Secondary Education
Tyla Flowers
TylaFlowers@gmail.com
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 Colón 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^Å"
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