NARCISSISM
Vixen Phillips
LOST VIOLET PRESS
Published by Lost Violet Press 2010
Smashwords edition Copyright © Vixen Phillips 1999, 2010
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form without the prior permission of the publisher.
Cover design by Vixen Phillips/Lost Violet Press
This book is a work of fiction.
i.
The room is lit with twelve candles—no more, no less. In one corner, some soft and sensual lullaby rises from the stereo. The curtains brush softly over his skin from the open window as he begins to undress, smiling down at the sleeping city below, mocking it, wanting it, flirting with it. First his little black dress, next the purple skivvy, and finally the stockings and suspenders. He never wears underwear.
Here, for the next six hours at least, he can be truly alone. But he can never be free.
He moves over to the mirror, the candle light casting a dull amber aura over his white skin. He watches his own lips part as, in delicate movements caused by the everlasting fear of getting caught, he begins to run his hands over his neck, down his chest, deliberately tugging on the mandatory nipple clamps to induce a moan of pain and something else as well…
Pleasure, perhaps?
He removes one hand momentarily to wet his fingers with spit, then trails them back over his nipples, over the well-defined rib cage, down the flesh of his stomach, to the first beginnings of pubic hair…
Then he stops, and falls against the mirror, wracked with sobs of pain.
Every night, he stops there. Every night, this bitter conclusion only leads to tears more desperate and bitter than those of the night before.
I know what comes next, as surely as if it were finely scripted and rehearsed and replayed a million times over before my eyes. His hand slips down to upturn one of the crystals on the dressing table, from which he unearths a slip of paper, yellowed with age, worn with being read and reread, the words upon it memorized like some kind of prayer.
A newspaper article. His one reason to still hope, that one day he could fly free, like the bird of paradise he is, trapped within this cage.
He moves away to sit on the bed, head bent over. I can make out his lips moving as he reads in silence, tracing over the Kanji with his fingertips, more lovingly than he touches himself. He is ashamed. Ashamed of that which, had he been born into a different life, a different class, would have given him, and so many others, so much pleasure.
Others like me.
But I am trapped, too. We are all victims of the masks we wear, the roles we play, our lives nothing more than poorly scripted parts in a play written by those with the ultimate power, the overseers, the decision makers. Every cog fits, everyone has their place, desired or not, everything runs smoothly like a well-oiled machine.
But even machines can break down. All it takes is for one person to throw the old proverbial spanner in the works and…
I sigh, removing the night-vision goggles with no little reluctance as he finally crawls into bed. I lean over and cut off the audio feed from the deck on the wall, having no desire to hear him cry himself to sleep, the nightly ritual that at once leaves me both broken-hearted and elated.
As long as the tears still fall, we have a chance.
I move off into the bathroom, carrying my desire like a soul-destroying shadow. I switch off the light, watch myself unbutton my pants in the full-length mirror. Perhaps it is even the mirror that pleases me most about this hotel room. I strip off the pants and the underwear quickly, too familiar with my own needs to waste time with gentle caresses the way he does. Grabbing hold of my dick with one hand, I cup my balls with the other, begin to rub up and down the length of the shaft: violent, measured strokes. I am my own lover, my own creation, with no need for foreplay, no need for words of love, no need for the pretension that washes over me like a sea of doom every day.
This city only removes its mask by night, if you know where to look. Rape, prostitution, treachery, torture and tears. All these signs of hope, signs that the entire system is breaking down.
And then, what will they do? I let my hand stray from under my balls, around the curve of my thigh and over my cheek, digging two fingers — now three — deep inside — twisting, trysting, panting, sobbing — as finally my dick begins to throb beneath my palm. Subconscious wishes swallow conscious thought for too brief a time. Then a long stretch of cum spurts out onto the mirror. The world comes back into focus, revealing this ultimate stain on the face of innocence. His face? Yes, his face. Even as I imagine it, my reflection changes to that of a desperate young man with a feral smile. But really, is anything ever changed? I lean down slowly and lick off all the evidence, before washing my hands and getting dressed again.
Quick, functional, painless. Like everything else in this God-forsaken hellhole.
I stop only briefly on my way out of the room to grab the keys and the night-vision goggles. There will be no more action here tonight. Time to greet the world, and see what other secrets this whore has to show me.
On some days, this is the one thing that seems to keep my heart beating in my chest, the blood flowing through my veins.
“Dear, beautiful Meigeharen,” I murmur, as I lock the door behind me. “Soon you will be free.”
And I will be your saviour, your Christ. The one to release you.
Chapter I
Twelve girls lined one wall of the café, each dressed identically in school uniforms. Most of them seemed happy, carefree, as they sat cuddling their pets, or allowing them to do their hair, or put make-up on them. The electronic and consumptive age well and truly dead, now these serene, beautiful boys took the place of tamagotchis and barbie dolls, each of them just as soulless and empty in their own way.
Only one girl sat quietly at the table, her head resting on one hand, her eyes unable to leave the doorway for more than thirty seconds at a time. Periodically she sighed, a deep, heartfelt sigh, laced with both impatience and love sickness. Her pet sat at her feet, obediently silent. She’d long since given up encouraging him to play with the others, even though most of the other girls teased her because they all thought Meigeharen was weird.
“Why don’t you take him back—get another one?” they’d asked.
Others had agreed readily, shaking their pretty, long locks. “Obviously a defective specimen. You have a right to report it.”
“It’s your duty. If I’d gotten one of those, I’d be blind with rage!” That had been Tokie, who had a penchant for being overly-dramatic.
Each time they said something, Polly just smiled and nodded along with them. But she never did anything about it. Trouble was, she liked her pet just fine the way he was; she didn’t want a replacement. Perhaps she was becoming too attached?
Speaking of becoming too attached, where the hell is Zander? she demanded silently of herself. It was well after four o’clock now, which meant he was well and truly officially late.
“What’s got your goat?” came a voice in her ear, and she turned to see Sylvie and Carrie staring at her.
“Oh, nothing,” she moaned, then sighed again. “But Zander’s supposed to be here. It’s our three month anniversary today.”
Carrie nodded her head approvingly. “You’re so lucky. Zander’s a babe!” At her side, Sylvie tittered.
“Has anyone seen him?” Polly asked now, only to see her eleven companions each stop and shake their heads in unison. And I bet you wouldn’t tell me if you had, she added in a resentful silence. She knew each and every one of them was jealous of her relationship with the older student. She’d caught them all at various stages, trying to flirt with him, trying to assure him that they could offer him much more than she could.
But it didn’t overly worry her. Life was too short to be jealous. And she didn’t think just sex in and of itself particularly interested Zander. In all the time they’d spent together, they’d never done anything more risqué than French kiss.
A small tap on her leg from Meigeharen reminded her of where her attention was supposed to be focused, but it was too late. As she turned to look, she suddenly found herself being swept off her feet, into the arms of the tall, lean young man who gave her a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek before brandishing a bunch of white roses in front of her eyes.
White, the symbol of purity, chastity, virginity.
“Sorry I’m late, babe,” he apologized casually, leaning on the table. “I had to hunt all over the city to find those.” His hand indicated the three roses now held by Polly. “One for each month we’ve been together.”
“Thank you!” Polly gasped, ashamed at her initial reaction. From beside her, each of the eleven girls suddenly piped up in unison, “Hi Zander!” followed by much giggling and blushing.
Zander shot Polly a look, smiling at seeing her so uncharacteristically mad. “We should go. We’ll be late for the film.”
Polly’s anger and embarrassment dissolved into a smile, and she rose to her feet, allowing her beau to take hold of her arm and escort her from the café. Behind them, Meigeharen got up like a cat and quietly padded outside behind them, his expression eternally unreadable.
· § ·
Inside the old cinema complex, Polly quickly retired to the rest room while Zander purchased the tickets and Meigeharen went off on his mistress’ orders to buy popcorn, lemonade and chocolate. Both met up again in the centre of the foyer, as there was still no sign of Polly.
Zander helped himself to a big chunk of popcorn before taking the extra drinks off the boy, who seemed to give them up reluctantly despite all he was carrying. There was a moment of silence, broken only by Zander whistling some cheery cheezy pop tune, before he said, “I haven’t taken you here before, have I?”
No response, not even a flicker of recognition that he was being spoken to crossed Meigeharen’s features. As to be expected.
“I’ve wanted to bring Polly here for a long time. I can’t think why I haven’t, before now. I like this place, it’s one of the few originals still standing from before the war. The only people who come here are tourists and freaks, like myself.” He stopped to chuckle, then frowned. Not even a smile out of the boy.
“You’re not very talkative, are you? Don’t you like me very much, Meigeharen?”
He saw the boy’s eyes finally light up as his name was mentioned, and, in a very soft, pain-filled voice, he said, “You know it’s against the rules.”
“Hey, sorry!” Polly called out, as she came running towards them both. “Only one toilet worked, so there was a queue.”
Zander smiled and pretended to remove his attention from Meigeharen, his grin broadening as he noticed the boy’s visible sigh of relief. He offered his arm to Polly. “Shall we go in?”
· § ·
After the film was over, they went back to the café for a cup of coffee, before Zander walked Meigeharen and Polly home. Stopping off to give Polly the briefest of good night kisses, he then turned back to Meigeharen. “Will I take care of this one for you?” he asked sweetly.
Meigeharen’s face retained its blankness as Polly beamed broadly. “Gee, thanks, Zander. I was going to call him a cab, but with you around…” She lowered her head. “I don’t like the thought of my pet being alone in the city this late. I’ve heard some of the terrible stories, about what might happen.”
Zander nodded his head seriously, brushing his fingers gently under her chin, lifting her head to look at him. “But we don’t know that any of that’s true. The government wouldn’t allow such things to go on, surely?”
“True or not, it scares me. I don’t like being scared.”
He smiled sweetly. “I’ll take good care of him. I promise. Good night.”
“Here’s to another three months!” Polly winked, before disappearing into her house.
· § ·
Zander and Meigeharen walked silently through the streets to the older, more decrepit part of town. Amazingly enough, some of the original buildings still stood, randomly untouched by the war. Those that had been replaced were all shabbily built high-rises, constructed on the cheap in those fearful few years after the global devastation had taken place. Zander always felt an eerie presence lingering like a shadow as he walked among these streets, as though the ghosts of their dead were crying out in pain. Or mocking him, he hadn’t yet decided.
It turned out Meigeharen’s building was one of the originals, which gave Zander a good excuse to delay him before he simply entered its sanctuary without the briefest thanks or even a farewell.
“This is where you live? Wow, original twentieth century. Amazing.”
The boy lingered a moment, his eyes focused on the ground, his hand patiently outstretched towards the doorknob, too polite to simply leave while someone, particularly his mistress’ boyfriend, was engaged in something resembling conversation with him. He couldn’t talk, but he had to listen. Those were the rules.
For as long as Zander could keep talking. “That film tonight was something else, don’t you think? That was all before they even had computers to make all the effects with. It’s like, after computers, everybody just gave up. No one makes films any more. Well, I think that’s ridiculous. I’m going to make a film. Yep, just decided now. You’re pretty cute, want to be my leading man?”
He broke off, seeing Meigeharen’s painful attempts to hide his blushing. Something else that wasn’t allowed, he supposed. He should stop; he was probably only making the poor boy feel more and more guilty, but a larger part of him didn’t want to, and couldn’t help it. He had never felt any desires before, let alone lust. The relationship with Polly was an acceptable social practice, like having a job or playing sport. But something about this boy made him realize the loneliness of his own mind, not to mention the intense throbbing in his dick, caged painfully beneath the underwear that it was now fast outgrowing.
Lucky for me there’s no lighting in this part of town, he thought cheerfully, and smiled. ”Well, I should probably go. Give it some thought, will you, at least? One thing you should know about me is, once I have an idea stuck in my head, I tend to take it pretty seriously. I don’t give up easily.”
He placed one hand on Meigeharen’s shoulders, intending to let the boy know the true meaning of his words.
He fell back surprised as a fist lashed out at his face and heard a sob that was not his own. By the time he’d gotten to his feet, the boy had vanished into the depths of the building, and Zander had no means of getting inside. He didn’t usually carry all his devices and illegal gear for dates with Polly.
“Cheap twentieth century crap,” he swore silently up at the building as he began backing away from it, across to the other side of the street. Humanity really lost the plot, architecturally speaking, after the nineteenth.
He surveyed every window, wondering which one was Meigeharen’s. Internally, he despised Polly for keeping this boy on a leash, though he knew he should have been glad for him that it was at least her and not one of those mindless bitches she chose to call her friends. Polly’s a nice girl, he told himself grimly. Too nice. She’ll never see through any of the lies. She doesn’t even know the concept of freedom, let alone want to be free.
Suddenly, a flickering of light from one of the apartments caught his eye, and he skidded back into the shadows as a window opened on one of the upper floors. Doing a quick count, Zander made it out to be floor number seven.
The curtain swept across the window, and then Meigeharen stood there, looking up into the cloudy night sky. Wind swept his cherry-coloured hair back from his eyes as he raised his arms to the window-frame and leant out. His eyes were closed, and he was naked, two little bones piercing his chest on either side, in the spot where Zander knew his nipples would be.
On the street below, Zander found himself falling to his knees at the sight. He could hear his heart pumping very fast, and caught his hand moving down between his legs before he even knew what he was doing.
Fool! he cursed inwardly, yanking his hand away and watching the boy fall back from the window and disappear into the sanctity of his room. Not here.
Turning around, he took in the building at his back. One of the newer ones, it probably wouldn’t make it to the end of the next century if the weather stayed still, let alone if another war should break out. A hotel, Zander noticed thoughtfully, taking in the gaudy sign above his head in badly-rendered Katakana. Probably owned by American or Australian tourists who forgot to leave. Those two countries had been hit the worst during the war, with over half the population decimated in the first few days of the outbreak having been announced. The enemy must have been using smart bombs, Zander had thought to himself once, after indulging in a few conversations with some of those who had survived and made the journey across to his home land. Killed off all the intelligent people, leaving only the cretins and the terminally stupid.
But for now, it would suit his purposes well. He wandered inside and asked at the lobby for one of the bellboys to show him a room on the sixth to eighth floors. Once he’d found one with a perfect view of Meigeharen’s room, he paid for it in full for the next six months before leaving to make his way home, and begin laying plans.
He had a film to make, after all…
· § ·
For the next six months, Zander and Polly continued to see each other, their relationship as chaste as ever, by Zander’s will alone. He could tell this was frustrating the poor girl to the point of tears, but, each night as he took up his spot in the hotel apartment, he forgot that he even cared.
After the first week, he had crept into Meigeharen’s apartment during the day using his trusty lock-pick, and carefully and discreetly set up audio bugs all around the apartment. These had cost him almost all of his current allowance, so the video camera was definitely going to have to wait. It didn’t matter, of course. He was patient. Besides, he didn’t give up easily, that was what he had told the boy, and now he intended to make those words the truth.
Before leaving, he’d spent a few moments checking out Meigeharen’s few possessions. Collars, nipple-clamps and other rings, which appeared to be for penile piercings, were all that littered the bathroom cabinet, along with a few items of make-up and some shampoo and conditioner.
In the main room, he lay on the bed for a little while, his head buried face-down in the pillow, sucking in the smell of the boy’s hair and skin which permeated the bedding like the scents of rosewater and musk. Then he went to the single closet, caressing and sniffing each of the dresses, T-shirts and skivvies he found there. The boy had a penchant for black, it seemed. So pretty.
The nightstand housed only a single book: a well-thumbed twentieth-century manga. Zander flicked through it briefly, smiling at the beautifully drawn images of boys doing things to each other that would have been physically impossible, not to mention illegal, in the real world. So, he has desires, he’d thought, pleased. Or at the very least, he understands that they exist.
He was almost on his way out when he realized he’d left the lock-pick on the dressing table. Cursing his carelessness, he went back to retrieve it, and that was when he’d found the article, poking out from behind the hugest rose quartz crystal he’d ever laid eyes on. He snatched it up, then glanced over it, frowning as he did so. He’d read this article before, in fact. It had come out only a few months after the whole pet concept had been introduced, and had taken the country by storm. A sad story, if one didn’t know the truth. About a boy, a pet, who’d broken the divine rule of chastity, and had met with his instant death. Apparently, the article reported, as they injected the poison into his veins that would drive him to the edge of insanity, pain and sickness before his heart finally gave out, he could be heard screaming the words, “Death is the only true freedom there is” over and over again. There was no burial, and no funeral, his body simply dumped into one of the quarries reserved for all pets once they’d reached the age of eighteen, and their lives were promptly terminated by the internal signal trackers that kept an eye on their every move.
Zander fled the building as a dark shadow crossed his mind. For the first time, he began to wonder just how old Meigeharen actually was.
Chapter II
Polly took Meigeharen straight home from school with her one day, instead of their usual daily routine which involved going to the coffee shop with those bimbos and their equally empty-headed pets.
Still, Meigeharen couldn’t help feeling worried by the unexpected change in routine. His mistress seemed unusually flustered too, and quiet; she refused to talk to him at all on the way back to her house.
He found himself pondering the cause for her behaviour simply to give his mind something to do, now that he wasn’t constrained by her endless strings of words. Did she have a fight with one of her so-called friends? Did she get in trouble? Did she … break up with Him?
For some reason, he always found himself referring to Zander mentally, not by the young man’s name, but a simple pronoun, always reverentially capitalized. He believed that people used to refer to God in a similar way, when there had still been religion, although he had no idea as to the source of this knowledge so he never discussed it with himself.
The thought that perhaps his mistress and her boyfriend had broken up, though, stirred complex, mixed emotions beneath the surface. Emotions he had been trying desperately to ignore for the past six or seven months, ever since that night when He had walked him home.
But every night he looked in the mirror, every time he came just that little bit closer to touching… It was always Zander’s face that he saw. Looking at him, in his mind’s eye, with that knowing little grin, those intelligent eyes that always bored so deeply into his soul, seeming to say, “I know all your secrets, little one. They are mine.”
Trouble was, if Zander did know his secrets, could He use them to destroy him?
He’d remembered being incredibly scared when Polly had first announced that she was dating Zander. A lot of guys were jealous of their girlfriend’s pets and forced them to terminate them before their required life spans were up, or, depending on how cruel they were, did the job themselves without the aid of the internal signal tracker embedded in every pet that came out of the laboratories. Even when Polly had tried to put his mind at ease, telling him how this man already knew how attached she was to him and would never hurt him, he’d continued to be afraid.
But now, the concept of Zander terrified him for a completely different reason.
They entered Polly’s house—the fact that she even lived in a house, not an apartment building, showed off their family’s status in this newly born society much more clearly than any possessions held by the previous generations, before the war, could have done. Polly gripped his hand as she ran up the stairs to her bedroom, then locked the door and fell down onto the bed, sobbing helplessly while Meigeharen watched on with no visible emotions.
Finally, he forced himself to sit beside her and stroke the long hair that fell down her back in two braids. Half of him resented her, knowing that he would never have her beauty, or be worshipped for it the way she was. Most of those girls were simple-minded, jealous of her; they wanted to destroy her almost as much as they wanted to destroy him. But Polly was always good to him. Her heart was as pure as her flesh. Polly was the only person in the world of whom he wasn’t afraid. It was his duty, as well as his job, to comfort her now, whatever had gone wrong.
“Ssh,” he whispered tenderly, moving down to her back and giving her a small hug, then lifting her up into his arms. There was nothing sexual in the hug. Polly was like his mother, had become his mother, there wasn’t allowed to be anything sexual in his life, so there simply wasn’t. He’d just closed off those emotions altogether.
Except for when the night came. Except for when he saw Him…
“What’s wrong, Princess?” he asked quickly, to stifle his own train of thought. No one really knew how much the internal signal trackers actually picked up; even though he was still alive despite “bending” the rules with his own stolen caresses, he certainly wasn’t going to push it.
Eventually, Polly’s sobs began to subside and she looked up into his face, her eyes still full of tears. Meigeharen pulled out a handkerchief and began patiently wiping the smeared mascara away from her cheeks. Finally, she smiled.
“I have to tell you something,” she whispered, lowering her eyes. There was a lengthy pause, then, “I want to have sex with Zander.”
It was all Meigeharen could do to keep himself from leaping away from her, off the bed, hiding the outrage that suddenly loomed up inside his heart.
· § ·
Polly began to show him all the magazines she had purchased in preparation for the act. She must have gone to great trouble and difficulty as pornography was now deemed illegal, a jailable offence, and Meigeharen found himself hoping she hadn’t actually purchased them herself, at least not without an elaborate disguise.
She flicked through all the pages, showing him the stark photos of couples in various positions, making comments like, “How do you think that would feel?” or, “I don’t think I could do that!” or, “That looks like it might be good.”
Finally she looked up at him, her innocent eyes completely unaware of the inner turmoil she was causing, and said, “Well, what do you think?”
Swallowing a little too loudly, Meigeharen forced himself to whisper, “I don’t know.”
This seemed to make her unhappy. “But you’re a boy. You have feelings too, right? Can’t you give me any advice?”
“It—it’s not allowed.” His impenetrable defence, the one wall he had left to hide behind. Four walls, actually, that kept him caged and bitter and alone, ever fearful for his life.
“Oh, come on!” she insisted, grabbing hold of his arm and shaking him like an impatient child. “You’ve spoken to Zander! Does he talk about me? Does he… does he want me?”
He looked away, disappointed, wondering when she’d gotten in such a rush to grow up. Probably peer pressure had worn her down at last—all her friends bragged about their sexual encounters, and laughed at her when she had none of her own stories to contribute. Or perhaps the pressure was coming from somewhere else… someone else?
“I—I think he likes you,” he stated uncertainly, hesitantly.
Polly bounced off the bed, almost knocking him out with her braids as they wildly followed suit, seeming to have a mind of their own. “I know he likes me, dammit!” she practically screamed. “We’ve been dating for a whole nine months! What I’m asking you is whether he wants me!”
Meigeharen’s eyes fell to the floor. “I don’t know,” he said again, helplessly.
Polly stamped her feet on the ground, her eyes becoming little pin-pricks, reflecting only anger and resentment. “Fine! If you won’t help me, I’m punishing you!”
The boy looked up at her, his own eyes widening with fear. Punishing him? Polly was going to punish him?
His eyes darted back to the floor as he realized they were filling with tears. Another forbidden emotion, and he couldn’t allow her to see it. In the state she was in, she might even feel obliged to terminate him for it.
“Yes, that’s right,” she continued, walking over to her dressing table and keying in a number on the little safe beside it on the wall. A moment later it sprang open, and Meigeharen covered his mouth to prevent any sounds from escaping as she pulled out something that resembled a twentieth century television remote. “I’m punishing you all right. You’ve been very bad. Next time, when I ask you for help, you’ll give it to me, got it? I own you, or had you forgotten that?”
He simply continued to sit and stare at her, paralysed by fear, as her fingers moved around the control pad. “Which button is it again?” she murmured thoughtfully, terrifying him momentarily as she hovered over the big green termination switch. Then she smiled. “This one! Maybe in five days you’ll have come to your senses.”
She pressed a combination of buttons. Meigeharen felt something twitching inside him, almost as though a rat was crawling around inside his belly, but nothing else.
“Leave,” she said then. “You have half an hour to get home before you’re in la la land for the next one-hundred-and-twenty hours.”
So, she’d put him to sleep. Inside, he could feel himself beginning to relax. There were far worse fates than unconsciousness. As long as she didn’t find a suitable replacement the moment he was gone.
He stumbled out of the front door, already stifling a yawn, and looked at the timer on his watch. Twenty-eight minutes remaining. His home was more than half an hour’s walk from here, but he could make it.