Secondary Education
- 4 years ago
- 30
- 0
Secondary Education 2 free porn video
Secondary Education
Chapter 2, The Trouble With PE
By Tyla Flowers
[email protected]
I am rounding the last turn of the mandatory mile. Each footfall is
unbearable. The sun, the smog, and the heat are relentless. Coach is
screaming words I cannot hear over the blood pounding in my ears. I cross
the finish line and collapse at his feet.
"Get up, move around before you puke, Flowers."
"I can't, Coach." It is too late. I retch on the ground at Coach's feet,
a watery gruel. I hear groans of disgust from my classmates. I wonder if
they will see the remnants of the Cesar's semen in the spew.
Coach springs back from the vomit. "Christ, Flowers, why are you wearing
a frigging sweat suit, anyhow? It's 90 degrees."
"My muscles cramp." I cannot say my real purpose: to hide my breasts,
which have blossomed to fill an A-Cup.
"What muscles?" The insult is punctuated by cackles. I search out the
source of the derision. It's Antoine Lewis, one of Fairfax's Crips. He's
a scary dream, a failed jock on his descent to badass gang banger. I look
away, desperate to avoid eye contact with the gaggle of guffawing
classmates.
Coach flips through his clipboard. "9:50. Your mile time is even slower
than when we started this unit in March."
Coach is right. And I know why. That's when I started hormones. My
breasts and hips have grown, but my muscles have softened and weakened,
especially after I began with the potent Diane 35 earlier this month.
I endure hormone induced hot flashes and nausea every day. But it's worth
it. If I can survive this gym class, at this rate, by next fall, I will
be able to pass as a girl. I will check out of this school, and check
into Hollywood High as a girl. "I'm sorry, it's just so hot. I feel sick.
Can I go to your office? I'll straighten up. I've got a free period
next."
"Sure, if that's what it takes for me to pass you this quarter,
Flowers."
I hear another Crips' voice. "Hear that, Flower's gets a period!" It's
the one they call the Freeze, for his reputation for cool brutality.
Coach hears it to. "Shut the fuck up, Lewis. All the rest of you ladies,
let's see another mile, and if it's under seven point five, another one
after that." Coach gives me an umpire "your out" sign.
Fairfax is a product of bussing. Thirty years ago it was abandoned by the
middle class Jews from the neighborhood and populated by bussed in
populations of poor whites, Latinos, Samoans and Blacks. Along with
students like me, attracted to its magnet program in visual arts, it also
draws a tough gang-banger element. I think there is a transgender Samoan
girl but she is so stealth, and cosseted in her community, I can't even
talk to her. I have to get out of here.
Over the summer, I'll check out of this dump and transfer to a new high
school with the OASIS program, Hollywood High, or as the bangers here
call it, Homowood High. No more Matt Frawley's to moon over, but no more
Antoine Lewis's to taunt or threaten me, if I can survive until summer
break, a month from now.
Coach's office is a cramped, filthy corner of the locker room.
Volunteering as his factotum had been a brilliant strategy to curry his
favor while also avoiding the embarrassment of changing in the locker
room under the pressure of the bell and the gaze of my inquisitive, but
intolerant classmates.
I had always been self conscious and uncomfortable when changing after
PE. I am younger than most of my peers, and my physical development
always lagged theirs. They have grown tall and broad shouldered, and
sprouted manly pubic hair and whiskers. I remain a slender peach fuzzed
child. Now, under the influence of estrogen, my development has taken a
different, and now noticeable direction. Thus, I linger in Coaches
office, sorting and organizing, until the crowds of outgoing and incoming
classes thin from the locker room. I will change of my gym attire in
solitude, during the next period.
Coach leaves me plenty of work to keep busy. Coach is a control freak on
the field, but totally ADHD at his desk. I put a disorganized pile tardy
slips into alphabetical order, sorting them by days, and input them into
his computer,
At 2:15, Coach pokes his head in and cocks his thumb over his shoulder.
"You can finish up next week, I am locking up and taking a coffee break."
I pick up my gym bag and slip into the empty locker room to change. It is
dank and redolent of the odors of youthful masculinity, magnified by
years of use. I slip out of my sweat suit, cover up with a rough towel,
and slink into the shower. I choose the handicapped area. It's separated
from the main area by a low, soap scummed partition which partially
blocks the view. The tap groans and spits first freezing, and then
scalding water. I flinch as it scours my estrogen softened skin.
I shower off the residues of my sweaty run, and last night's sex with
Cesar from my body. I feel my breasts. The are puffy and tender from the
incessant fondling and sucking by Cesar last night, and the relentless
action of the Diane 35. The areoles have enlarged to the size of
quarters. The nipples rise above the conical mounds that have risen in
the past few days.
I touch them and am filled with a mixture of delight and distress. They
have a shape and size which I know will be noticeable to careful
observers, so I am taking extra pains to be discreet. I am aware of them
constantly, for their tissues are engorged with fluid and palpably seethe
and tingle with what feels like rapid tissue development. When I touch
them, I shiver with sensation.
I run a smooth, soapy and over my penis. It is soft and smooth, the way I
remember it as a child. I stroke my hand between my buttocks, press a
soapy finger into my ass and twirl it. My anus is puckered and sore from
last night with Cesar. He has become my thrice weekly lover. He is still
seeing a girlfriend, Lucia, but he needs more sex than she will give him,
so he takes it from me. I indulge him. I have grown to welcome his
visits, and the supply of estrogen that he brings me from the drugstores
his gang jacks in search for ingredients for the meth they brew, and sell
to junkies like my mom. It is convenient, but how I wish I could leave
behind my pathological roots.
I am lost deep in my thoughts, and lingering to long with them. I sense
danger approaching. Over the hiss of the tap I hear echoing, indistinct
voices. I make myself still, and listen more closely. I turn the tap
down, and hear footsteps and voices coming nearer. I hear Antoine Lewis.
"I'd fuck a trannie once, just to try it. I fucked a bitch's ass once, a
girl ass, and it's tight. Ass just grabs your Johnson and squeezes the
jiz out."
I recognize the voice of Antoine's friend, "the Freeze." "Flower's no
trannie. He's just a twink. If you fuck him, and you're a fag."
"No, bro, I tell you, I seen him riding with some Mexican, maybe
Salvadoran guy, driving up Fairfax, and he be done up like a ladyboy, all
made up, dressed sexy. Look at the way him run, all bow legged. Flowers
does everything like a girl, walk like he's just took it up the ass. His
ass probably all wet and ready. I want that ass."
I twist the tap off, and crouch behind the partition. The steam billows
above me. I imagine it's a protective fog, that I am camouflaged.
I hear the squeak of Nikes on the wet shower room floor. "Where's that
steam coming from?" Antoine's voice is anxious, as if he fears ambush.
Shadows loom above me through the haze of steam. "Aw, fuck, speak of the
Devil, it's only Flowers." I hear a snick of metal. Antoine has closed
his knife. "Get up, Flowers, and settle our argument. The Freeze says
you're a just a uke, but I say you're a full blown trannie." I cower,
covering up, but Antoine grabs my wrist, turns and exposes me. He paws my
left breast with his sheathed knife. "Lookie, lookie, I see little
titties. I tolja, Freeze. No, winner gets the first fuck." Antoine twists
my arm behind me pulls me toward the towel room, a dark, mildewed crevice
adjacent to the shower room.
"OK, I'm coming."
"You got that wrong. I'm cumming, you're receiving, bitch."
"Please don't hurt me. I don't want scream."
"If you scream, I'll cut your tits off." He flashes the knife.
"You don't need that. I'll cooperate."
"You're going to love it, bitch."
He pitches me face first into a mountain of used towels. "Stay there." I
try to breathe away my fear. I am in Yoga class. My leotard clings to me,
my poses are perfect. The teacher praises me, I look into my third eye,
and see myself, a perfect girl. My boobs rise and fall with my even
breath, my lotus is square and flat, my groin is a perfect diamond, as if
no cock had ever marred it.
Fingers entwine my hair and yank me to my knees. A huge, half engorged
black cock sways in the dark before my eyes. I can't believe it. It looks
like a coiled black cobra, already twice as large as Cesar's. "Suck it,
you little pussy."
The towel room is a twilit dungeon. Outside its door, the Freeze is
keeping watch.
By the time my lips touch it, Antoine's cock is almost hard, and it grows
alarming larger with each passing second. I pout my lips, and cover my
teeth. He thrusts into my mouth. The cock's helmet-like head almost
fills me to the gag reflex. I cup my hands over his buttocks, and glide
my lips, tongue, palate and throat over the glistening brown monster.
"Oh, you suck it good, bitch." I nod, praying that he will erupt in my
mouth and spare my hole from this massive thing.
His cock probes down my throat, but Cesars's slaps and chastisements have
taught me to stifle my gags, and to never bare my teeth. I breathe, and
moan. He grips my skull and forces himself deeper, and I will my throat
to yield. As he thrusts, I guide him, digging my fingers into his round,
bowling ball hard buttocks. His stomach is rippled with muscles and
matted with the same nappy hair that he wears unkempt beneath his blue
dew-rag. Antoine runs the fastest 100 meters in my PE class, and I am the
slowest. We will be an uneven match as lovers.
I push him away, and in the dark, admire the black monster that I have
unleashed. It looks more like a stool than an organ. It's penetration of
my ass will defy the laws of physics.
"OK, time to bend over, bitch." Antoine piles a mound of towel and pushes
me over it. My ass is inclined. He clears his throat, and spits. His
fingers spread warm saliva over my butt. A finger presses on the ring. I
breathe deep the rank odors of a thousand damp towels. Antoine presses my
face into the miasma. His cock dances against me, circling the wet
sphincter, searching for the passage to my center. I breathe deep,
searching the third eye, and just as I make contact, I explode from the
searing jolt of Antoine, piercing me from below. I scream into the black
hole of the towel room, forcing myself deeper into the stinking well of
mold and filth. He pulls back, and I feel my center ripped out of me. I
am torn apart by this massive cock, and then he plunges again and I wish
I could flee downward to the fires of hell, to escape from this torture.
He pulls out, and I inhale the moist air, and it sooths me. I fight back
against pain and panic with breath and meditation. I cannot extinguish
fiery caldron that is alight inside my bowels. I must control myself, or
I will explode. I breathe deep into my abdomen as he withdraws, and
exhale as he lunges. The breath controls the conflagration. Now his
cock's rises and falls spread warmth from the soles of my feet to my
finger tips.
"How's that feel, bitch?"
"Like a big black saw is cutting me in half."
"You like that, bitch?"
"You're killing me."
"Good. Then I'm going to fuck you dead."
He rams me thirty times hard and deep. I press back against each entry,
retract from each withdrawal. "That's it, bitch, fuck back at me." He
slaps my behind, and jams it faster, and harder, until he is winded. He
sinks himself so deeply inside me that it feels as if his cock expels the
dregs of the air from my lungs. He is working me like a bellows to a
furnace, and my insides glow and melt. I start to enjoy being filled up
with his bulky cock. My ass syncopates to his rhythms. He slaps my
buttocks with both hands, and bounces with enthusiasm. "Oh yeah, baby,
keep on doing that thing."
Now he and I are racing. For the first time, I match this star athlete's
performance. His breath is hot and hard against the nape of my neck. My
back is wet with his sweat. Our bodies slide against one another. His
dark, hard flesh is sculpted. Its contours are palpable as they glide
over my soft, slender back. My senses are awakened from their retreat
from the pain. My ass adjusts to its massive, jolting cargo, and now I
perceive each striation of his ribbed penis. He slides in and out over
the wrinkled hole, the firm bulwark of my rectum, and into through the
dark caverns of my lower colon, and bang against the first curve of my
lower intestine. I twist and growl within. I feel floods of warmth
building in the flesh of my abdomen.
Antoine feels the well brimming inside me. "Oh, yeah, I like that hot,
wet ass pussy." He speeds his pace even further. My cock, which had
retracted into a tight nub, now hardens to its full four inches. I touch
myself. It is slender, almost hairless after months of hormones and
plucking. The estrogen is winning the hormonal struggle. My testes are
soft and shrunken. I imagine they are gone. My scrotum feels empty and
smooth, almost merged into the smooth skin of my perineum. I imagine I am
a castrati, indentured to the Church. I sing my Lord's praises in
perfect, perpetual soprano. I carry a candle to the alter where I worship
my god and receive his love. My god is with me, and he commands me to be
a woman, beautiful and submissive. I thrust back hard against Antoine,
and squeeze my sphincters over the bulky engine that is now bucking and
jolting, a runaway train is rattling on its track.
"Oh yeah, squeeze my cock with that ass pussy." His strong hands grip my
slim shoulders. My tension releases, and I feel it throbbing down my
spine, and my ass shudders. Antoine's grunts, and a hot geyser floods my
insides. The cock plunges again, and again. The flood deepens and
spreads. It is warm and lubricious. I wriggle beneath it, and more comes.
I am brimming, distended, as Antoine modulates, slows, and finally stops.
"Oh, that was good. Freeze, want some of this nice wet ass? Get it while
it's fresh from the oven."
I am ready, but relieved when Freeze replies. "Sound's like you used that
ass all up. Don't want no sloppy seconds. Let's get going. I hear someone
coming."
"OK, we're almost done." He pulls me to my knees and thrusts his penis
toward my lips. "Lick me clean." I slip the soft penis into my mouth and
suck it. It is redolent of ass juice and jisim, pungent and sweet.
"Squeeze my balls, harder." I grip and squeeze each testicle. Even spent,
they are golf ball sized. A residue of semen filigrees my throat.
He retracts and gives my face a gentle slap. "That was good, bitch. I am
claiming you for the Crips. Right, Freeze?"
"Whatever you say."
"And you keep your mouth shut, right?"
I nod.
Antoine pulls on his hoodie and hoists his pants. His belt buckle clanks
closed. "Stay here until we are gone, bitch. And enjoy that cream pie." I
hear their squeaking Nike's retreat through the locker room, and the door
slams shut.
I am alone. I stand, and reach between my buttocks. A slurry of cum and
ass juicee sluices from my anus and oozes down my thigh. I don't dare
return to the shower, so I wipe my ass and thighs dry with a filthy,
rough towel.
I will be perfumed with Antoine's sweat and cum until I get home. I hear
the bell. The next class will be here in a moment. I pull up my black
skinny pants, pull on my black cotton knit sweater, and tie my black
sneakers. I run out of the locker room just as the next period's class
arrives. Coach looks at me accusingly. I smile and say goodbye, and he
gives me a dismissive nod. I emerge into Fairfax High's frenzied, packed
halls. As I bump my way toward Knudsen's class through onrushing throngs
of students, I avert my eyes from their faces. Who among them have
already heard about my encounter with Antoine?
Knudsen gives us a pop quiz on the quadratic equation. I'll probably
flunk it. I can't concentrate, my head is spinning. As the clock jitters
toward 3:30, schools out time, I brim with irrelevant memories. One day
when I was five, I discovered I was a little girl trapped in a boy's
body. She caught me wearing her clothes at six. She burned my Barbie.
Knudsen is writing the homework on the white board. My classmates are
shuffling out. I carefully copy the homework assignment into my notebook,
although I know I will not do it. I need an excuse to wait. I need to
talk to someone. I choose Knudsen.
"Flowers, what can I do for you?"
"Mr. Knudsen, I need advice."
"My advice is to pay attention in class and do your homework. For a time,
it seemed as though you were the only one here who cared about learning.
But now you seem to have lost it too."
"It's hard, when I have so many problems."
"We all have problems, Flowers." He held up the sleeve of jacket, then
let it flop to his side. "You learn to deal."
"I am trying, but the whole world is against me. I am completely
ostracized because everyone thinks I am gay."
"You're not gay?"
"I wish I were, because the truth is even harder." I close my eyes,
breathe deep, and squeeze from my soul the words which I have repeated
like a mantra for my whole life, and never spoken aloud. "I'm a
transsexual. I am really a girl, and I am going to become one. Soon
everyone will know."
Knudsen flinches, his eyes gape. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but I
am."
"Does that disgust you?"
"Death and destruction disgust me." He flapped his empty sleeve again.
"Nothing else comes close, especially not a nice, bright kid like you."
Knudsen smiles, clasps my right hand with his left. It's a good gesture,
not sexual, or macho, just human. I am glad I told him my secret.
"You're a smart kid, and I am sure you have thought this through, but how
can you be so sure? People change as they grow. You are young."
"I have known that I am really a girl since I was a toddler. My male
hormones can't change my heart and soul. They are already completely a
girl's. But I can change the hormones."
"You are on estrogen? That's a pretty heavy choice for a sophomore"
"I didn't choose my identity. It chose me."
"You are choosing to take hormones."
"It's that, or become a freak, a man in woman's clothes, when I am older.
Waiting until later to start female hormones is a choice, and for me it
would be the wrong one." I wave my hand out the window at toward the
field where the baseball team is warming up. "I need hormones to keep me
from becoming one of them."
"So, take your hormones. Why drop out."
"My transition is getting too obvious. I am being harassed."
"We have policies against that."
"Policies won't protect me against my persecutors. That means I have to
choose between finishing school and being hurt and humiliated every day.
I can't take it anymore. I have to drop out."
"You have chosen a difficult road, Flowers. Don't make it harder by
ruining your education."
"I need to drop out. I'm going to kill myself, or get killed, if I stay
here."
"Don't. Even if you are a transsexual, you still have great potential.
You need to stay in school to reach it." He looks at me, and I can tell
that he senses my fear. "What's happened to you?"
"I can't talk about it. It's too dangerous."
"You have got less than a month in the school year, Flowers. I'll talk to
the administration. They can work something out. Meet me during lunch at
the principal's office."
"I can't come back here tomorrow, or ever. I just wanted to tell you
goodbye, because you have always been nice to me, and you are a great
teacher."
"I'll write a recommendation to the principal's office that they
authorize independent study and take home finals for you." Knudsen is
clutching at me with his lone arm.
"That's, Mr. Knudsen. Thanks. But whatever they decide, I can't come back
here again. I will always be identified as a boy here, and I'm not going
to fool anyone here anymore. They'll never accept me as a boy or a girl.
I need to start over, and to go full time as a girl, starting now."
I get up from my chair, woozy with exhaustion and nausea. I need to go to
the bathroom. I never use the toilets at school, it would be instant
rape. I have an hour of gut busting agony to get home on the bus.
"Thanks, and goodbye."
"Wait." Knudsen scribbles his cell number and hands it to me. "Just call
me, OK?"
I nod half-heartedly. I look warily down the corridor, but it's empty.
The stragglers are having their last smokes on the barren schoolyard.
It's 4:00 p.m., and the afternoon haze is settling over the Los Angeles
Basin. I look back with no regret as I leave Fairfax High for the last
time.
TBC
Arisha
- 03.04.2021
- 30
- 0
