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The Miguel X Ninja Chronicles Part 2


Ghettoe

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Authors note: Welcome to the second installment of my fanturd OTP. I really try to take out the mopiness and fake deepness out of my stories but I can't help it. I chunk them out sporadically and they end up being mopey tales even though that's not what I intended. There's slightly more development here but also,heavy over use of lists, anaphora, sporadic storytelling and lazy punctuation but voila, here is my wine induced tale.

 

For my previous installment: 

 

 

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Red Dress

 

 

 

        The first time Chris saw her, he was enraptured. Everything about her; grace, elegance, charisma, seduction, she looked enticing; a figure that radiated even in the smoke filled bar. A woman who was confident and sure of herself; a boulder that couldn't be shaken. He trembled as he took in the sight of her. Every inch, her curvy figure, not too skinny but tight and fit and a nice round bottom filling her Alexander Wang dress well. The leering gazes she attracted a testament that he wasn't the only one to notice her. The more he took in her form, the more something deep inside of him ached, he wanted to be her; the confidence, the figure, the thick lips and curly hair... He wanted to be her.

 

        It wasn't some new revelation. For as long as he could remember being himself felt wrong, a world tainted with something that he couldn't explain. It took a moment of curiosity for him to find out why. Lipstick, the red dress and his mother's berating afterward. Boys aren't supposed to wear dresses; boys aren't supposed to play with barbies; boys aren't supposed to- so much you shouldn't do yet it had felt so right until he had reached his teens.

 

        He had bought the dress in a cheap thrift store by loft avenue, $7 was the total price. He had given the cashier the excuse that it was his girlfriend's. She hadn't asked of course, she could have cared less, but complimented his choice as part of her job. “She'll love it†she had said brightly as she handed him the dress.

 

        His heart was pounding as he carried the bag home, each step heavier than the next. Excitement, fear, sweat, nerves. What if it didn't fit? No it would, he had measured himself numerous times. What if my parents catch me? They wouldn't, he had left school mid day to do this. It would fit, it would be beautiful, it would look amazing, it would-

 

        His makeup was perfectly done, false lashes, contour and lipstick, a touch amateurish but put together, the product of numerous hours spent learning online. The dress was in his hand laying limply. It was a  basic crayon red color, what made it different was the corset shape and the lace- lace everywhere, it's what had caught his interest. He shed everything, softly tiding his uniform in the process. Putting the dress on was like a ritual, a sacred ceremony that had his heart palpitating, a ceremony that with each step felt right. The feminine underwear was uncomfortable, clinging to places that it normally wouldn't but he bore with it for the sake of the dress. It slid over his form well, a touch too tight but flattering. He didn't look in the mirror as he put it on, he only wanted to see the finished product.

 

        “Objects in the mirror are not as they appear.†The caption that always appears in car mirrors. He could have used that saying right now, something to reassure him. He stood before the large mirror in his room, a mirror he'd bought at Bed, Bath and Beyond for self monitoring. The mirror betrayed him, it portrayed a creature that he couldn't recognize. Perhaps his expectations had been too high? This figure in front of him was strange, a boy in women's clothing... He ran to the bathroom, his fear of being caught now forgotten. He flung the bathroom door and paused by that mirror-

 

        The dress lay in tatters, lace everywhere, his top half exposed to the blinding fluorescent lights in the bathroom. His make up was smeared and large sobs escaped from his lips, his chest heaving trying to adjust to his emotions. He was hideous, so ugly, so grotesque, a monster wearing lipstick. The fantasies  he harbored far more tattered than the dress. This wasn't a fairy tale. He wasn't cinderella, clothes didn't magically change one's perception of one's self. The point hit home now, he had thought he would be beautiful, that it would feel right, that he would surpass any woman in the dress- but, all he noticed was his broad shoulders and figureless form. His muscles too big, his arms and legs too defined... Everything about his reflection seemed to be mocking him and screaming to him that he was ugly.

 

        At the time, there was no one to tell him that he was beautiful.

 

        He'd picked himself up shortly after, a touch more broken than before, like the dress. He hadn't thrown it away but stuffed it in a paper bag and thrown it at the back of his closet. He would mend it in the future as he learned to mend himself.

 

***

        He looked at the dress, overpriced but a beauty. The lady had worn this dress and triggered the memories. He'd passed by the store daily, gazed at the dress for far longer than any man should but he couldn't tear himself away. He approached the store everyday with trepidation, in case they changed their display, but for some odd reason, the dress had far outlived its display life; hence, he couldn't help but gaze at it. Even as something inside him reminded him that he had a family, a child and a “perfect†future. He just couldn't stop. 

Satiating something with the sight of that dress, he turned to go when he bumped into someone.

Miguel.

 

        Memories, again. When was the last time they had met, yesterday? Last month? He knew when- exactly, two years ago. Just as the last time, it had been an accidental meeting. He still looked somewhat the same except for a dashing of wrinkles when he smiled. He smiled, forced, Chris could tell, especially the way Miguel greeted him like a distant friend, like a work colleague that you shared the elevator with but rarely interacted with. So cold and distant. Chris hated it, so he did something dumb, something his mind berated him for the rest of the day, he invited him for a drink, a tone that said he wouldn't take no for an answer. He knew Miguel would agree. Old Miguel always gave in to his whims.

 

***

        Miguel had always understood, told him he was beautiful when he didn't believe it. He had bought him a dress and told him to wear it; changed his fear of public taunting and made him reveal himself; defended him when the teenage boys had taunted his figure. Miguel had walked proudly with him, entangled their fingers together, such warmth. A warmth he had given up.

 

        Miguel wasn't the first but they needed no firsts, there was something there, something so magnetic and erotic that they both couldn't fight it. He wouldn't call that something destiny, he refused. Boys aren't supposed to like boys mother had said. So he had thrown Miguel away, gotten himself married, had a child and lived the American dream. He loved his wife and he loved his child more than anything but it was still different, different from Miguel.

Miguel.

 

***

        Drinks are never a good idea, most certainly not with an ex and most certainly not when he was feeling the way he was; lost, needy and longing for something to fill the void, something that even a “perfect†family life couldn't. He blamed it on the dress and the lady. She had made him feel this way, lifted the carpet and revealed the dirt beneath.

 

        Truly drinks are never a good idea and Chris knew it when they ended up in the hotel. Drinks really are never a good idea. He was lying. He hadn't drank much. He was barely tipsy but it was far easier to pretend, to blame it on something else. He wasn't willing to admit that Miguel's scent was intoxicating. He wasn't willing to admit how suffocated he felt in his presence. He could feel and smell everything. The sweet vanilla traces of a cologne mixed in with the musk, it made his skin tingle and his pulse quicken.

 

***

        As he lay in the comfort, enjoying it so much it hurt, enjoying it to a point of dizziness, reality once again set in. He had cheated. The tears were out before he could stop them, guilt, frustration, disgust, everything. He had reached a tipping point. His arms covered his eyes willing his tears to stop. He felt Miguel shift next to him and tried to still himself so as not to wake him, but he was already awake. Miguel put his arms around Chris, comforting him. He didn't say anything, just lightly comforted him. When he had quieted down, he released him from the comfort of his arms and liberated him. Chris felt lost, like a bird that had lived in a cage all its life, found comfort in it, only to be suddenly freed.

 

        “Go.†Miguel said.

 

        And Chris left. His footsteps heavy with guilt and frustration. His heart aching and restless as though some part of him knew he would return. 

 

***

        There was a time that someone had asked, is it possible to love two people at the same time? At that time, Chris had ridiculed it, thinking it to be ridiculous nonsense but now he found himself constantly going to these places. Places that hid everything and left no trace that you were there. He found himself in hotels. From the dodgy looking motel 20 miles away to the hilton. It was rather costly but he sought the heat, the passion, the sex, the lack of responsibilities. He wanted Miguel to be the bigger man despite the fact that he was the one cheating. Cheating, the word had a bitter ring to it. A ring that made him justify it all. The justifications were nonsense that even he didn't believe.

 

        They had barely passed the door when they were on top of each other, heat, passion, a latin dance that was rhythmic, enticing and erotic. Miguel's lips were on his neck, placing kisses and lightly sucking, eliciting soft sighs from Chris. He didn't suck hard, marks were unacceptable.

 

**

        It was driving him wild, the way the toy vibrated, touching his lubricated walls and nudging against his prostate. He pleaded for it to stop but it continued ferociously teasing his walls until he thought he would melt. His hand wanted to clutch Miguel's shirt and beg him to just fuck him, raw, hard and brutally, but his pride forbade him from voicing that out.

 

       Just as he thought, he could take no more, the vibration stopped. Next to him Miguel hid a smile as he turned the vibrator down.

 

       â€œYou did tell me to stop.†He whispered in Chris’s ear.

 

       This is when the play started, sex, confinement, nothingness.

 

       Chris squirmed. Inside him, the vibrator had stilled but his walls felt agitated and open. He was still feeling the after effects of the vibration. His arsehole twitched begging to be filled. He would never say it out loud but his whole body buzzed with arousal and a frightening need that had him biting his lips. Everything felt extra intense, especially with his hands tied and the blindfold. In a judgmental world, this was bizarre but to him, it was the safety net, the only excuse that he had for this. In reality, it changed nothing, he came willingly but somehow the blindfold and his cuffed hands made everything feel better.

 

       The vibrator was back on, ferociously toying with his insides once again. He was an erotic figure, a sight that would captivate most. His skin was slightly glossy with sweat and a light blush tinted his ears and cheeks making him look rather enticing. It was taking Miguel a lot of self control to maintain his calm. He wanted to tease and draw this out for as long as possible. For him, this was the only moment he felt secure, he was never sure if Chris would return and he tried to convince himself that he was apathetic on the subject but every time he returned, his heart skipped a beat and his spirits instantly lifted. The thought that we was fooling around with someone that wasn't his disappeared in these moments.

 

       He slowly penetrated, inch by inch, allowing the warm heat to adjust to his invasion. The lubricant made it easier, this time it had a mint flavor that created a delicious contrast with the heat. He was in heat, searing flesh and tight walls clinging to his dick deliciously. He went slow at first, savoring it, burying himself deep and thrusting deep and slow in what looked like a dance. His hips were controlled, the work of someone who knew the body beneath him, each time he buried himself, Chris let out a little moan, his body very appreciative of this invasion...

 

       The pace between them quickened; they both put in the same effort with Chris meeting his thrusts with a slight jerk of his hips. Kisses were exchanged, nipples sucked to a point of tingling discomfort, all in search of something, a climax definitely, that was the reason they did it, but something more too, something they couldn't place a finger on. Breaths quickened, sweat dripped and the movements became more sporadic, precise yet senseless. This time Chris didn't stroke his cock, couldn't, but he could still feel that heat building; fire and tingles spreading inside of him and overpowering his body. He climaxed, dry yet so powerful, his mind reeling and his body spasming trying to contain the amazing feeling that was coursing through him. A soft sigh escaped him as his muscles started to relax and his body lay there supporting Miguel's weight as he also recovered. He was quicker about it, he rolled of Chris's body and lay there satisfied and unable to move. He lay there, the sandman taking advantage of his fatigue and hypnotizing him to sleep.

 

       When Miguel woke up, it was the same old scene. He was alone, only the faint smell of sex a reminder that last night was not a dream. Nothing else, the body beside him had disappeared, drawn in by a family and worldly responsibilities. Despite how many times this scene had happened, he was struck with a misery and an emptiness, a nothingness that made him feel like the stray he had comforted and nursed would not be returning again.

 

 

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