Secondary Education
By Tyla Flowers
Tylaflowers@gmail.com
Chapter 3
Self Improvement
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Our apartment is dark, hot and empty when I get home. I am a latchkey kid, and have been since my dad went to jail for the penultimate time, when he got his second strike for dealing meth back in '02. Now, he's in for 25, and I am sure Mom is heading back into custody for parole violation. In her waste basket I find used syringes. Soon, she'll be incarcerated for the rest of her five year term for meth possession. But crystal meth would be preferably to her current dalliance with heroin. Meth makes you crazy, heroin makes you die. I am worried. I am still fifteen, too young to emancipate. They would put me in foster care for a year, which would totally screw my transition. I need to become more independent. But transition has made me alone. My only ally is Cesar, who is unreliable, unemployed and uneducated. He is not tough enough to survive on his own, much less to protect me. I need to find someone to help me through this most difficult of transitions.
I am on the toilet, pushing out the residues of my encounter with Antoine. Antoine forced me, but had I provoked him? He's probably regaling his gang banger buddies with his account of it now. They're playing ball, and talking trash about me. God, they'll all expect to fuck me. That would a rush, if I lived to tell the tale. It would be better to just leave Fairfax High forever, get a GED someday. I should just forget it happened, and avoid ever seeing Antoine or anyone else from that school again.
My ass twinges and reminds me of Antoine's big black cock ramming inside. The memory of that huge thing both frightens and turns me on. I can't believe it even fit. It probed so deep, it felt like it was going to come out through my throat. I'll never look at a fire plug the same way. I laugh, and quickly examine my ass. It is swollen and reddened. The way Antoine used me makes me feel like a slut, a fuck hole available to whoever wants to take me. This image both excites and frightens me. But the grim reality of Antoine's hateful scorn as he fucked me reminds me of my vulnerability.
Cesar knocks. "Hey chica, is that you in there? Hurry up, I need to piss."
"Sorry, something I ate is making me sick. Let me clean up." I wipe the gross and incriminating splatters from the rim of the toilet and flush again.
"It's late. I want to take you out with me tonight, show off my little chica."
"I'm almost done. Sorry I am late."
"Yeah, you should be ready by now." A note of suspicion has entered his voice. "Why are you so late?"
"I was just talking to a teacher about some things. He told me I was doing well in his class."
"Big deal. It won't make any difference. You should just quit school and hang with me. I'll get us initiated into the Mara." That's the gang he is affiliated with; the gang that rules this part of LA.
"I don't think I would fit in." Mara Salvatrucha is ruthless, macho and violent. Even Cesar is a mere wannabee, too soft for them.
I emerge, and he slaps my ass. "I am working on getting us initiated right now. If you can learn to look and act like a full time chica, I am going to get them to take you as a girl"
The prospect is both thrilling and frightening. Mara owns this block. They control the neighborhood from Sunset to Olympic, from Alameda to Vermont. Even Crips don't confront Mara on its turf. "They wouldn't take long to figure out what I am. Unless you are going to buy me a sex change operation."
"It's OK for a cholo to screw a maricone. We don't think it's gay as long as the maricone is the bottom."
"I am OK with being submissive. But how do you know the Mara will not hurt me? The Crips at Fairfax love to stomp the gay students."
"I told them about you, and my Mara bosses like a good looking maricone. We'll be a package deal. A street soldier and a bed warmer." He laughs and waves toward a pile of packages on the floor behind the door. "That reminds me. I got you your transie drugs out of the drugstore we jacked last night."
I look through the pharmacy boxes. Diane 35, Estraderm patches, Estrogel and Depo-Provera.
"Didn't they have the other ones the list, Proscar, Propecia or Spironolactone?" He'd missed the anti-androgens completely.
"I had to hurry. Jose didn't tie up the security guard, and he got free, we had to beat the shit out of him and split."
Still, I am very happy. I have enough estrogen to last me through the summer and beyond. But I pout. "I need everything on my list if I am going to make these boobs grow, and keep from getting one of these." I point to my larynx, where I can feel an Adam's Apple forming.
"You bitch just like a chica. Don't worry, after we cool off we'll jack another Pharmacia. At the rate the cristy is selling we'll need more pseudophedrine to keep our lab supplied. We are going to cook this up tonight here." He opens a duffel bag stuffed with Sudafed and Advil Cold and Sinus.
"You can't use the apartment. What if mom comes home?"
"Don't worry about her. She and my dad are out copping smack. They won't come back until they have shot it all up."
His cell phone sounds a raucous hip-hop ring tone, and he answers "Hola. Hector." Then he listens as a voice barks orders in muffled Spanish. "OK, I got it. I hand off to the silver Acura MDX that's going to pull up in front of the Duncan Donuts, five minutes." He got up lazily, put on his black hoody and grabbed my butt as he passed. "Got to go make a delivery to a chele. And I'll have some of this when I come back."
I sweep up my hormone trove and pop my afternoon dose of Diane as I head for the shower. The bathroom door handle wobbles uselessly in my hand and I jerk the door open. I step into the peeling, dank bathroom. I try to keep it clean, but there is no money for cleaning products. The micro-organisms are in full rebellion.
I strip off my boy clothes. I look at my gauzy reflection in fogged mirror. My butt is too skinny, my arms are too long. I am already too tall to be an Asian girl. In profile, my boobs are barely perceptible bumps. I must hasten my transition, before my boy hormones change me irrevocably. But Cesar failed to get the anti-androgens I need.
The mold splotched curtain billows in the steam and I step into the asthmatic shower, which alternately hisses a spray of hot and freezing water, never enough. The soap is a multi color mélange of remnants squeezed together. I rub my ass gingerly, and insert a tentative finger. It is puckered and abraded. I hope Cesar doesn't notice. I towel off with a stiff, grey towel, and moisturize.
I wince as I rub my buttocks, and look down. A purplish welt is forming on my left butt cheek. If Cesar sees it, he will ask questions.
Now I am worried. Cesar could deduce my encounter with Antoine, misconstrue my helplessness as consent, and punish me.
Over the metallic whir of the bathroom fan I hear Spanish chatter. I peek out into the living room. Cesar has returned from his drug deal, and stares intently at a game show playing on Univision. He doesn't notice, so I close the door and squirt tap water into my ass from an old douche bottle. I hold it in as long as I can as I put on my make up.
Cesar wants me to dress as a girl when we are together. He brings me new clothes and make up, so I am okay with that. In public, I attract fewer gawks and tittering stares as a girl, than as a boy. I finish my eyeliner, putting on more than I like, to look a little slutty, the way he wants me.
As I finish with my eyes, my bowel starts spasming. The crude internal cleansing and Antoine's rough treatment of me forces me to the toilet. The seat is loose, broken from its brackets. I have to hold it steady with my hands when I sit. I let the brackish flow of water, semen, mucous and shit hiss into the toilet bowl. It burns and hurts me. I double over, fighting back tears of pain and anxiety. When my stomach stops heaving, I nervously examine the mixture of semen, diarrhea and blood. I panic, wondering whether Antoine has HIV and I am now infected. He's not gay or a druggie, but he's probably been sexually active since he was about eleven. I start feeling sick and scared.
I spritz on some dime store perfume, Charlie, and pretend that it's Chanel. I dress in low cut jeans and a tee shirt, pony tail my hair back with a big, fluffy Scrunchi and I decide I can pass for a chick.
I emerge, and strike a pose for Cesar.
"You look hot. Are you going somewhere?"
"Yeah, you are taking me to get the back tattoo and a belly ring you promised me."
"I am broke, and I thought you wanted to wait until after school's out."
"It's over for me. That's what I was talking to the teacher about. He is going to get me a hall pass for my final exams. So I am ready for my tatt. I have one picked out."
"Awesome. But what about taking care of this?" He points at his dick.
Even if my ass could handle another fuck at this moment, I don't want my bruise and the puckered ass to become an issue. So I lead him to the couch, push him gently to sit, and kneel between his legs, and muster my most radiant smile. "I can help you with that."
I take out my pony tail and shake my hair free. Cesar knots his fingers through my hair and presses my lips against his cock. I take it into my mouth. It is soft and salty. I flick my tongue at it and it twitches. I run my tongue from its tip to where it joins his ball sack, and traverse him a dozen times, tracing the tip of my tongue up and down, wiggling and twitching it as I go. I cup his balls in my hand and tug gently
"Oh, I like it like that. I'll take more of that." I nod back, now I take hold his scrotum, squeeze his nuts and feed his cock down my throat, craning my neck to fully ingest him, like swallowing a banana in one gulp. His cock seems to expand in my throat, and I stifle my gag reflex and though I can barely breathe around him I let him push and pull all of the way in. His pubes tickle my nostrils when he rams, but I will myself not to sneeze or twist away. I relax my throat, and glide back and forth, taking short breaths when I can. He pulls out, and I exhale and quickly inhale.
"Don't stop doing that thing."
"I almost suffocated."
"Just finish me. Get on the couch, I want you to just stay still while I skull fuck you.
I pull off my top and feed him one of my tiny tits. He flicks it with his tongue, I take his place on the couch, prop myself on the arm and slip a cushion behind my neck. He kneels astride me, thighs crushing my boobies, and grasps my head. He begins jamming it in my mouth, and I let myself yield. He is going really fast, and I can barely keep up with him. After a few minutes, he pulls himself out and brings himself to a finish with his hands. I watch as the first droplet of semen spits forth, covering my nose, cheeks and mouth. I squint as one droplet drips down the bridge of my nose toward my eye. Now more globs hit my, my chin, my neck, and my boobs, and I lunge forward to capture the spouting baby whale and swallow the last of his load. I squeeze his balls and the final droplet plunks on the tip of my tongue. I roll it into my mouth, hold it there, and gulp it with a flourish.
I am pleased with myself. He will be satisfied for the day, and I can keep my battered behind my secret. I look up at Cesar with a grateful smile. "You are delicious. I love to eat your cum." The flavor of his semen is non-descript, like salty, unflavored gelatin. But I like its warmth and smooth texture as glides over my tongue and down my throat.
"I am going to become a blow job specialist."
"No, because I really like this tight little ass." He slaps the spot that Antoine bruised. I stifle a cry.
"It's too small and narrow. I want a J'Lo butt."
"Most guys like tight little butts." He swirls an errant droplet of sperm around my nipple. "My cum makes your skin nice and soft. I should charge you for it."
"I can't afford it, but it is my favorite after school snack." I should really be charging him. Or someone.
Cesar laughs. "That's good. He looks at his watch. "And fast, too. No need to shower. I need to get over to Hollywood and Vine while it's still rush hour, plenty of customers for this." He holds up a plastic grocery bag of dime bags of crystal meth. "While I deal to these to the commuters, you get you that tatt and belly ring. If I sell all of these my profit should cover the cost."
He gets up and starts dressing.
I pat the sperm from my face, neck and chest with a paper towel and repair my make up. "I want a Betty Boop tatt, right here." I pat my lower back.
"Your whore tag got to say MS-13 somewhere, for Mara Salvatrucha. Otherwise, I'll never get a trannie into the Mara."
I am to be branded with a gang logo. The prospect appalls and entices me. It would be a strong statement, and protection against insult and intimidation. Affiliation with MS might scare off Crips like Antoine. No one wants to fuck with MS's property. Even the cops steer clear. "OK, but not so it's like a cattle brand."
"Yeah, do something that's just works into the design. You're the artist.
I grab a piece of paper and pen and put it into my fake Vuitton bag.
"I'll draw something on the way."
We run together for the bus, holding hands as we sprint the last few yards toward the departing bus. I wave frantically, and the bus driver sees me and hits the breaks.
"Good move, chica."
The bus doors gasp open and we jump aboard together.
I am lying in bed, trying to find a comfortable position on my side. My back is raw and itchy from the tattooist's needles. My tummy is swollen and sore, and developing a lurid bruise. I peek beneath the threadbare sheet. In the moonlight, I can see the glint of surgical steel of the bar that links the skin above my navel to the cavity. It throbs with every heartbeat. I lift myself up and gingerly to turn to my right side, trying to avoid contact of my belly or back against the lump mattress.
From the next room, I hear a chatter of Spanish voices, Cesar and two real MS crazies, Hector and Jose. They are in the kitchen, cooking meth in a plastic tub from a toxic brew of pseudoephedrine pills, ammonium nitrate fertilizer, lighter fluid, the guts of a few AA lithium batteries, lye, salt, and drain opener. The nauseating smell of a chemical reaction permeates the apartment. My eyes are tearing, my nose and throat are parched and sore, and my senses are revolted. And I am afraid. They argue about the recipe, and as they cook, a football match plays in the background. Suddenly, silence, except for the excited tones of the television announcer.
I know how dangerous it is to cook meth, and worry about who minding the pot while they are preoccupied with the match. I lurch up from the bed and put on cotton panties and a long Lakers T-shirt. I peek out of our room toward the kitchen. They are huddled around a television as the meth merrily boils, unwatched and out of control. The ladle vibrates in the pot, and I hasten to stir it, and avert the imminent explosion. The kitchen is hot and putrid with toxic fumes. But the cholos are rapt, now screaming at the television, then screaming, hurling their half empty Corona's against the wall in a fit of rage.
"That faggot Ronaldo, he deserved a red card, and instead he gets a goal."
"Salvador is finished. Guatemala a wins again. We're fucked."
"Yeah, I wish I was there. I'd heat the place up now, with this." Hector takes out a Glock and twirls it around his finger. He notices me and waves the gun in my direction. I flinch. He smiles with a snaky grin, and cocks his head toward Cesar.
"Hey, who's this? You didn't tell me that you had a chica stashed here."
"She's not a chica. That's the maricone I told you about. She wants to affiliate with MS."
"No shit. We don't have no maricones. C'mere, ladyboy."
"I will, if someone comes and watches this methadrine menudo."
Hector laughs, and waves Cesar over to the still fulminating pot of vaporous chemicals.
I approach Hector warily. He looks like he has been sampling his own inventory. His handsome Mestizo face is taut and drawn. He is sweaty and his hair is greasy and unkempt. His clothes look like they have been stored unwashed on the floor for weeks. He has the look of a predator that has himself become the hunted. Hector appears to be a dangerous man. But that attracts me. I want someone who can become a danger to my enemies. I decide to give him my best.
I am wobbly with pain and the Vicodin Cesar gave me. When I draw near, he pulls me toward him.
"Let's see your package, vestido." He pulls up the T-shirt and grabs between my legs.
"Bingo." He grinds my soft and tiny cock between his fingers.
"Like a big clit." He rubs it, rolls the satiny skin of my short, narrow shaft over the tiny, pointed glans. He folds my scrotum over the compacted cock. "Look, all gone." I blush with self-consciousness. I have played with myself this way many times, dreaming that my enfolded scrotum was a mons.
"Show him your tatt, Baby."
I am relieved to distract him from playing with my detested cock and balls. I turn around and lift the shirt above the tatt.
He studies it, and after a few moments slaps my cheek gleefully. "Check this out, Jose. This maricone already belongs to us." Jose walks over, and examines my back. Betty Boop is lounging on a bed of roses, her vacant eyes enticing and inviting. At the left end, the rose bush entwines a looping M, and on the right, a sinuous S.
"That's good work. Who's the artist?"
"I drew it, and the needlework was done at Inkspot on Hollywood and Argyle. It took hours and hurt like the devil"
"It looks fresh."
"I got it done earlier tonight. This too." I turn and show off the bar bell piercing my tummy. It is plain surgical steel, and the pierced flesh throbs with pain despite the Vicodin.
"Why aren't you wearing MS belly ring?"
"I have to wear this for the first two weeks. After the piercing heals I can wear jewels, if anyone wants to buy some for me." I smile at Hector flirtatiously.
"You design an MS belly ring, and the Mara will pay. If you make it pretty, like the tatt, we'll make a bunch of them so all of the chicas will wear them. Hey Cesar, this is a very talented maricone you found for us. Does she know how to suck cock?"
"She's a cock sucking specialist. At least until that tatt sets, aren't you, baby."
"Nothing back here for two weeks." I point to my ass. "I'm not sure I can wait that long." I smile at Hector flirtatiously.
"I'd love to have some of that." Hector placed a protective hand on my butt. " But don't you mess up that MS tag, Little Dog." He shoots a menacing look at Cesar.
I am already thinking about the MS belly ring design, and taking my place as the Maricone Madonna of this devilish band. I have always dreaded the Mara, but Hector surprises me with his good taste and open mindedness toward me. I am roused from my reverie by the sound of his belt buckle clanking on the floor.
He presses down on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. His cock strains against the fabric of his boxer shorts. He pulls my t-shirt over my head, and flings it across the room.
"How did you get those little bitch tits?"
Hector has reached down and squeezed my left breast, as he thrusts his cock between my lips. I look up and glance at him apologetically to excuse my failure to respond. But Cesar fills in for me.
"Those pills I grabbed up at the Pharmacia job were for our little chica here. She uses them to grow her boobs and stay nice and girly. Isn't she sweet?"
"Oh, yeah, that's a sweet little mouth on that chica. Suck me good, babe. I haven't cum for days."
Hector is a big man on the streets, but not in the pants. I can easily take his full length into my mouth by tilting me head back slightly. His uncut tip barely tickles my palate, and my gag reflex never really engages. Hector is a breeze to blow. I feel confident and at ease, even as Hector grows more histrionic and vigorous. In less than a minute, my mouth is suffused with an hors d'ouvre of precum.
"Faster, bitch, faster." He slams my head against his belly, and grips my neck and head in his hands. I look up at him. His muscles are bulging, and sweat droplets are forming on his brow. One drops onto my cheek and runs down like a tear. He is working as hard as he is working me. The veins on his muscular, tattooed arms pop out. The smell of his sweaty body overcomes the acrid, meth lab atmosphere. I hear Jose and Cesar chanting encouragement and laughing, but it is mere background noise. I feel like Hector and I are alone in this prayerful embrace. I worship him, and he, me. He responds to every change in the rhythm and angle with fresh bursts of energy and enthusiasm. His grunts and Spanish expletives are the soundtrack to my performance. I sense he is about to cum, and slow down, prolonging his pleasure. He coos "Muy Buena, chica." Then I accelerate, and he responds with more grunts and spasmodic, uncontrolled thrusts that so unbalance him that my skinny arms strain to hold him upright. When Hector cums, a thick coating of salty, ropey jism fills my mouth. It is slimy and sour, like it has been stored too long and absorbed to many drugs and other toxins from the poisonous world Hector inhabits. I swallow quickly to make room for the next spurt, even larger, and then another, a little smaller and thinner, and finally, I squeeze his balls and let the last droplets fall onto my outstretched tongue.
Hector pats my cheek gently. "That's a good maricone. You give the best blow job I have ever had."
I smile sweetly. "Thank you. I mean, gracias."
Hector pulls up his pants and bows. "De nada."
From his place by the meth cauldron Cesar smiles and gives me a hand sign that I recognize as encouragement.
Hector pats my head and motions to Jose. "Your turn, brother. Be nice, though. I may want to come back for more later."
I stay on my knees and wait for Jose to undress. He has a more Mayan, stubby look, than Hector, but his skin is smooth and almost hairless, like mine. His cock is bigger than Hectors, but nothing I can't easily handle.
As Jose approaches me, I feel confident, wanted and attractive. Hector, Jose and Cesar are using me, but not abusing me as Antoine had. And I need them, and thus, in kind, I am using them. I feel, for the first time since I began transitioning, that I belong. As I take the first gulp of Jose's penis, I am happy again.
TBC