroke his cock, and he grimaces.
“Stop or you’ll make me pop.”
I wipe the rest on my ass.
“Baby, save it for me.” I can tell he is on the verge of coming.
I get on the bed, hoist my ass, rub the lube on my butt, and slip my panties down my thighs. His cock presses against my ass, and he thrusts, but I am too tight. It glances off its target and slides up my crack to the small of my back, smearing me with a slick of lubricant. His balls slap against my buttocks.
I grab some more lubricant, reach back and take hold of his cock.
“Let me help you.”
He grunts assent.
“Now, take me slowly. It will be better for both of us.” I guide him to the center of my ass and circle the tip of his penis on the taut ring. I press back against and press open my outer sphincter, and twirl his cock around until it hits the second ring. I try to ease him back out, to accustom myself, but he can’t control himself and suddenly jerks forward. My fingers slip, and his cock head barges through both rings of my ass and buries itself deep into the loops of my colon.
In a moment, the cascade of pain electrifies me and I collapse to the bed as he rams me with the full length of his cock. He pulls back almost all of the way out, so his bulging glans strains against my outer sphincter, and then smashes deep inside me again. His balls slap my buttocks. He has entered me to the hilt on his second stroke.
I bite the pillow as my eyes water. I try to force a groan of pleasure but pain renders me mute. I bury my face in the pillow and try to breathe, to relax, to endure the agony until it releases me, and transmutes first into calm relief, and then pleasure. But Pineapple is either a selfish or inexperienced lover. He never slows his pace enough for me to synchronize my movement to his, and before I can he is reaches that stuttering chaotic sprint to his finish. I know he is cumming as he buries himself deep, almost straight down, cock to my navel. I feel him release and plunge and release again, crying out like a coyote in a frenzy, before settling in flabby lump on top of me, and heaving his stinking breath into my face. I lie still, and keep my face buried in the pillow. I don’t want to look at him, or for him to attempt a kiss. I want this foul creature to leave me.
He gets up. I hear the clank of his belt buckle and the shuffle of his boots on the floor. “That was good. You like my cock in your booty?”
“I love to get fucked all day and all night. You have a big cock.”
“You have a tight little ass. I never fucked in there before.”
“Have you fucked pussy?”
“Yeah, but I like booty better. It’s tight, you sucked my cum out fast.”
“You were really fast.”
“That’s how I like it.”
His condom has fallen on the floor. He points to it. “Get rid of that thing for me.” Then he leaves. I pick it up with a tissue from my clutch and wipe the smear of lubricant from my ass with another. I open the door. Pineapple is gone, Hector is gone, but a four of the Mara are lounging around the kitchen table. My ass feels empty, and I need something to take away the memory of Pineapple’s lousy breath and greedy sex. I approach the rickety table where they are pawing over the fragments of some chips and residue of salsa.
“Does anyone else want some of my booty?”
Crazy 8 slides his chair out and leers at me. “I never thought I sink so low as to take sloppy seconds after Pineapple, but what the hell.”
He takes my hand and we walk back toward the bedroom.
“I’m not sloppy. Pineapple comes so fast, he barely warmed me up. I need you to finish me.” I wrap my arm around his chest. Young Salvadoran guys have awesome pectorals, knobby and hard. It’s strange that as old men they become so flabby.
He hugs me back. “So you’re hot for my big dick?”
I am tired. I loathe Crazy 8. His cast eye disgusts me and his mood swings are scary and dangerous. He is a rough and selfish lover, like all of the Mara. I’d rather shower off Pineapple’s residue and get fucked by someone new who can pay for my company than spend another minute with these dangerous losers.
But my plan requires that the Mara to have great trust in my loyalty to them. I pause at the threshold of the bedroom, turn and call back the group at the table. “Stick around; I’m hot for all of you.” I close the door, kneel on the floor and as I unzip Crazy 8’s fly, I silently thank Buddha that that only three of the Mara have stayed behind to hear my offer. I am happy to let all of them fuck me, for when I am finished with them, no one will doubt my loyalty. Then, it will be easy for me to lead them to slaughter.

Secondary Education
Tyla Flowers
[email protected]

Secondary Education
Tyla Flowers
[email protected]

Chapter 8
Making Up My Incomplete

I cinch a belt around the baggy waist of my Dockers. The pants’ seat and thighs are just as tight as the waist is loose. My old boy clothes don’t fit my new body. It is as Tyler, rather than Tyla, that I am re-enrolling, two weeks late, in Fairfax High’s summer program.
I wrap my boobs with an Ace bandage to squeeze them flat, and cover up my curves with tee shirt and a faded Kobe Bryant sweatshirt despite the stifling summer heat. It’s old, from when he was number 8, and when I could still picture myself as a boy.
I hide my hair under a Dodger’s baseball cap and my eyes behind a pair of Raybans. I sling my backpack over my shoulder. Along with an old notebook, a stubbly pencil, and the letter from the principal’s office, I have a cute sundress, lace panties, glittery tie up sandals, a half used bottle of lube and a zip-lock containing an assortment of condoms, from unlubricated Lifestyles for covered blow jobs to lubricated Trojan Maxums for anal penetration. I never leave home without them.
As I walk to the bus stop I try to stop my butt from swaying like a chica’s but even in Doc Marten’s it’s hard to keep my estrogen-softened hips from wobbling. I have forgotten how to be a boy.
The traffic drones by on Sunset. I glance at the passing cars and get depressed. I am almost old enough to drive, but there’s no one to teach me. My dad is a convict, my mom is in a Court ordered residential rehab, and my Mara bosses don’t want me to learn. They like their chicas to be illiterate and helpless and easily dominated and controlled.
It’s unusual that Hector Hernandez, the Mara boss of Pico Union/ Hollywood region, is allowing me off his turf to venture into his Crip enemy’s territory, but I have persuaded him that it’s a good tactic. I am to arrange a revenge killing of a Crip soldier who killed Jose Rodriguez, a vicious Mara chief whose belligerence and bad judgment, more than any enemy, killed him.
If I succeed in arranging the targeted killing of my old classmate and tormentor, Antoine Lewis, I may be forgiven for the death of Jose. As my reward the Mara will continue to sell my ass on the street to all comers. If I fail, I will be killed, or sold into sex slavery in Tijuana. I am as expendable as a bullet. The expansive boulevards of Los Angeles stretch for thirty miles from the foothills to the sea. Is there enough room for me to hide from my friends and enemies in this pink stucco and palm prison?
I wait outside the principal’s office. The staff is reduced during summer school, and the phones ring ceaselessly, unanswered. Papers are piled on every surface in precarious stacks. The receptionist who took my name with a scowl has disappeared for the last half hour.
When my name is finally called, I have drifted so far into my thoughts that I barely notice, until it is repeated. I look up and a pudgy Latino man, about thirty five, but already balding and graying, beckons me to follow him. I walk by piles of boxes, overhead projectors, copiers and aged computers and monitors. Fairfax doesn’t get the top equipment any more, now that it’s in the middle of the hierarchy of mediocrity in the LAUSD. My host motions me to a battered doorway, and to a metal chair that’s squeezed between a cluttered desk and a dented file cabinet. He puts out his hand.
“I am Mr. Rojas. You are Mr. Flowers, right?”
I proffer my hand and realize to my horror that the nails are still French tipped. Rojas stares at them, and then at my face.
“I am sorry. I had some trouble at the end of the year and couldn’t finish classes. I took and passed all of my finals, though.”
“Phys Ed doesn’t have a final. It’s based on hours of attendance, and your hours were way short.”
“That’s where I had some of my worst problems last term.”
“We’re not here to talk about your problems. We’re here to talk about solutions. Now, I see you have applied to transfer to Hollywood High and into the OASIS program.”
“I need to so I can go to school as a girl. I’m a transsexual.”
Rojas frowns. “No wonder you had problems in Phys Ed. How are we going to get you through your Phys Ed requirement? You need 36 hours.”
“During the year Coach let me help him with his paperwork.” But he hadn’t bothered giving me credit for it. Otherwise I would have owed about 4 hours.
“Coach Hanlon is running the summer sports camp. Maybe you could help him there.”
“Would I get credit?”
“If he records your time, we’ll give you the credits. Then off you go to Hollywood.”
He scribbles some notes on a form and hands it to me. “Remember, you’re enrolled here as a boy and you are going to be working in the boy’s sports program. So you may want to do something about those nails.”
“I know. It’s hard going back and forth.”
”I can’t imagine.” He gestures toward the door. “Please ask Coach Hanlon to call me.”
I walk down the. In the stillness of summer these halls are even more threatening than when they are overflowing with students. My footsteps make a lonely cadence as I pass nervously through these dim and echoing corridors.
I turn the corner past the locker room and scuttle by unnoticed. Whoops and growls of manly fellowship resound from behind the locker room door. I scuttle by unseen and let myself in to Coach’s tiny office. It is piled high with papers, as though no one had filed anything since I left after my laundry room encounter with Antoine and the Freeze, almost three months, and a seeming lifetime ago. Much had changed in my life since then, but not in Coach’s management style. No wonder that he incompleted me and demanded 36 hours of make up. It will take me that long to unsnarl this Augean mess.
But Coach’s scheme to indenture me as his personal assistant fits perfectly with my own plans to escape my slavery to the Mara. So I begin filing with great enthusiasm and energy. If I have excavated the first level by the time Coach gets back, he will take me back and give me the credit I need and deserve to get out of this hell hole.
I find a stack of empty file folders marked with student names and numbers, marked for the summer term. I flip through them, making mental notes of the names and sorting the scattered papers into the appropriate folder. I pause, overcome with emotion, when I come to the name of Matthew Frawley. I lift the folder to my nose, as if the paper could conjure the fragrance of the cynosure of my fantasies. My heart almost stops beating when I come to Antoine Lewis’s name, and then resumes with such intensity that for a few seconds I am blinded by the intensity of my apprehension of danger and opportunity.
I calm myself and get back to work. For the moment, Antoine and Matt are just names like a hundred others on tardy slips, injury reports and discipline notices. I sort their paperwork into their files just like everyone else’s.
Coach shows up after I had been at work for an hour and gives me credit for five hours even though I have worked six. I decide not to protest and say thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow, and he just shrugs and leaves. I take the precious make up credit slip straight to the principal’s office. My footsteps echo in the empty halls. Public places are spooky when they’re empty. I am nervous and quicken my pace to get out of this menacing place. Then, as I turn a corner, I collide with a huge onrushing body and crash to the floor in a heap. The large black guy who has felled me mutters an apology and helps me to my feet. I look up and see that my benefactor is Antoine Lewis. On seeing me, he double takes.
“You’re Flowers, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m still Tyler Flowers, Antoine.” I’m not really still Tyler, but I want to use our past guilty prod. But he just smiles off the guilt.
“I didn’t see you around much. Where you been?”
“I took a little break from classes. Now I’m back, because guess which PE teacher flunked me?”
“Yeah, you never were much in PE class. You were good after class though.” He laughs and I fight off a blush.
“That goes for you too.” I smile provocatively.
“So why did you run out of here just when we were getting to be friends? How’s that s’posed to make me feel?” Antoine puts on a hurt expression.
“I wasn’t sure you wanted me as a friend. You were a little bit too rough. And rude. And I was afraid that you would tell everyone.”
“It seemed like you were enjoying yourself to me. B’sides, why would I tell anyone ‘bout our little thing? They might get the wrong idea ‘bout me.” He runs his fingers down the nape of my neck, gently pulling my hair. “I like what you’ve done with your hair, baby.”
Our collision has dislodged my baseball cap, and my newly styled hair, colored auburn and highlighted with platinum streaks, is flowing down my back.
“Oops, I am supposed to dress as a boy while I’m still here.”
I stoop to pick up my cap and Antoine cops a gentle feel of my butt.
“I think I’d like to have another couple of scoops of that sweet Asian ice cream.”
He uses a sexy tone that makes me want him. My ass is buzzing with anticipation, my nipples itch with desire, and my lips swell with hunger. Objectively, Antoine had raped me and he had been a rough, contemptuous and cruel. But so had Cesar, Hector, and the Mara. Most guys figure that a trannie wants to get fucked, and they’re right most of the time. Plus, I probably had been his first trannie, and he was in a way as inexperienced as I had been.
But I had learned a lot since them. Now, his sexy voice and smiling eyes, coupled with the memory of his massive cock, was irresistible. I decide to give him another try, especially since I need him at least as much as he needs me.
I pile my hair under my hat and squeeze his hand.
“Walk with me to drop this off at Administration. We need to talk.”
“We need to fuck, baby. I knew you liked it. But why did you run away?”
“I just needed to get away from here while I transitioned, and you were part of my old scene here. I was afraid you were going to tell everybody about fucking me, and all of the losers and freaks would be after me, harassing me, or trying to fuck me. But now, I feel more comfortable with myself and being a trannie and all. I can deal with it.”
“I can help you deal with it, if you want protection. Crips take good care of their friends.” He stops and pulls me into an alcove, and enfolds me in his arms and lifts me off my feet in a firm hug. I tilt my head back and let him kiss me. I open my lips, and then quiver them as he crushes them. One hand slides to my ass, and I grind my bottom in his grip.
“Oh, baby, that’s good.”
I guide his other hand to my breast and under the protective bandage. He molds his palms against the soft flesh of my boobs.
“Wow, you got titties.”
I hear the sound of approaching footsteps so I shush him, we disentangle and hurry to the principal’s office. Antoine waits for me. Rojas takes my make up slip and gives me a sly smile.
“Keep up the good work, Flowers.”
“Thanks. I like it better here, now that I know I’m on the way out.”
“Probably the best for all concerned.”
I skip out of his office and find Antoine. We walk nonchalantly to the parking lot like a couple of casual buddies, but Antoine keeps looking over at me, like he’s sizing me up.
I stop and give him a quizzical look. “What?”
He smiles goofily, and says, “Nothin’.”
As we approach the black Escalade I decide it’s time. “Antoine, but I have something to tell you that’s going to make you go freaky, but you have to promise to let me tell you my whole story, until I finish.”
“I’ll let you finish your story as long I get to finish in your booty.”
“Of course, but this time you have to use a condom while you’re inside me.”
“Definitely. I got reminded about the insides of your booty every time I pissed for a week. So what’s the news flash?”
He opens the door and flicks open the locks. I get in the car. No, I know, I am vulnerable, in his power, and I am about to reveal a dangerous truth. But I have gotten in a lot of cars with a lot of dangerous strangers, and gotten out alive and both well fucked and paid. I feel like I can handle myself with him.
“Antoine, I saw you shoot that Salvo out on the street that night.”
He shoots me a panicked glare. “You bitch, don’t you dare be coming here to blackmail me. I should just cap you in the head when I’m done fucking you. Or maybe just cap you first.”
“Before you go postal don’t you want to know what I saw?”
“How ‘bout you saw that motherfucker pointing a Glock in my face.”
“That’s exactly what I saw. And I know he was going to use it. So if the police ever connect the dots back to you, don’t you want me alive and healthy to tell my side of the story?”
“OK, baby, so you’re my self defense. I like you better all of the time. But why are you coming around here and telling me that?”
“Because the police are the least of your concerns. The Mara got a hit out on you. What I’m supposed to be doing is setting you up.”
He looks panicked, and his sexy baritone rises a couple of registers. “You’re hooked up with those crazies? Why are you telling me this shit?”
“Because I hate those bastards. My boyfriend made me join. Now they’re pimping me out on the street and threatening to sell me to a pimp to work the street in Mexico. And they want to kill you and every other black living north of Jefferson Boulevard.”
Antoine pulls up in front of a battered Tudor-style house near the corner of Crenshaw and Adams. Its paint is peeling off, taking with it swathes of caked on graffiti. From the overlapping gang tags I can decipher that this is a neighborhood in conflict. It’s divided between white urban pioneers, black holdovers and surging brown tide of Mexicans and Central Americans. This is the realm to which Hector plans to extend the Mara’s reach. This is where the Crips must make their stand.
“The Mara want this block. They want to run everything from Pico Union to Crenshaw.
“Welcome to my hood, baby. I got no plans to leave.”
“But the Mara plan to drive you out of here.”
“That’s not going to happen. So are you here to help, or are you one of them now.”
I turn, lift my sweatshirt and show him the whore tag on my butt. He emits a low whistle.
“They got you tagged, bitch.” He traces the M and S that garland the sides of Betty Boop’s flowery throne.
“I’m one of them, but I want to be free of them, just like you. I want to erase those letters from my bottom. And that’s why I’m here. You help me, and I help you.”
“How’s a ladyboy like you gonna help me?”
“Because I got the plan. It goes like this. First, I tell the Mara I found you. Then I lead the Mara to you on your territory. I tell you where and when they’re coming and the Crips ambush the Mara and wipe them out.”
“You got to make me trust you. How do I know this isn’t a double cross?”
I rub my boobs against his chest. “I’ll show you how loyal I can be.”
Antoine emits a low whistle. “How am I going to know when this is going down?”
“I’ll send you a text message when we are on the way. I’ll get you descriptions of the players on the hit team, and their cars, and you tell your soldiers where to set up and whom to shoot. Just promise me that you’ll kill Hector Hernandez. He’s the leader.” I show Antoine a camera phone shot of Hector standing in the kitchen of the Bella Casa. “I’ll send you pictures of the others.”
“Why don’t you just lead me to them?”
“They have that neighborhood so wired you’d never surprise them. You’d be ambushed. I’ll deliver them to you here, where you have the advantage.”
“You’re good, my little ladyboy. In more ways than one.”
“Let me show you just how good I am.”
I lean over the console and gently squeeze his cock. It’s even bigger than I remember it.
“Mmm, I can’t wait to start sucking on this.”
“Upstairs.” Antoine guides me up the stairs to the second floor.
“I live here with my mom, but she’s not around now.”
“Neither is mine. Rehab.”
“Mine too. Maybe they’re together.”
“That would be funny. Is it OK if I change. I feel too boyish in these.”
“You need something to wear? My momma’s a lot bigger than you.”
“No, I’m prepared. Can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure. I’ll go get us some beer. You need anything else?”
“Maybe some wipes, for afterwards.”
“Sure baby. If we ever stop.” He kisses me and leaves alone me in his home. I am touched by his trust and generosity, for his home is just as threadbare and impoverished as my own. For all of his flash and grandstanding at Fairfax, Antoine is just a poor kid like me.
On the noisy, rusty old refrigerator there’s a picture of him riding a bike, and another, even younger, blowing out six candles on a birthday cake. There’s a picture of him in a Fairfax high football uniform, and another sprinting across the finish line at a track meet. There’s his mom, a fat lady with a sad expression. Antoine is like me, trying to make good through sports like I have been trying with art. It’s hard poor kids to survive in LA. You need a gang to support you, to keep the others off your back, but the gang ends up dragging everyone down to the same level thuggish brutality. I have to get out of it. And Antoine, and his gang, will provide my escape from the Mara.
The gangrenous shower curtain and chipped and filthy commode are just as tawdry as the ones at my house. There is a rat trap behind the toilet, and roach hotels on the counter top. I stand on my tip toes, fill my douche, insert it, and squeeze in some warm water, to flush my ass clear of any poop.
While I wait for the colonic rinse to work its magic, I put on my make up. My ass soon is urgent, and I squat above the grimy toilet seat to make tiny poo, which pops out in a flood of clear water. The towels are so filthy that I pat myself dry with toilet tissue. Then, I step into the rusty tub and wash my bottom. The towels are so filthy that I pat myself dry with toilet tissue and dress. When my panties touch the smooth and hairless skin of my tiny scrotum and cock, I feel my nipples erect and graze the pleated bust of my dress. I hurry to lace up my sandals when I hear Antoine’s feet on the stairs.
He unlocks the door, and I realize that I have been his captive behind the double bolted door, but this realization only enhances my expectant mood.
“Wow, you look like a real fine lady, baby.”
“Thanks, I did the best I could in a hurry.” I gloss my lips as he watches, and smack them together in a air kiss to finish. “What did you bring me?”
“Six of these tall boys, and one of these really tall boys.” He pats his crotch, which is bulging noticeably.
He pops open and hands me a beer and leads me to the bed. I sit, take a gulp and feel the dull glow of alcohol spread through me.
He puts on some John Legend and offers me his hand. We start to dance. Antoine is six foot three, about ten inches taller than I am and weighs about 210, compared to my 105. My head barely reaches his shoulders. I breathe in his powerful aromas as he nuzzles his head in my hair. Antoine’s body is earthy and tangy with sweat, even though he has just showered after his practice. “It’s really hot here.” He wrenches open a window, and the sheet that’s been nailed to the frame billows in and out in the Santa Ana winds. “That’s better.” He gathers me to him again, and we sway to the gentle music.
He has really long, strong arms, and he rubs my buttocks as we rock back and forth, making ever tighter concentric circles around my booty. He hugs me tight with his other arm, and presses my boobs against his taut, angular abdomen. The song ends, and we swig some more beer, and then he dances me toward the bed.
I unhitch his belt, and his baggy pants glide off his slim, toned waist slip easily to the floor. His cock is straining against his boxers, so I release it. It gently slaps my cheek, and I rub it against my face, breathing on it, inhaling it, and looking up worshipfully.
“I think it grew since I saw it last.”
“I’m still growing, got three inches taller since last year. Coach says I might get some college scouts looking at my ball this year.”
“Right now I’m the one looking at your balls, and they’re beautiful.” I take one of his testicles in my mouth and gently guck it as I tickle the other with my fingers. My other thumb and forefinger cannot quite reach to circle his cock but I stroke it gently and his moans mingle with the music.
“Oh, baby, that’s good.”
I take his cockhead between my lips and he jolts in response, and starts face fucking me intensely, mashing my lips against the surging black cock and digging his fingers deep into my hair to gain leverage against my head. I let my muscles go limp in his hands, and he wrenches my head to and fro, banging his cock on from my lips to my glottis.
He pauses, draws me next to him on the bed and kisses my cock flavored mouth deep and long.
“You taste good with a little cock on your lips.”
“Mmm, I like the dark meat best.”
“Don’t you know how to deep throat, baby? It feels like it’s only going in half way.”
“I’d have to be a hippo to deep throat that monster.” I point his cock straight up impale my throat with it. It slides past my gag point into my esophagus. I push it farther until I feel the tickle of pubes on my nose, and then come up for air.
“I’m going to need CPR if I deep throat that.”
He laughs. “What’s that stand for?”
“Cock or Penis Rear Entry.”
I pat my ass and reach for my purse to grab lube and the largest condom in my collection. I put some lube on my butt and hand Antoine the bottle.
“I like your new attitude, baby.”
“Now Antoine, I need to teach you how to fuck a T Girl. The first thing is to open me up slowly with your finger.”
I point my ass up, and bow my head back down over his cock. He starts playing with my ass on the outside. It sends trills of pleasure through me. I respond by bobbing my head ever more energetically over his cock, licking the underside from his balls to the tip and then back, and then popping the glans in and out my lips. He draws the alphabet with his fingers inside me. I am shivering with sensation, and push my butt back on him to signal to push farther. His knuckle pops through the second ring, and I decode from the rush of neural signals a way to control that inner sphincter. I discover that I am able to pull my ass open, to make it gape, inviting, rather than resisting penetration. I focus every nerve and every muscle fiber on opening up.
“Baby, how are you doing that? You’re wide open for me.”
I take a breathe and look up at him worshipfully, panting. He is peering into my insides, like a connoisseur looking at an art masterpiece. “I don’t know. I just figured out how to do it.”
“It’s beautiful inside there, like a deep red cave.”
I relax my muscles, and feel my ass snap shut on Antoine’s fingers.
“Oh, baby, you trapped me.” I open and shut again, hoping that repletion will make my muscles remember this trick.
“I think your butt’s ready to get reacquainted with Mr. Johnson.”
I pause from blowing him, roll a XXL on his cock, and slather it with lubricant.
“OK, now please go slowly at first.”
“I’ll be good.”
I roll on my back and throw my legs up in the air. When he approaches, I latch my ankles over his shoulders. He leans over me and I guide his cock to my ass.
“Ready for me this time, baby?”
“The second time’s the charm. And practice makes perfect.”
The first seconds of anal sex always hurt a little, and I have gotten used to that. I endure it willingly as the price of the pleasure that follows. But Antoine’s cock is so huge it that in a second it had utterly shattered my relaxation and defeated my determination. I yelp a cry for help. A contagion of pain burns through the lubricant, scours my mucosa and sends searing flames of agony through me. I struggle to escape the invasion, but he is so enraptured with his own sensations that he cannot let go of me, and slowly pushes in deeper. I try to surrender, to gape with him inside, but the brute force of his cock gives no quarter, and my own burning, screeching muscles refused the commands of my mind that they yield. So they fight back in useless, unequal struggle.
I bite my lip and shut my eyes. I conjure visions of submission and surrender from my storehouse of fantasies. I am a Chinese princess, carried in a silk shrouded litter across the trackless Gobi. My spice caravan is ambushed by Mongol horseman, who slaughter my servants, cut off my clothes with sword strokes. When I am naked and helpless they will tie me to the ground and gang rape me, one after the other. I cry futile tears that disappear in the dust. But even these heartless assailants of my imagination are routed from my consciousness, and I return to reality, still staggered by Antoine’s cock, which drills ever deeper inside me. I break into prickly sweat.
“Antoine, please stop. I need to take a break.”
“Keep trying baby, feels so good, I can’t stop.”
He bears down, slowly, steadily rending me open. I bite my forearm, trying to create a new locus of pain to distract me from the cataclysm in my rectum. I am afraid that I can’t handle him after all. I look up at him. Antoine’s face is all bliss and pleasure.
“Oh baby, open your eyes, so I can see the love in there.”
I blink my watery eyes open. Antoine’s face filled with joy and pleasure. He leans down and gives me a tender kiss to comfort me. “I love it when you ass pussy vibrates that way.”
My squirming, pulsating agony is enhancing his pleasure.
“Antoine, you’re torturing me. Please, take it out for a minute.”
“You’ll get used to it. You did last time, and you loved it at the end.”
He’s right. I just need to relax. But the flesh of my poor hole is stretching to the breaking point. As he pushes deeper inside, his thick cock unfurls the coils of my colon. I begin to lose consciousness, and close my eyes to let myself slip into that void. Now, my muscles drain of energy. One by one they capitulate and soften. My eyes roll back in my head, my body is limp, and I wonder for a moment whether I am dying. His surge finally stops as his ileac bumps my bottom. I jolt back into awareness.
“Oh god, I think your cock is about to come out of my mouth.”
“It’s that big, huh?”
“You’re enormous.”
“You OK now?”
I nod, and he heaves deeper inside me.
“Oooh, it feels like you are stuck inside me.”
“If it goes in then it can come out.” He levers his arms against my back and begins sliding back.
I grimace. “It feels like you’re pulling my insides out along with your big cock.”
My head throbs, and my newly showered body is dewy with perspiration. “Sorry I’m so sweaty. You filled me up so full it made me get too hot.”
“Ain’t no such thing as too hot for me, baby.” He is almost out now. My ass yearns to be filled up again, but I am tensing again.
“I think I need more lube.”
“OK, baby.” His cockhead makes my sphincters snap it exits. But I feel a rush of relief. I hoist my ass and gape it open.
“Oh, yeah, I can see way deep, baby. Inside your booty looks like a jar of strawberry jam.”
“I feel like I’m burning up inside. Squirt some lube inside me.” I feel a splatter of oil inside me. The tendrils of flames inside me are doused.
“That’s better. Now open me up with your fingers.”
Antoine pokes one finger into my hole. It glides in easily, and I nod and he adds another. My ass first contracts, but I force it open, and it yields, so he adds a third, then a fourth and finally his thumb. I bite the pillow to contain my cry. He is watching me intently, and I nod, again and he forces his whole hand up to his knuckles inside me and gently punches it in and out. I arch my back, and point my ass upward. His fist presses against my prostate and I feel a tingle of pleasure emanate though me. My cock twinges to a tiny erection.
“Oh, baby, I love that booty. Look at that boy clit. It’s so cute.” He rotates his fist and strokes my cock between his fingers. The sensations fullness inside me and playful tickling outside meld and make me feel like a perfect little girl. I writhe and moan in a soprano.
“Now you’re ready for my love.” He pulls out his fist and dribbles more lube on his cock. It’s even bigger than when we began, a throbbing black beast. But I feel more ready now. The pleasant pressure of his fist has restored my confidence.
“OK, let’s try that again.” I drape a towel on his sheets and lean over his bed.
“Gape your butt open.”
I comply, and he coats my ass with more lube. It tickles me as it coats my buttocks. He strokes it deep inside me with his fingers. Then I feel the slap of his cock against my ass, and reach back to point him inward. I inhale, and then exhale as his cock slides through my rings deep inside. My interior has been softened by his fingers and fist and is so coated with lube that his cock glides in with a rush. The tiny core of maleness that remains part of me is crushed, exposed and expelled by Antoine. I feel like I’ve been reborn, as an angel.
I trill ecstatic choruses, as his cock plumbs my depths, finds my soul, and frees it with a flourish as his cock withdraws. Antoine is big and strong, and I am slight and week, a flower bending in the fury of a hurricane. I am crushed beneath him as he surges in and out. He black cock pound like a hammer on an anvil. Each new blow rings loud, sends sparks showering through me and reshapes the nub of me, from boyness to girlness. The old me is being swept away as though by the torrents of a tsunami. Then, when I feel as though I cannot take another breath, he pulls his cock out, rolls my legs over his shoulders and pushes effortlessly back inside me. He clutches my thighs in his huge hands and bangs my ass against his onrushing thighs.
“Oh, baby, you look so beautiful when you got my big cock inside you. How do you feel?”
“Like a virgin who’s just had her cherry popped by the biggest cock and the strongest, sexiest man in the world.”
“You like it like this?”
“I love it every which way.”
He pull out again, rolls me onto the bed, and lies beside me. He nestles against me, cups my breast with one hand, and braces my shoulder with the other. I bend like a twig as he slides back inside me. His cock has found a new path into my core. My intestines realign on the vector of his cock. The flesh of my tummy bulges and falls with his motions. After a few strokes my abdomen relaxes. I begin pumping my bottom back against his sideways thrusts. All of my life, I have been felt empty, and looked for fulfillment of an unknown aspiration. I was born with part of me was missing: my missing vagina. In Antoine I have found something with which, for a moment, I can fill that void.
“Fuck me, Antoine, fuck me hard.”
He responds by rolling me back over on my stomach and riding me hard, but now that’s all I want, be fucked until I am remade, or until Antoine has expended all of his energy on the task. He is bathed with sweat now, his mouth black skin is slick as he rides me, and his speed increases. His muscles are bulging and rock hard and they slap my flesh. Every thrust knocks my breath out, but I am propelled by energy erupting from deep within me. I feel my self obliterated, and recreated.
I feel like his cock is boring a vagina, and building a uterus out of the broken bits of my useless male parts, the prostate and the vas deferens. With each retreat of his cock, my vision of immanent womanhood recedes, but with each of his thrusts, my femininity is restored. I need Antoine to complete the destruction of my boyhood and the completion of the woman inside me. I beg for it. “Harder, deeper, more, more. Fuck me, fuck me more.” My flesh trembles, my eyes roll back in my head, and I drift into a dream state.
I am a Thai princess. The gods are angry with the Kingdom. They rain plagues of death and destruction on my people. I offer myself in sacrifice to their wrath. My subjects gather at the temple. The temple priests sing in mournful chorus as they bear me aloft to the silk shrouded altar. They lay me down on the embroidered silken cover, and place a lace shroud over my body. The high priest ululates an ancient prayer, and the others bow their heads in obeisance to the gods. Then, in unison, they lift their daggers and plunge them deep into me.
Their blades enter my belly with sharp pricks, but as they slide deep inside, instead of pain, my sacrifice brings forth ecstasy. Through my wounds my soul is released from the constraints of my body. My consciousness floats upward, to the high ceiling of the temple, and looks down upon the crowd gathered around my bloodstained body. The temple is aglow with light, and a chorus of angels sings hallelujah. The gods have been appeased.
I awaken from this reverie. The heavenly chorus is my own voice, the dagger is Antoine’s cock, and the release is a flood inside my well-fucked ass. It pulses waves of energy up and down my spine from my butt to my shoulders in an involuntary shuddering cascade. I quiver and shake until my body goes limp, and I faint. I am shaken awake by Antoine, who still rides me from behind and slaps me to bring me out of my languor. I feel as though a part of me has died, and another part has been reborn. My body goes limp.
“What’s the matter baby? Your booty’s better when you fuck back at me.”
“I think that I orgasmed. I’m tired. Do you want you to finish in my mouth?”
“I guess I finally used your butt up.”
“I want to watch you cum. Cum all over my face and tits.”
“OK, whatever.”
He pulls out and I prop myself against the headboard. I pucker my ass to keep the flood inside. I unsheathe his cock, coat my fingers with lube and begin jerking him with my hands. I kiss the greasy tip and flick my tongue whenever I can reach it, but he is flailing so that I my mouth can’t keep up. The first jet of jism fires into my eyes and I am momentarily blinded, but I hang on to his cock with both hands, stroking him. More gobs fly into my hair, ears, chin, and onto my chest. I blink my eyes open to see the looming monster poised within my lips’ reach, so I take his cockhead in my mouth, cup his scrotum and squeeze. I extract the last rich, thick residue of his semen, swirl it around my mouth, and gulp it. Its mossy tang quenches my thirst.
“Mmm, that’s delicious.”
“Love the way you squeeze my lemons.”
“Love your lemonade.”
“Love your jellyroll.” He give my butt a playful poke, and then lifts his fingers first to his nose, then to mine. “Your poop shoot don’t smell like shit. How do you keep it so clean?”
“With a high fiber diet.” He laughs, rolls off and lies beside me.
After a few minutes of silence, Antoine clears his throat. “I don’t want to be quoted, but I think your ass pussy is better than any cunt pussy.”
“Thank you. I think your big black dick is better than the puny white and Salvo dicks I’ve been getting.”
“OK, from now on, no more Salvo dick for you, and white dick only if it pays or if I say.”
I contemplate this for a few minutes. “Are you saying you want me to be your ho?”
“Let’s try it for a little while.”
I smile and slide my head under the covers and slip his penis back into my mouth. It’s soft and malleable, and his balls are buried deep in the folds of his scrotum. But soon, I know, it will be hard and huge once again.

Secondary Education
Tyla Flowers
[email protected]

Chapter 9, Seeing No Evol

Matt Frawley’s arms are glistening in the slanting rays of August sunshine. He dribbles behind his back, wrong footing his defender. Matt deftly crosses the ball over, changing direction and bounce passes it to Antoine, who is streaking down the court on the fast break and scores an easy lay up. Matt whoops a victorious hurrah, and his blue eyes for a moment meet mine until he is distracted by Antoine. They bang their chests and hand slap, grunting a comradely cheer.
As they wait on defense for the inbound whistle, Antoine nudges Matt and whispers something, and Matt looks at me with a curious look. I feel as though his eyes are peering deep within me. What did Antoine tell him about me? Now probably knows what I let Antoine do with me. His face is bland and inscrutable. I wish I could read his mind, or even control it, to make him want me. I blush and avert my eyes.
I clasp the chain link fence and watch as Matt falls back, harrying the opposing player, then steals the ball, breaks away, and shoots a running jump shot, which clanks off the back of the rim into Antoine’s outstretched arms, who slams it through the hoop. This time, Matt smiles in my direction, sharing his triumph and joy with me. I jump up and down and clap.
I wish that I were dressed like a cheerleader, and could pirouette and high kick in response. But I am clad in my Fairfax High Sweats and baseball cap. Suddenly, being in his gaze in boy’s clothes makes me remember what I am and why I will always be unworthy.
I hate Coach and Fairfax for making me masquerade in my sweats. I hate Antoine for what I imagine he told Matt. I hate myself for being born a boy, and for becoming a whore and a slut, someone whom Matt will always disdain. I wish I could just disappear, or just die and be reborn as I should be, a beautiful girl. But Buddhist reincarnation is just as much a fairy tale as the omnipotent Christian God, or the Easter Bunny. I am what I am. If I am to become what I want to be, I must remake myself, with hormones, silicone, and surgery.
Suddenly I am hot, burning with angry self awareness and hatred. The basketball court wavers and blurs. I grip the chain link fence as the world cascades into a hallucination. I grope in my pocket for another Diane, to subdue this hot flash in a bath of soothing chemicals. When I look up, Matt is staring at me again, and the hot flash resumes. I cannot remain in Matt’s sight, in my present incarnation. I make a show of checking the time, feign surprise, and hurry back across the schoolyard to Coach’s office.
In Coach’s student files the papers are neatly aligned and chronological, and the files are alphabetized by last name. Today’s mail is arranged by subject in neat piles with squared corners. His desk drawers now easily open and close without the necessity of tamping down the overflowing contents. His pencils are sharpened, and all of his pens work and are arranged by color in separate cups. I have extracted the crumbs and dust from the spaces of his computer keyboard and polished the monitor.
I have done my servitude to the Coach and I am getting my Incomplete changed to a pass. As soon as I finish organizing Coach’s lower left hand drawer, an archeological dig of half eaten power bars and empty yoghurt cups, I will be free to leave Fairfax behind forever. I should be glad to leave behind the years of persecution and rejection that I endured here, but instead I am on the verge of tears, filled with regret, and desperate longing to be wrapped in Matt Frawley’s glistening, powerful arms. I know that after I leave this place, I will never get my chance with him.
My cell rings. I’m not supposed to have it on while I work, but no one is near, so I answer it. It’s Hector. He thinks he’s the most wanted gangsta in LA, so every time he calls, he uses a different phone.
“Hey, T Chica, why you didn’t call me?”
“I’m busy. I have to work or they kick me out of here.”
“Too busy for the Mara’s business? I don’t care about your other fucking business. You work for me. And I want the mayate tonight.”
“I can give him to you. I have it all set up. He’s here, playing basketball, and when they are done, I am going with him. He thinks I’m going to let him fuck me after school today, but instead, he gets fucked up. I’ll text you when it’s time.”
“He’s there? We’ll kill him right now.”
“Here at school?” I panic, not about my own safety, but for Matt’s. “Not now. Too many people, too many cops, and too many cameras. Get him alone, make him beg for his life, and then kill him in his bedroom, with his pants down.”
“You sure you don’t just want that black dick up your tail pipe?”
I have come to love being rammed by Antoine until my toes curl and my ear drums pop, as much as I hate being the Mara's sex toy, but I remain in character, the loyal Mara spy. “I hate it. After you kill him, I want to take on the whole hit squad, starting with you, just to get his taste out of me.”
Hector laughs. “You got a great attitude, T Chica.”
“It’s my love of the Mara.”
I have become a great liar. Being a whore is good practice for a life of constant lying. I lie to live, and live to lie.
In the background, I hear Hector bragging about me to his companions. But I hear approaching foot steps and hang up without saying goodbye. I busy myself shuffling papers for the next few seconds. When I look up, Coach is glaring at me.
“Look Coach, doesn’t this place look great?” I pat a stack of alphabetized student evaluation forms.
“Flowers, I don’t want you mooning over my ballplayers any more. I don’t want any homos on my team and you’re a bad influence.”
“I was only watching them play.”
“I am not making this as a suggestion. You stay away from those men or I’ll march you off campus and back onto the street.”
I can’t risk expulsion now. I need this credit, but even more so, I need to leave school with Antoine if we are going to spring the Mara trap. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
He hands me my hours credit slip. He’s shorted me again, and probably believes the understated records of my hours that I have left for him. But Rojas’s records, I have enough hours to satisfy my PE requirements.
“You can leave now.”
“Isn’t it perfect here?”
“It’s fine. You don’t need to come back until next week.”
“OK. Thanks for letting me make up my missed classes here.”
“It wasn’t my choice. Rojas forced you on me to make a reasonable accommodation of your unfortunate life style choices. I’d rather have flunked you. So get lost now, OK?”
I pick up my back pack and leave. My face is burning, and I know I can’t argue with him without screwing myself. So I say “Sorry, Coach,” and leave him in his immaculate office.
Antoine catches up to me on the way to Rojas office and waits for me as I turn in my paperwork. We walk to his Escalade, not too close, but like we were just friends.
“This is it. The Mara’s coming tonight.”
“Let me call my niggas. We be ready for them.”
Inside the Escalade I slip off my chinos to reveal tight, ripped cut-offs. Under my sweatshirt I am wearing a baby blue lace camisole, and beneath my sweatpants I have a short cotton skirt. I put my Keds in my backpack and replace them with silver wedge sandals. I fold down the mirror put on make up. Antoine is talking animated Ebonics to his crew.
Between calls he smiles and grabs my boob and says “Ladyboy, I got a little surprise for you this afternoon.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Your gonna like this one.”
“Where are we going?”
“Used clothing store on Jefferson. There’s a garage in the back. You wait there till the Mara come. Then you do what you gotta do to get them in the back parking lot. My crew will block the exit with a truck, and then boom boom, they’re toast. What’s your plan to hook up with these Mara?”
“I text the leader, Hector the address. Then I flag them down on the street and take them to where you are supposed to be, in bed sleeping off a hard fuck.”
“You’re coming in with them?”
“Hector wants me to see you die. I think he’s planning to torture you first. He hears about what the insurgents do in Iraq, and then he copies them.”
“I thought I was bad, but I’m practically a saint next to this motherfucker.”
We pull in down a bumpy, narrow drive way. The parking lot is boxed in front and back by the abandoned in front, and six bay garage in the back, and on either side by its neighbors, two towering abandoned warehouses. It’s a perfect killing field. As we enter the Freeze flashes a sign with his stubby fingers. He flashes a golden smile at me.
“Little boy grows up into a little girl. Aren’t you cute?”
I smile demurely to Antoine and beckon him. He bends toward me and I whisper “I hope that’s not my surprise.”
“Nope. I got someone who wants to meet you, and who you might just want to meet.”
He opens the door. The middle bay of the garage has been converted to an apartment. Propped on the auto lift there’s a king size box spring and mattress. There’s an ancient refrigerator next to the tool bench, and on it there’s a hot plate, a few dented old pots and a stained coffee maker. The sink is cast concrete and has only cold water, and it’s equipped with a flexible shower hose which is hung over an open drain in the floor. The only furniture that’s not filthy and decrepit is a brand new plasma TV, which is blaring Sports Center to an enraptured audience of one sitting on the bed. It’s Matt Frawley.
Antoine claps Matt on the back. “Lookee here, bro. I told you she cleans up good.”
Matt pivots and looks at me nonchalantly. “Don’t even recognize the Flowers I used to know. What happened to that poor little guy I used to tease?”
“He’s become a she. Turn around, baby, and show my man Matt all the goodies.”
I do a stripper style turn and touch my toes, hiking up my skirt to show off my thong-clad butt. Then back around, and lean forward so my camisole droops, and gives a peek at my titties.
“Whoa, Flowers, so you turned into one of those shemales?”
“Some people call us that, but I prefer T Girl or Ladyboy”
“So my man Antoine says you can suck and fuck better than any girl in the world. Are you going to show me?”
I scowl at Antoine, who grins and leaves, saying “My job’s done here.”
I slip out of my camisole and slip down my skirt. My cock is pressed flat by the tight satin front of my thong. I peek down, and make sure it’s invisible and cuddle up to Matt on the lumpy mattress.
I whisper in his ear. “Why don’t you be the judge of that? I wouldn’t know, since I have never been with another girl.”
He backs away, and looks at me with puzzled eyes. “That’s so crazy. You really think you’re a girl, don’t you?”
I nod, and look earnestly into his eyes. “I’ve always been a girl, even in my dreams, and especially in the dreams I have about you.”
“You dream about me?”
“Almost every night, almost all of the time. I have been waiting for you forever.”
I let out a great sigh and relax my head into his lap to breathe in the aromas of his groin. He smells of saddle leather and fresh cut wood. I am overwhelmed with hunger for him. My body sizzles with sexual electricity. I lick from his belly to his neck and back, and nuzzle him through the front of his sweat pants.
“I need to suck this right now.” I pull at the drawstring of his sweats.
He puts a protective hand over his cock, and then relaxes it and pats my head. “Oh well, what the hell.” Matt helps me slide off his Fairfax high sweatpants and pulls his tee shirt over his head. When the sleeve tangles on his broad shoulders, I loosen it.
He peeks shyly from beneath the fabric. “Thanks.”
I study him, trying to memorize the sight of his nude body. His hair is a streaky blond and spiky with sweat. His face is grizzled with a two day growth of beard. From the triangular thicket of his dusty blond pubes a limp, uncut penis hangs lazily along the bulging muscles of his inner thigh. His stomach is girded with overlapping, rippling muscles. His chest is forms another triangle, almost twice as wide at his shoulders as at his abdomen. His skin is golden from hours at play in the sun, except at the groin, where it is milky white.
I pull off my camisole and lean over him, dragging my little titties along his chest, across his stomach, and down his thighs and legs. My lips find his cock and I inhale again, and sigh out his aroma.
“I forgot to shower, so I’m a little rank.”
In response, I slip my lips over his salty cock and rim the cockhead with my tongue. “Then I’ll just lick you clean.”
“Yeah, lick me clean, like a little pussy cat.”
I inhale his leathery aromas, take one last look at the corona of golden hair framing his penis, and then gobble and slurp hungrily at his cock, and lick his balls. I visualize myself as a queen cat, licking at the furry penis of a tomcat. I wriggle my butt, imagining it to be my tail, flicking provocatively. I stop, look up at him, and meow, as though in heat.
“That’s a good little pussy.” He strokes my hair over my ears.
His flaccid cock springs to attention and I pump on it. I gather my hair into a top not and guide his hands to grip it. I want him to control and possess me. He begins forcing my lips up and down his rod. I breathe through my nose, and crane my head back, and find that his cock slips easily past my epiglottis and down my esophagus.
“Yeah, suck it good, baby. Take it in all the way.” I accelerate my head bobs, bracing my hands under his thighs and yanking to force my head down hard, so he can feel the parting of my throat when his dickhead slides through my tonsils and into my esophagus.
“Yeah, baby, deep throat me. Oh, yeah, that’s good.”
I gaze up at Matt, hoping to exchange a glance, an acknowledgment of my performance, but his eyes are fixed into the distance.
I squeeze my tongue, and pout my lips over the up-thrusting cock. My entire body is at work. My back arches like the spine of an aroused feline. My lips are still hungry, but my ass is starving for him, vibrating with anticipation of the rush of exquisite pain that will come when his cock invades me. My I rustle in my purse and find my tube of lubricant and spread it over my ass. I dig further and find a condom. I pause sucking and tear it open with my teeth.
Matt pulls it from my lips and flips it over his shoulder.
“You’re clean, right?”
“I’m always safe, yes.”
“Good, because I only ride bareback.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Everyone does for me. And I heard you make exceptions.”
My face burns with embarrassment and anger toward Antoine.
“I made a few mistakes, but I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Well, I’m going to teach you one now. You do it my way, and I don’t wear raincoats inside.”
I know I shouldn’t, but I want him too much to say no.
“OK, but don’t tell Antoine. This is only for you, Matt.” I slather him with lube. His cock, which had softened during our condom negotiations, immediately hardens.
“And leave those panties on. I don’t want to see that thing of yours on the loose. Now get on your knees and let’s see that third eye I’ve heard so much about.”
I kneel on the bed and point my butt up, pull the back string of my thong to the side reveal my bootie.
“Oh, yeah, now do that winky thing.”
I bite my lips to concentrate my energy on making concentric rings around my rectum. I draw the flesh inward, and then open it from within.
“Oh, yeah, I can see half way to China. It’s like a whole new world in there.”
“I wouldn’t know. Does it look inviting?”
“Like the planet Mars through a telescope, all swirly and red. I got an idea. I’ll take a picture.” I hear him rustle in his jeans, and then click of a camera phone. I know he’ll probably post these pictures to a porno web site but I don’t care, I just want to please him.
“Open wider.” He clicks again. I feel his fingers slide into me. I flinch as the rough skin of his fingers intrudes, and my ass reflexively clamps around them. I stifle a cry.
“I’m stuck. Your butt snapped closed as hard as a clam shell.” The camera snicks a few more time, and then he thrusts the Razr in front of me and scrolls through a quick slide show of my gaping butt, at first open an inch, and then two, all glistening with lube and shimmery red mucosa, followed by a shot of three of his fingers buried to the second knuckle, and finally a shot of my grimacing face in profile. I squeeze my well trained glutes around his fingers.
“You could at least have taken a prettier picture of me.”
He raises the camera high above his head. I crane my neck toward him and smile as the camera snicks again. He looks and says “Awesome” and shares it with me. It’s Tyla, bum up and finger fucked, smiling like a girl in love.
“That’s a keeper, huh?” I nod, but I wonder where he will post it, and how many perverts will jerk-off to that shot. I clamp my ass around his fingers and squeeze.
“I’m never letting go.” I giggle.
“OK, let me out now, or I’ll slide my whole fist in you.” I open my ass and release his fingers, and gape as wide as I can. The camera snicks again.
“Wow, that’s some amazing muscle control. Let’s see what you can do with my cock up your hole.”
I hold myself open for him. “Sprinkle some more of that lube inside me.” I feel a spattering of Astroglide against the walls of my rectum.
“How do you want me?”
He is stroking more lube on his bare dick. The cock head pokes through the foreskin like the head of a lurking moray.
“Just like this.” He slips his big hand under my pelvis hoists my ass high. “Do I fuck this the same way as a pussy?”
“Just like a burger, In and Out.”
“Boop, that’s my favorite burger, and you’re my favorite sexburger with sesame seed buns.” He laughs and slaps my buns, and kneels behind me. I suck my thumb to calm and stifle myself, arch my back to expose my hole, open it as wide as I am able, and gird my frail muscles for the imminent lunge. He presses my face into the mattress, which is pungent with the residues of countless past trysts and rapes by its Crip owners.
His thighs press mine apart, and he rears back and then thrusts forward like a blitzing linebacker. His cock slithers through my gaping, well-lubed sphincters and tunnels deep inside my colon. His thighs bang against me, and I collapse to the mattress. He is deep in my belly before his first lunge finishes.
Pain obliterates all my other senses. His cock pierces me like a thrusting saber slashing from my belly to my heart. My breath explodes from my lungs in a cry of anguish. He pulls back, and I inhale with a shriek, and then he spears me again. I am blinded by tears and the rush of blood to my head. I hear him grunting as he pulls back and stabs still deeper in me. I feel his balls slap against my buttocks.
I open my eyes and through bleary eyes look at my thumb. It is indented with my tooth marks. I peer up at him kneeling astride me. He glistens with sweat, his muscles are bulging, and his face is chiseled with fierce determination. Looming above me, he looks like a mounted Greek god, and I am his chariot.
He rocks in and out as though in a trance. The pain has dissipated into a warm glow of pressure and pleasure. My ass muscles now respond to each thrust by opening my rectum wide, and suction back to restrain each withdrawal. He notices my technique, opens his eyes and meets my gaze. He fucks me slowly, regaining his breath.
“Ah, that’s a tight ass. I like it.”
“I’m sorry if I screamed to loud at first.”
“I liked that too, and the look on your face.”
“So I look pretty in pain?”
“Yeah, and even prettier now. You’re a good little fuck, Flowers.”
“You can call me Tyla.”
“It’s too much like Tyler. I’ll call you Boop, like your tatt.” He slaps my butt. I am a little offended by his choice, but I am happy that he gave me a pet name. I imagine him as a real boyfriend.
“Do you like it, my tatt?”
“So cute I don’t want to forget it.” He snaps another picture with his Razr. He displays a picture of an anonymous cock poking into my butt. My face is visible, the tatt is not. My face burns with embarrassment. I imagine that picture proliferating over the internet.
“I can’t see the tatt. Just me getting fucked. What are you going to do with those pix?”
He takes another pic. “I’ll just add them to my collection of fuck pix. I love butt tattoos. Gives me something to look at while I’m doing doggy. What’s with those letters, M and S?”
He’s way too far removed from the street life to know anything about the Mara, but I don’t want to scare him off. “Oh, nothing really. It’s just some initials.”
“Like some boyfriend?”
“Something like that. Something I’d like to forget.”
“Here’s something to help you forget old MS.” He spanks my butt and jams himself deep.
I gasp and moan a little, and then wriggle my ass against him. “I like that. I’m really ready now. You can ride me hard.”
He pulls me up to my hands and knees scoops my boobs in his big hands and holds them like handles. He rattles me with a series of swift, powerful thrusts. I gape and contract, pulling him deep inside and prolonging each release. He releases one breast from his crushing grip and entwines it in my hair, which he grasps into a crude top knot. Using my head and boob as handles, he levers my body against his thrusts, hammering deep into my colon. His body seems to get more powerful with every stroke. Thousands of hours in the weight room, on the track, and on the playing fields have made him mighty and relentless. The dozens of cheerleaders, soces and skanks he has bedded have emboldened and hardened his sexual athleticism. He is a monster in bed. His strength, endurance and energy overwhelm me. After a hundred cycles of contraction and gaping, I’m exhausted. I surrender, and become a limp, lifeless object in his encircling arms, my anus a receptacle for his battering penis. Gradually, his frenetic assault on me attenuates. He twists my limp head to face him.
“Oh, Boop, it’s better your ass grabs back at me. Now your just lying there like a rag doll.”
“You’re too much. I’m tired. Maybe I could fuck back better if I got on top.”
“I’m not a fag. Being on bottom is not for me.”
“I mean I’d like to ride cowgirl.”
He slides out. My ass contracts with a pop.
“Ouch. That stings. Can you hand me some of that paper towel?”
He wafts a piece and I take a careful exploratory swipe. There’s no blood or stray poop, just a pale mustard, translucent film of lube and colon mucous.
Matt looks at it disdainfully. “Don’t you clean up inside before you get fucked?”
“I did. I’m sorry. There’s always a little color. That’s why I want a new pussy.”
“Fuggit about it, I’m not waiting around for that. Besides, this dick’s been in dirtier holes than yours.”
I’ve had bigger cocks than his, and been fucked harder, but I decide not to brag. He’s already deflating, and I don’t want him to lose interest in me.
“Let me clean you up.” I rise to my knees and lick his cock and balls. My ass juice is sweet and salty. I take his cock deep in my throat and inhale his pubes, which are scented with my inner essence. I grapple for my lube, and smear more of it on my rectum.
He gives my cheek a playful slap. “OK, that’s clean enough for now. Show me how you ride.” He flops face up on the mattress. His cock rises like the mast of a great ship. I scramble atop him. His chest is so broad my little legs can barely straddle him. I aim his cock at my anus and settle down upon it. I can’t open my ass in this position so his cock pops through my constricted sphincters. I squeeze my eyes and bite my lip in pain.
“You’re gorgeous when you do that.” He’s drawing little circles around my areole. A tiny drop of milk has formed on the left nipple. He dabs at it and offers it to me. I lick it from his outstretched finger.
“Mmm, that’s something new for me.”
He tugs at my right breast, and another pearly droplet forms there. This one he licks himself.
“I was bottle fed, so that’s my first taste of tit milk.”
“Do you like my milk?”
“Not bad, but I’d rather have a Bud.”
“Aren’t you enjoying my bud right now?”
He laughs, and grabs my ass. “Yeah, this bud’s for me. But this bud’s too light. I need the full body.” He scoops his hands under my buttocks and takes control, lifting me up and pulling me down by my ass cheeks. The grip of his strong hands on my ass sends shivers of pleasure through me, and I feel my cock hardening in satin front of my thong. My hair is flying, my breasts are jiggling, and body is shuddering with his mighty up-thrusts and the powerful pistoning of my butt against his heaving body. I start to feel faint, I want to surrender, to close my and just let him fuck me.
But I want to please him, so I reciprocate each of his thrusts and withdrawals by bouncing down and up against them. He is grunting and breathing hard, and filmed with sweat. I lick my upper lip, and taste the salt of my own perspiration. Our bodies slap together in drum roll percussion. I slip into a dream.
I am riding behind Matt on his motorcycle. I massage my breasts against his trapeziums, and he squeezes my thigh. We dismount and walk hand in and through the scrub to the trail head. The climb is steep and treacherous, so he hoists me on his back like a fireman. I kiss his sweaty neck, and he squeezes my hand. We hike to our favorite spot, a smooth flat rock sheltered beneath the oaks. I flutter a quilt to make a rustic bed. We undress, I lube my new pussy, and behold him looming over me, backlit in the leaf dappled rays of the setting sun. He kisses me and says “I love you,” and I say “I love you too.” He enters me slowly and carefully, a millimeter at a time, and with each stroke, he kisses my new C-cups and lips. I am a beautiful, complete woman, and he has become my perfect lover.
From afar, I hear the chirp of my cell phone. But I realize that it’s ringing back in the real world. My dream dissipates, but I am still happy, for the real world has never been better for me. The mattress stinks, the air is hot and stale, but Matt is really on top of me, making love to me, and getting ready to finish. In a dirty, tawdry way, my dream has come true.
I feel his pace quicken, and hear his voice break into inanimate grunts. I am oozing inside, my inner flows have become a torrent that fuels him to new paroxysms of pleasure. Waves of anal orgasm gush through me, and my ass is sucking involuntarily at his cock, milking the sperm from it. He groans and smashes his thighs against me, shuddering violently. His cock bursts forth a hot spatter of semen into my quivering colon, and sparks another wave of orgasm from my depths. Two, three, four, five, six and seven, the pyroclastic eruptions of Matt’s cock sluice a fiery path from my belly to my soul. He cum mixes with my orgasmic juices and the lubricity inside me is exquisite, warm and wonderful. I wail with pleasure and release. My body and soul are fused in ecstatic release, and the female soul has imprinted itself forever on my mortal being. My body is utterly fulfilled and pleasured, but it is in my soul that I experience the greatest pleasure of all. For the first time in my life, I feel I have been loved. I collapse onto Matt’s chest. I bite my lips, to keep myself from telling him that I love him.
He whispers “That was incredible. It felt like you were sucking the cum out of me.”
I am disappointed. I experienced nirvana, and he is talking about me like a really great sex toy. But he’s a guy, and guys are all about the physical experience, and not the emotional aspect of sex. “You are incredible too. I had the biggest, longest orgasm ever.”
“You came on me?” He looks a little disgusted.
“Not there. I can’t do that anymore. I came inside, like a woman.”
“Good. That’s great.”
I wonder whether he was glad that I had an orgasm, or whether he was relieved that my cock hadn’t cum. He probably doesn’t care at all, except as it enhanced his own experience.
“Get off of me now, OK? I want to nap.” His softening cock is sliding out from its burrow, and so I rise and scamper to the shower. I turn away and slide off the thong. It’s a bit damp inside the satin, I must have cum in there but not noticed during the frenzy inside me.
A slurry of Matt’s semen, my ass cum and lube drizzles down my leg as I turn the tap. Rusty water spurts fitfully from the nozzle. It’s freezing, and my cock shrivels to a nub. I soap and rinse my ass, and squirt a frigid spray into my crack. I finger it my anus. It’s puffy and swollen. I put on my thong, rustle in my purse, spread some Neosporin on my rectum, and then return to bed. Matt’s asleep. He is hogging the blanket, and turned away from me. I lie next to him, and stare up at the mottled beams of this dank garage. The threadbare mattress is sticking to my skin. The smell of sex is fading, and now the air is suffused with the rank petroleum stench of the oil stained floor. The refrigerator clanks noisily to life. A fly buzzes by and lights on Matt’s shoulder. He stirs and snores, but does not awaken.
I cannot sleep. I try hard to recapture my motorcycle fantasy, but it keeps slipping away. I am still in the ghetto, and I am still a trannie whore, a sex toy to be played with and discarded. I will be made love to by many, but I will never be loved. On the table, my phone chirps a voice mail alert. But I am too lonely and tired to get it.

TBC

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