Page 49 of The Filth Kings

I quickly walked to my room to gather all of my items for school. I only had one friend; her name was Stephanie. I had a crush on her, but I could never tell her that. Everybody else already looked at me like I was a clown, something foreign and just crazy. It was evident in my strong facial features that I was a boy. The other kids constantly asked me why did I dress like a girl. I never had an answer because it wasn’t by choice or force. I did it because it put my mom in a better mood when I dressed this way.

She always wanted a daughter, I can’t even remember when I started wearing girls clothes. It’s been as long as my mind could remember. Kids assumed that I was gay, just because I dressed like a girl. I tried to get into boys and find something in them that I liked but there was nothing there. As the years went by, I became more and more frustrated. I wasn’t fat, I was thin, and my small muscles started to form underneath my arms.

I looked in the mirror every chance I got and the more I eyed myself the more disgusted I became. Each time I saw my reflection, it felt like I was looking at someone else. Someone who didn’t belong, or fit, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that this was okay and it was the best for me. Mom loved me, and maybe if I continued to make her at least a little bit happy, it would help her stop drinking and chain smoking. I constantly told myself these things but ended up angry about it all at the same time.

I had breasts that looked like nubs. Mom bought me sports bras and that fueled my anger even more. It seemed like she wanted to remind me every day that I would never be allowed to just truly be myself. Why couldn’t she just let me be who I wanted to be? I hated that it was starting to make me despise and not like her. So many questions pounded in my head and I always went back to when I was young and terrified of my father Impurity.

The way he used to eye me evilly, how he never uttered a word to me. Mom protected me from him and when we both got kicked out, it haunted me… even now. I had nightmares of him cutting her while I watched. That deep cut of him having her skinned was still raw looking on the back of her neck. I missed my big brother and wondered if he was okay. Detavio loved me, and never treated me differently. He accepted and protected me, even when I didn’t know it. I knew it now and I wished that mom brought him along with us.

I never believed the things that she stated about my brother. She always said that he was the devil just like my father. He cut people’s organs out and hurt innocent women. If it was true, I blamed it all on Impurity. I wasn’t allowed to mention their names or she’d spiral out of control.

I’ve tried to express myself once to her, I wanted to mention to her that I didn’t like wearing the dresses. I pumped myself up on my birthday to tell her that I wasn’t her daughter and to proudly say that I was her son. My name wasn’t Octavia, it was Octavio.

I failed at ever saying it, the words got stuck in my throat. Soon as I laid eyes on her that day, I didn’t want to face the weight of her disappointment. She wouldn’t listen, even if I did say it. Mom never fuckin’ listened. Most of the time, she acted like she was fully aware by smiling at me. I started to grow addicted to that look of proudness in her eyes. She molded me into the perfect girl.

I told myself every day that I was a boy. It was becoming hard to contain the anger and darkness that pulsed through me time after time. I wanted to unleash something inside of me that I feared. It was something that I knew was destructive and would demand her to accept me. I stood in front of my mirror, quiet and alone with my reflection. I wished and prayed for my freedom.

“Octavia! You’re going to miss your damn bus!” She yelled and slurred out loudly.

Present…

“You ever thought about getting your titties cut off?” Yani asked as she eyed me with heavy lust evident in her eyes.

I didn’t respond right away. I felt weak as hell, my head throbbed from busting nuts back-to-back inside of her. One of the best feelings in life was the feel of some hot and wet pussy. I was addicted to it in the worse way possible. I also had some of the best in my line up for it. Yani was my hood chick from the projects over on the west side.

To me, struggle broke pussy was the best, and the women attached to it was more down to earth. I took them over the uppity hoes that wanted a person to trick on them just for the dry sandpaper wall pussy they possessed.

“I mean, that shit sexy as fuck. I love sucking on them when you deep in my guts, but they seem to bother you,” Yani uttered.

Yani laid back with her perky mocha breasts jiggling in the process. For a moment I got lost in her beauty. There was something captivating about the way her features fit perfectly together. Her golden locks framed her diamond shaped face perfectly as her hand rested above her belly button.

Out of all the women that I messed around with, Yani was my favorite girl. She was very sweet and always came over to not only fuck me, but to chill also. Yani cooked and even helped me clean up whenever I went into a deep depression. I felt comfortable with her to express myself. I had grown accustomed to how society treated me. People viewed me as a freak show, and I let them.

When I looked in the mirror, I saw the same thing that they did. My face was handsome and beautiful at the same time. The first thing I did when I graduated high school was lie to my overbearing mother by telling her I was going to college out of state. Everything, including my identity, was fake and I hated her for that. I still maintained my closeness with my mom because while I hated her. I still loved and respected her.

Instead of going to college, I got into doing porn. I started watching it at a young age to see people like me and how they performed with the opposite sex. When I started, I was a nervous wreck. There were so many fuck ups that I made. Once I got the hang of it, I quickly grew addicted to it. Word of mouth started to travel about me and about the size of my dick. Women offered to pay me just to fuck me to experience sleeping with a man that had C cup breasts with a big and real dick attached. I made so much money and lost my virginity while doing it. So many people loved searching ‘She-male fucks Cis gender woman’ in their search engines on ‘Triple R’ site that the company started paying me six figures a month.

I started to accept what people thought of me, just like I accepted Octavia instead of Octavio. Sometimes, I was happy, but the sad days overpowered the good. I tried to look on the bright side of things. I found my tribe in doing porn. I had friendships with people for a change. I didn’t consider myself to be a part of the LGBTQ because I never slept with a man or even looked at a man in a sexual type of way.

I loved women, and I partially looked like one. My best form of revenge on my crazy ass mom was telling her that I was dying from cancer. It sounded fucked up when I told her, but I got tired of her asking so many questions and imposing on my life. The more I sat back and reflected on my upbringing and the way that she raised me, the more hateful I became. I wanted no parts with her, though she still wanted to be heavily involved with me.

She called me daily and took the two-hour drive from L.A to Victorville twice or maybe even three times a week to see me. Each time, I faked sick. I fell so deep into faking this sick act for her that I made fake documents to send over to her. It was my revenge, it felt good to me, and I didn’t give a damn how bad it was. To me, it was equivalent to her forcing me to be this Octavia character. I probably was sick in the head for planning my own fake death, just so she could leave me alone for good, but I didn’t really have the guts to do her like that.

I looked away from Yani and looked over at the floor to ceiling mirror next to my bed. I hated how softness clung to my masculine shape.

My body was too slender for my liking, my hips were wide, while my skin was too smooth. Nothing was right on me.

“I’m going to get it, well…I thought about getting them removed but I don’t want to look more deformed than I already am,” I told Yani truthfully.

She sat back up and sighed as she reached for the tray full of weed. Yani started to break down the weed with her witch nails and started to talk.

“Are you still watching your brother?” She asked.

My stomach churned, I wasn’t expecting her to bring Detavio back up at such a random time.

“I have, his chairmen of ‘Meet Me’ is supposed to be doing this big red carpet event. It has something to do with a soft launch for the Queer community. I was thinking about going but?—”

“Go! I bet he will be there. I don’t know why you refuse to just go to ‘Meet Me’ to reintroduce yourself to him,” she said with the blunt between her lips as she lit the end of it.

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