Pains of Aspiration
Introduction:
Transvestitism, Love, Betrayal, Insanity, Cannibalism, Pretty Clothes (I think).
The young man of which I speak shall be referred to as ‘Ryuoto’–just one of his many aliases–and it was indeed I who realised his Un-Personage.
He was aged but seventeen years when we first met, and I three years his senior. I was to be babysitting him, though he scarcely needed it, and in fact was strongly against the idea–that is, until he set eyes on me. I was dressed rather provocatively; pleated skirt, opaque stockings, patent leather top; he must have mistaken me for a woman, overlooking the telling fact that I had no chest, and an unambiguously masculine voice. I wasn’t keen on contradicting his misconceptions at the time, as they made my job easier and I needed the meagre payment.
May be that I was imagining it, but I could have sworn his parents winked at each other as we were seeing them off to one of the rumour-shadowed ‘house parties’ hosted by that damnable local Corinthian man. I had gathered that they wanted to take Ryuoto along, but he refused to go, so they scoured the town’s babysitters directory and picked me out in an instant.
Headlights flooded the window, and with the purr of an unaffordable auto, they receded. Ryuoto was visibly relieved; I, too, felt a certain weight lifted from the vicinity with his parents’ departure. The boy then looked me over carefully, and I took the chance to do the same to him: he was shorter than I; perhaps a whole head shorter; his clothes were baggy thrift-shop items, contrasting the gaudy regalia of his forebears; and his thick, long hair–the most striking feature for sure–was dyed hot pink.
“What kind of music do you listen to?” was the first inanity I uttered, a vain attempt to break the ice.
He barraged me with countless names–names of repellently obscure glam and goth acts, along with some more popular rubbish; the former I happened to share a bit of taste in. We sat and talked on this subject for a little while.
“Whoa,” he interjected suddenly, “You’re a man, aren’t you?”
My heart sank. I had been found out, and soon, I thought, I would be dismissed in a storm of hatred and disgust. Fearfully, I awaited the verbal lashing.
“So is it comfortable? …Do the clothes fit all right?”
…But it did not come. My heart raced as I confusedly gathered myself together for a sensible response.
Encouraged by his inquiries, I proceeded, in short, to educate him on the joys and overarching correctness of transvestitism.
He displayed, to my most pleasant surprise, a keen interest in donning feminine attire himself. We spent the following two hours experimenting with his mother’s make-up; and I even removed my skirt at his request, so he could try it on. It was about the time he’d finished slipping into the skirt that his attention was drawn to my crotch; then, he presented another request, infinitely more frightening than the last;
“Can I suck your cock?”
I was at a loss for words, and thoughts raced through my head–thoughts of things that could soon be, thoughts that made my genitals swell with blood. He took note of this, of course, and it must have seemed quite the pronounced nod of assent to him; for he proceeded without saying anything to kneel before me, thereafter gripping my legs tightly and leaning into my groin.
He started off gently mouthing the considerable bulge at the front of my satin panties. I shuddered and instantly became harder, larger–he then pulled down the elastic with his teeth, slowly. My throbbing erection poured out onto his head, cushioned by the soft, pink hair. Anon, he slid his tongue up the underside of my shaft and met the glans with a slobbery kiss.
I petted his pretty head as he gobbled up my length, inch by inch, until he almost gagged. I was quick to pull it out, and glistening as it was with his saliva, I could not help but put it back in. I instructed him on proper suction technique, and on letting me hear that arousing wet ‘smacking’ sound that must always accompany good fellatio; he was good at following these instructions, and after only a couple of minutes, I pushed his mouth off of me and blew a load in his gorgeous hair.
We had fun showering together after that. His parents never gave any indication of when they’d return, and considering the nature of the party they were attending, there was no reason to expect them back before late morning of the following day. When we were clean and dressed, a singular drowse had begun to take hold of us both, so we cuddled each other on the sofa and drifted away in the shallow lakes of slumber.
I awoke to the sound of someone trying the lock–surely that ridiculous swinging couple that I had some difficulty believing could have been Ryuoto’s real progenitors; they must have returned from their overnight revelry; it was apparent that we slept far longer than intended, so I hurriedly pushed the boy off of me and clambered over to the kitchen to prepare a meal.
They swung the door open with enough pointless force to knock over the nearby hat rack, glanced at their son on the sofa only briefly, the noise having stirred him from his sleep; and immediately, they fixed their eyes on me as I was pouring some cooking oil on a skillet.
“Making eggs are you?”
I turned to look at the source of this question, the motherly hag who shewed a mild contempt all over her dog-like features; but before I could formulate a meek response, she commandeered the stove and dismissed me to the adjacent living room where her husband and Ryuoto were waiting.
The husband was already extracting from his wallet a wad of cash to pay me with; the boy quickly rose and came between us, so that he could thank me personally, discreetly requesting my home address, which I whispered to him. I received my payment without incident and exited, moving across the tastelessly-decorated lawn and continuing on my pedestrian route home, which included a rickety bus ride.
The block’s elevator was out of order for the eighth consecutive day, so I had to traverse the stairwell to reach my flat on the fourth floor; and, exhausted from the tedious ascent, I sprawled upon my bed almost as soon as I shut the door behind me. I grabbed a book from the bedside table and turned to the chapter I had bookmarked, lulling myself to sleep by the reading of just three pages.
It was at three o’clock that I heard a knocking at my door, rousing me from dreams of sexual endeavours I would never realistically undertake. I looked down my prostrate form to behold my enormous erection, which I struggled to tuck between my legs as I got to my feet to answer the persistent knocking.
“Who is it?” I inquired with my ear to the door, as the hour was too dark for a look out the peep-hole to serve any purpose.
“Aloysius Pendergast!” Came a mocking voice–the voice of Ryuoto, whose name I did not know at the time, and probably don’t know even now.
I saw the boy in and shut the door behind him, taking care not to let my throbbing protrusion escape the vise-grip of my thighs.
“You live alone?”
“Just me and my bookcase…” I murmured in response.
A strange silence followed as Ryuoto shuffled past me and took in the atmosphere of my humble abode. He systematically scanned everything in the room; the peeling wallpaper; the sparse furnishings, ugly and decrepit as they all were; the vaguely esoteric titles lining my bookshelves, many of which I had intentionally failed to return to the library; and, finally, my swelling wardrobe–he opened it immediately and dramatically, as if to shame me.
“You spend all your money on clothes!” He exclaimed.
It was true–what little money I made was spent primarily on myriad garments of varying colours and designs, but only a choice few materials; some items did not even fit me, but I tried to be frugal in my expenditure and was satisfied that my collection was nearly sufficient. I was preparing my shame-faced reply when he began to raid my wardrobe, throwing things every which way in the process.
He laughed.
“This one’s too small for you!” He said, holding up a black and pink two-piece PVC outfit, the lower piece consisting of a miniskirt and leggings conjoined by garters.
That was one of my favourites, but I could not contradict his claim–it wasn’t that I was fat, but that my skeletal frame was simply too large for the thing. I knew where this was going though, so I acted first–I asked him to try it on.
He undressed quickly and completely, right before my eyes, and plopped onto my bed, proceeding to slip smoothly into the erotic garments. The miniskirt and leggings fit snugly around his fleshy lower body; the top did not fit so well, and he had to struggle through the neck opening. Hurriedly, he put his gorgeous pink hair back into the rightful position from which it had been displaced by the struggle; then he stood up, and rotated so that I could see him from every angle.
“How do I look in this?” He inquired.
Words were not enough, I thought, to adequately express the queer combination I felt of overwhelming aesthetic excitement and simple, burning lust. Catching him off guard, I clutched his head and brought his face to mine, proceeding to prod at his lips with my tongue. He was receptive after only a moment–he opened his mouth for me, and we slobbered over each other’s faces, our tongues interplaying for a couple of minutes as my fingers hooked onto the tangles in his hair.
As soon as our faces came apart, I slid down to my knees and began to stroke his shiny leggings, eventually sliding my hands up to his soft buttocks. I beheld then a clear convexity at the front of his miniskirt, so I felt up there and knew almost immediately that I had grasped his fat cock. I used my hand to swivel it against the inside of the skirt, an action which visibly evoked pleasure and mild pain.
He cautiously placed his hand on my head, and I took it to mean that he wanted me to suck him off. The garters held strong between the skirt and the leggings, so I could not actually lift the skirt as was my immediate intent; I had to pull the skirt down at the waist, and his cock jerked violently once it was free. It was possessed of what I’d consider to be odd proportions–it was simultaneously shorter and fatter than mine, but perhaps mine was just a pencil-dick.
I opened my mouth wide and caught the massive thing between my teeth–at this he cringed, but did not withdraw or ask me to stop. I flicked the tip with my tongue repeatedly whilst kneading his buttocks with my free hand; he brought his other hand to my head and began to move his pelvis, participating then with more competence than ever; and before long, he was thrusting toward the back of my throat, forcing my jaw even further agape with his atypical girth.
My gag reflex was not all that sensitive, so when he began the frenzied stabbing with little concern for me, I ended up partially swallowing his cock–and anon his warm eruption, which forewent my chance to taste it. I noisily slurped what traces remained as the member was allowed slowly to dislodge from my throat, mouth and finally lips. Between Ryuoto’s legs it then dangled, spent and not entirely satisfactory.
His face shewed exhaustion even then, I could see, but I was not done; I rose to my feet, making no effort from then on to smother or hide my own throbbing cock–allowing the front of my skirt even to be lifted up by its virile perkiness; and I groped his hips, at once turning his cute rear towards myself and rubbing my shaft along the crevice most sensually. I struck the supple flesh with my palm when he let out so much as a squeak in protest–he shut up before long, and I slid my cock perpendicular to his sphincter, pushing…
His whole body quivered subtly, stifling expressions of the pain whence my cock tore into his comfortable rectum; I squeezed his buttocks and pulled him so far on to my cock that it became fully enveloped–he could not hold down a yelp–and I squeezed tighter, thereafter retracting two thirds of my length only to thrust it all back in with heinous quickness and force.
“Aaah, you’re tearing me…” He groaned softly, so as not to make a problem of it. I refrained from informing him that he’d left a smattering of blood on my penis as I retracted it the second time.
I fucked his ass in that manner for upwards of an hour before spraying his entrails with more semen than I thought possible to produce–for once I retrieved my spent cock from his gaping orifice, there followed it a virtual cascade of cum, mixed with a lesser amount of blood; Ryuoto collapsed onto the floor, still dribbling a minute quantity of the mixture.
“Are…” I began, having to catch my breath, “…Are you all right?”
As he did not initially reply, I got to my hands and knees and began to shove him–he let out another of those soft groans, coming to in a short moment.
With laboured breathing, he expelled a hardly discernible “Sorry… I–…I passed out?”
It would seem, indeed, that he had. I apologised to him for having been so carelessly rough; his ass was, I said, such a sweet novelty that I could not resist abusing it to some extent.
“Oh,” He began, after scrambling to his feet, “I came here to tell you…” He took a breath, “…That you’ll be staying with me again next week… My parents agreed to pay you twenty percent more than last time!”
“At three in the morning, your parents let you come here to tell me that?” I asked, puzzled.
“No, I sneaked out–rather, I jolted out the front door; they don’t care too much where I go or what I do.”
I cast him a concerned gaze and we hugged, a passion-infused brevity. He had begun to pull the skirt and leggings back up almost as soon as we let go of each other–planning to go home in those? I thought confusedly; it seemed to be the case, and I reassured–if I’d ever assured him–that he could keep them; he looked marvellous in them, after all.
“Do you want to cuddle in bed?” I asked–rather rashly, I suddenly thought.
“No,” He said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek, injecting me with the spectre of indignation; “No, I have to get back so I can start getting ready for school.”
Fair enough, I thought.
“By the way,” He said, “You can call me ‘RYU-OTO’.”
I saw him out and returned to bed, eventually falling asleep in a pool of disjointed thoughts.
II
It was less than an hour before our ordained next meeting–at his parents’ house, under the pretence of ‘babysitting’–and I had just finished shaving, after stepping out of my shower not long ago. I dried off hastily and went into the living area wherein my bed resided, on which I sat to blow-dry my hair whilst combing it. Surely I was going to be running late–I still hadn’t even decided what to wear! Too soon I had finished with my hair, and the wardrobe beckoned.
The twin doors let out a ghastly creaking as they were pried apart; behind them I could see a few dozen things which were not coats fixed awkwardly upon coat hangers, and beneath them an embarrassing heap of things which could not be held up with the hangers. My natural indecisive inertia was overcome by a real sense of urgency, so that I took the first outfit I touched; it was a blue PVC Maid uniform with pleats in a few places and an overall fetishised look; and along with it, I decided to wear my versatile black boots with high platform heels.
Once I had finished dressing, I made sure my hair was all in-place; I then checked the time–a mere ten minutes remained! Clearly I was going to be almost half an hour late…
Ryuoto’s parents had already left when I arrived. I crossed the astroturf and knocked on the door; it swung open instantly–he must have been waiting just behind the door. I could see that he was wearing the sexy outfit I gave him a weak prior; and as he looked me over, a glimmer of astonishment crossed his face briefly.
“Come inside!” He commanded, and I entered forthwith. He closed the door behind me and turned to hug me.
“You look better than last time,” He said, “We’re going to have sex again, aren’t we?”
“Of course… But have you eaten yet?”
“No.”
I ended our embrace and told him that I was going to cook something; he informed me of a large ham in the freezer, so I went into the kitchen and took it out–pre-cured, good. I laid it on the counter and let the oven pre-heat. Ryuoto had vanished; but his voice could be heard faintly, emanating from the second story of the house; he was speaking to someone, presumably over a landline, and I checked my breathing so that I could make out some of the conversation:
“great … no, there’s company over … D.J. … go next week … bye …”
Oh, this wasn’t good… I decided I wouldn’t ask him about it until after we ate, or after we had sex again; and I succeeded in blocking it out of my mind for a time, focusing instead on preparing the ham. I opened the oven and popped it in, proceeding then to seat myself on the sofa in the living room. Ryuoto came down the stairs in the periphery of my sight and I turned to greet him; his face looked troubled until he saw me there, then it lit up.
“You put the ham in the oven?”
“Yes…”
He sat down beside and leaned over to kiss me. I felt a revulsion well up inside of me; how could this be? He was gorgeous, yes; and I thought I loved him, but the snippets of conversation I collected mere minutes ago had not ceased to harry my mind.
“Ryuoto,” I began, carefully; and he froze to listen with a stupid countenance, “I heard you speaking on the phone earlier, and I can’t help but pry–who was on the other end of the line?”
“…My cousin.” He said, as though he had carefully considered the response. It was impossible to believe him. Yet after a moment’s pause, he expanded on the falsehood; “…I was–he was going to come over, and I said ‘not tonight’ because there was company.”
He seemed so pitifully wretched, so far beneath me at that time. I inhaled deeply, slowly, and exhaled in like fashion; then I kissed him–the application of a temporary panacea was imminent.
I reached between his thighs and began to fondle his flaccid member whilst we kissed; it inflated with blood before long; I brought my knees up onto the sofa and leaned forward, planting my elbows on the sofa just in front of my knees–a cramped position, but wholesomely erotic and functional. In such a position, I turned my head toward Ryuoto’s lap and could easily fellate him; and just before beginning, I wiggled my bum and requested that he reach behind to finger me.
He sucked on his two foremost fingers for a bit to wet them, then pulled aside my panties and rubbed my sphincter lovingly. In turn, I held the tip of his phallus between my lips and teased it frantically with my tongue. His fingers broke through and began to caress my prostate; and I lowered my head, taking him to the back of my throat. We played like this for a few minutes–the stimulation made my penis erect, and his was throbbing dangerously; I stopped sucking and told him I wanted to sit on it.
Slowly, his fingers withdrew from me; and I turned away awkwardly, backing up so that my ass was close to his penis–he grabbed it roughly and pulled it onto himself. I seem to recall I made some embarrassing vocalisation when his cock perforated me; I bounced on his lap ecstatically, welcoming the revenant impalements which begot a comforting forgetfulness. He filled me with semen after a while; and I fancied that my mind was dead once I slid off of him, onto the sofa, letting an exhausted slumber overtake me.
I heard the phone upstairs ring. A message was left on the answering machine that I could not discern in my half-awake state. Ryuoto’s warmth had left the sofa, and I smelled something burning–it must have been the ham!
After having risen unsteadily to my feet, I stopped for a moment to survey the absurd quantity of semen that remained on the sofa–much of it must have dribbled from my orifice which was still uncomfortably agape. Even so, I walked over to the kitchen and washed my hands, proceeding to turn off the oven; the odour was intense, and I found that I no longer had any desire to eat, or even to see what became of the ham. Sighing, I wondered where Ryuoto could have run off to.
I came up the stairs in a most surreptitious manner and, upon reaching the second floor, could hear the sound of running water; and I became sure that he was showering behind a closed door–that’s when I remembered the answering machine. I recalled the general direction from which the sound of the machine emanated; the same direction whence came Ryuoto’s insidious mutterings prior; and in that vicinity was a door, slightly ajar. I approached it quickly and pushed it open; beyond was the lair of a junkie; everywhere a mess, everything tattered; a bed and a bedside table, and a telephone on top.
The phone was sufficiently modern to rest atop a base with a built-in answering machine; I pressed a button to play the last recording:
“… *hoarse coughing* … In-Zar-Gi, you there? I came to the libury whur you said we was gonna meet yesterday, and you wasn’t there. I thought you promised you’d share some of your purscription with me and the gang and we’d stay overnight. I even brung some wines. Well, ring me later okay?”
‘In-zar-gi’? ‘Me and the gang’? …’Wines’? My pulse quickened and I retched thrice or more. It was the voice of a loathsome and destitute young man–but worse; it was the voice of such a man calling on kin–calling on Ryuoto, by another name! I wanted to cry, or scream–probably both, but I clung to a vain hope, a hope that someone simply dialled the wrong number; so I went on to the next-from-last message:
“We’re going clubbing tomorrow, Kazuki-san; you and I, clubbing. For fuck’s sake, you always find some excuse not to come–but this time will be different! Deejay CONDOM-FACE is in town, you see? So you have to come. Bye.”
Ah, and there came the dry heaves again. Pity I hadn’t anything in my stomach. We’re fast approaching the conclusion of this tale–the conclusion of Ryuoto, or whatever you want to call him. You should have at least suspected by now that my psyche is not the type that can cope with such a situation in any rational way; my new-found love was keeping things from me, things which I had to discover sneakily–terrible, terrible things!
The water was still going. I collected myself–or I thought I did–and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I felt like I needed to cry, but I was far too angry to cry; could I suffer this witch to live? I wasn’t so sure. Say I were to, hypothetically, ‘forget it all’; he would come out of the shower, I would greet him, and I would have nothing else to say to him. I wouldn’t be able to speak to him about anything other than sex–I would be his ‘fuck-buddy’ all the while he’d be going with those dregs behind my back–a hedonistic pig just like his whore parents. No, this wouldn’t work.
I scoured my surroundings for the magickal artefact which would deliver us from this misery; and, before long, I stumbled upon a hammer. This would work.
The water stopped. I waited before the bathroom door, hammer hidden in one hand behind my back. It seemed he was taking his time to get dressed in there; I grew restless after a while, and for no reason at all, I knelt down and tried shoving the handle of the hammer up my gaping asshole. It slid up there pretty well without much effort, due in no small part to ‘Ryuoto’s personal lubricant’, and I stood up, managing to hold it in. I supposed that was as good a hiding place as any. The door creaked open.
“Hello, darling.” I said.
“Hello!” Was his pathetic retort. He stood there looking stupid, once again donning that outfit I gave to him.
My fingers curled and uncurled in an agitated manner that I feared may have been telling of my morbid intent, yet he shewed no signs of recognition. I should have seen him for the stupid thing he was when we first met. He just stood there like a deer in the headlights for what must have been nearly a whole minute, waiting for me to say something!
“…K-Kazuki-kun, want to go seal clubbing?”
He laughed.
“I’m sorry, come again?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I think I burnt the ham; how about you go downstairs and check on it for me? I need to use the bathroom.”
“Okay, sure.” And he turned.
I reached behind myself and squatted over my hand, pushing; and at the same time, I pulled on the head of the hammer which had remained outside of me. The whole thing slipped out easily and quickly. I had some catching up to do! Following his trail down the stairs, I could see him through the railing off to my side–he was nearly in the kitchen. I tried moving as fast as I could whilst retaining a modicum of stealth, and I finally came upon him as he was bending over to remove the ham–Hah!
The hammer hit his cute skull dead-on–an unsettling ‘crunch’ was heard, coupled with a shriek that haunts my conscience to this day–and the hammer was stuck in his skull; I lost my grip on it, and he managed to turn and face me as he died, displaying a particularly remorseful countenance. Once he was nothing but a body, I hugged that body, and I sobbed over it for a long time. Did I regret killing him then? Verily I did. But time — in this case, the time it took me to flee the scene and get down to writing — heals all wounds, or so I was once told.
A hearty meal can’t be bad, either. I realised I was very hungry then.
I rummaged through the drawers in the kitchen until I found a large, serrated knife, and I went to work on his neck, eventually severing is pretty little head. I didn’t think that would cook well, so I set it aside. Then I removed the ham from the oven, tossed it aside, and stood up to catch my breath and make some calculations…
Yes! He was quite small enough to fit, so I stripped him and stuffed his nude corpse into the oven; I then closed the oven and set it to a suitable temperature. This was all so convenient, as though it were preordained by some sort of god-like creature–it brought to mind the Wendigo of Stephen King’s ‘Pet Sematary’ (popularly underrated novel from an inconsistent repertoire); though this was probably just confirmation bias–I really didn’t want to believe I was capable of such depravity of my own ‘free will’.
I sat on the floor as I waited for him to cook; his head looked pretty beside me, in spite of the hammer stuck in it. I grabbed it and succeeded in pulling the hammer out, which left behind a dismal aperture revealing mushy grey matter–a strange contrast to the lurid pink locks surrounding it. I wondered what I could do with such an aperture, how the grey matter would feel on my penis; but I was to find that out back at my flat just prior to writing this (I ejaculated plenty in his skull), for I did not wish for my new ‘ham’ to burn!
Surely he did not need to cook for so long; I switched the heat off and pulled the oven open slightly, taking in the novel aroma of baked human flesh. Then I looked inside–oh dear… None could proclaim me an iron chef by any stretch; Ryuoto’s cooked body was grossly contorted, and bore unsightly marks due to the general carelessness and haste of my (lack of) preparation. Even so, my stomach growled, and I longed to have his flesh in me. I pulled him out of the oven and we fell back onto the floor together–he burned me; and I sat beside his head so that we could watch him cool together.
I’m still not sure how I managed it; but in the space of two hours, no more, I picked his bones clean! I started by gnawing on his tender calves and thighs, then moved up to his similarly satiating buttocks, and the rest disappeared pretty quickly. My belly was swollen like that of a woman just about to give birth; I washed the evidence off of my face; and I picked up his head, placing it in a potato sack and carrying it back here with me like the bundle of joy it turned out to be.
When the authorities inevitably come busting down my door, I plan to greet them with his pretty skull impaled on my erect phallus.
