“I want a cigarette,” she said. “Get one for yourself too.”
I scrambled for my pants and plucked two cigarettes from the packet, lighting them both and passing one behind me. I sucked on it just like I wanted her to suck on me.
“Remember, Bruce — I’m only doing this because of how special you are.”
I glanced behind me and watched as she inhaled half the cigarette in one erotic puff. Her eyes glazed in ecstasy as she held the dirty smoke in her lungs. In one hand she picked up the tubing and held it to her mouth. She threw me a wink (which I dropped) and blew the toxic smoke into the tubing where it made a brief journey deep into my bowel. She repeated the process until the cigarette was nothing more than a burning filter.
“Why?” I asked.
“If you don’t feed them, Bruce, how do you expect them to grow?” She held her ear to the pipe end and listened. A grin spread across her face. “They’re happy, Bruce. They’re purring. They’re purring.”
I fell silent. Fiona was right. I could hear the purrs like rapid little drums, but more than anything, I could feel it. The tumour cluster buzzed and pulsed. They were absorbing the poisonous smoke like starving animals. I handed her another lit cigarette, which she fed to my disease, gorging them like ticks.
“I want to fuck you,” I slurred.
“We can’t, Bruce. Please… feel free to pleasure yourself. Enjoy this moment. You deserve it.’
I had fallen too far into animalistic desire to feel disappointed. I clutched myself hard and stroked without restraint. I didn’t just cum… I exploded — thick seminal molasses shot in an unbroken jet and kissed Fiona’s carpet. I collapsed with the intensity of the release. Fiona whipped out the tube. I could still feel the tumours buzzing and growing.
I swam back toward consciousness with Fiona stroking my head, which was cradled in her lap. I wondered if it had been a dream and came close to asking until I saw the shit-streaked tubing coiled lifelessly on the carpet beside us.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“I don’t think I do at the moment.”
“That’s okay. The only thing I want you to feel is how important you are. The only thing I want you to understand is the perfection of your disease.”
“You want me to embrace my death.”
“Well that’s a glass half-empty way of looking at it,” she scoffed. “Yes, my dear Bruce… you are, without any shadow of doubt, going to die. Most people in your position just give up and fade away. You have the chance to make a real mark on this world. Let your death bring something positive.”
“Will we ever get to fuck?” I asked.
She shook her head slowly. “No, dear. I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
I channeled my inner three year old and threw a drowsy tantrum that probably looked more like an enthusiastic yawn. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. “Why not?” I sobbed.
“I’m not built for it. I don’t have the required biological equipment.”
I tried to read her eyes, hoping it was a joke. They weren’t laughing. “Are you a guy?” I asked while my sexuality deflated.
“No… I don’t have a penis. In most ways I am female. I simply lack genitalia.”
“You got nothing?”
“Just a smooth, androgynous hump.”
I rolled out of Fiona’s lap and crawled toward my pants. My face was trapped in a pout and my eyes were sticky with tear glue. “This is bullshit! I really thought you were going to fuck me.”
“You’re acting like a baby, Bruce. You’re focusing on the most unimportant things.”
I jacked my jeans up, determined not to look at her. I slammed half a dozen cigarettes in my mouth and set them alight. The influx of smoke was so voluminous that smoke began drifting from my ears. It relaxed me. With each inhalation I felt myself calming, becoming more pliant. There was something devious about these cigarettes. Something that went beyond the standard cocktail of poisons one would hope to find. I couldn’t escape the feeling that Fiona had done something untoward to them. I tried taking a step back from myself, but stopped when vertigo hit. Why was I going along with this? I only met this woman a few days ago. Why was I content to stand with my cock out in a room full of strangers when I didn’t even like seeing myself naked? Why was I letting this, undeniably insane, woman blow smoke up my arse? I inhaled again, knowing I was letting myself fall prey to her. It felt like my resolve was a crumbling wall. She was drugging me. I knew it. She existed only to speed my death. She didn’t care about me. She only cared about my disease. I hated her. I turned to face her. I walked with purpose toward the arse tube and plucked it up. I held it out to her. She didn’t move.
“Go on! Take it!” I yelled. “Feed them. You want them so fucking bad, you can have them. You want the perfect disease? Then make it happen.” I dropped my jeans back down and spread my arse. “Go on! Feed those hungry fuckers. I only exist to grow them. I know that now. Make my life mean something.” I whipped her with the tube. “Go on! Stick that fucking tube up me.”
Finally, she snatched the tubing. Her somber expression was replaced with a smile. “You’ve made the right choice. I want to help them be all they can be. I just need your utter obedience.”
11.
Fiona was quick to capitalise on my acquiescence. Clearly she sensed my indecisive nature and proceeded before procrastination had a chance to settle in. She informed me that she wanted to meet with any people I may be living with because, in her words, they required ‘briefing’. As little as a week ago, this would have been unnecessary, but it now seemed I had my own makeshift family. Fiona made arrangements to meet us all the next morning and she was quite vocal about ensuring everyone attended.
I prepared an area in the lounge room with chairs and mild refreshments. I even went so far as filling a vase with posies, which I placed on the coffee table as a centrepiece. I was filled with Christmas morning levels of excitement and I wanted to do everything right. I had never been the subject of a meeting before and it made me feel great. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. The journey thus far had been a deeply strange one. The heart that beat at the centre of all this interest was a disease that was destroying me and intellectually I knew that my participation was misguided. But given the position I was in, I just wanted to feel happiness. I had been shown something that resembled joy and I was prepared to take it.
I assembled the Stotsons, Arthur, Belinda and her mother into the lounge room. Each had an allocated chair with their names misspelled on them and I insisted, for reasons I couldn’t explain, that they all sit in their appropriate location. Belinda bounded for her chair and bounced upon it excitedly, clearly feeling the rush. The others tagged along, not with enthusiasm, but without resistance. Arthur lagged behind preparing a cup of Earl Grey. Fiona was due to arrive at 9:00am and, given my experience up until now, I expected her to be bang on time.
“Hurry up, Arthur,” I said. “She’s going to be here any minute.”
“Don’t be desperate,” he replied. “A good cup of Earl must be crooned to before it releases its divine flavour.”
I stood behind him, tapping my feet and sucking on a cigarette, trying my best to smoke him out of the kitchen.
“You won’t get anywhere rushing me, lad. Just show some decency and allow me my humble fancy”.
With the teacup held below his mouth, he quietly sang songs into his Earl Grey. I strained to make out the words and thought I heard something about break dancing. He brought the cup down and allowed the steamy curls of aroma to reach him. He exhaled deeply, made eye contact and said, “Okay… I am now ready”.