Monsters

Kirg - Age 15: Shame

Kirg shut his bedroom door, feeling his  body still trembling with adrenaline. 

Why the hell was that in a show for teenagers? 

He fell into bed and breathed deeply for several minutes, arm resting on his forehead. 

I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm safe. Nothing's going to hurt me. I'm okay. 

He had just started breathing easily again when he felt it stirring in his pants again. 

The familiar compulsion swept over his body, thrumming through his blood.

Filled with self-loathing, Kirg took his penis in hand and stroked, sighing as the cascading sensations chased away the darkness that always hovered just below the surface. 

Ishka's face filled his mind, and he stopped, dropping his hand to the bed. 

No, not her. He wouldn't do that to her, wouldn't defile her with his filthy lust. 

He remembered the magazine he'd smuggled into the house earlier that day.

His heart had thundered the whole time, but Bram hadn't said anything. Neither had Lucinda, and he had been sure she would know it was in his book bag, would demand him to throw it away. 

But maybe she'd been too focused on taking Asher to his counselor. Or maybe she really couldn't See everything like she claimed. 

Heart pounding, lust making his blood surge, the compulsion making it difficult to breathe, Kirg sat up and pulled his book bag over to the bed. 

He unzipped it, licking his lips in anticipation, though another part of him somehow hoped it wouldn't be there, that he wouldn't do what he was about to do. Again. For the seventh time that day. For the countless time that week. 

But there it was, the magazine's glossy pages hidden in his math binder. 

He quickly pulled it out and dropped the book bag to the floor, his hand already sliding under the waistband of his shorts. 

He turned the magazine over and paused. 

"What?" 

Both hands grasped the magazine, the very magazine he'd looked through at school that day, had paid his friend to buy for him. 

But--

He frantically turned page after page. 

They were all blank. 

On the last page, a note was scrawled in familiar handwriting. 

As long as you're in my house, you live by my rules. Use your imagination like the rest of us. 

He threw the magazine across the room, feeling a slight hint of satisfaction when it thumped the wall. 

Ishka's wall. 

Ishka, the entire reason he'd wanted the magazine in the first place. Ishka, his best friend who had seen everything that had happened to him and still loved him. Ishka, who got upset when she saw him getting turned on by a girl on TV. 

She would hate him if she knew what he wanted to do to her. She would be so angry, so disgusted if she knew how often he came thinking about her legs, her fanged smile, her navel. Even her tail turned him on. Her tail. 

They'd watched just a couple minutes of a monster anime once, just long enough to realize what kind of anime it was. 

Ishka had been livid, turning it off at once, but ever since Kirg had wondered if Ishka's tail might be one of her hot spots. 

As far as he knew, nobody had ever touched her tail. 

His erection throbbed at the thought, and he sighed. 

Was he really going to do this again? 

What'sss one more time? a dark part of his mind asked. It hissed like a dark creature, and Kirg knew that the counselor would have a field day with that idea if he ever told her. But he wouldn't. She wouldn't understand. Nobody would. Not even Bram. And he sure as hell wasn't telling Ishka. 

He took himself in hand again, thinking about running his hand up her tail and beyond. In his mind's eye he saw her purple eyes glowing with desire, and she licked her lips as she looked at his erection. 

"Want me to kiss it better?" 

He couldn't help the animalistic groan that escaped him, his body out of control as he replayed the fantasy over and over. 

Spent, he lay back on his bed, breathing hard and already feeling ashamed. 

How could he do that? Again? 

Something was wrong with him, he just knew it. He was dirty, broken, worthless. He was a deviant that shouldn't be trusted alone with a girl, especially one as innocent and pure as his Scorpion-Tailed Angel. 

Tears filled his eyes. Why? Why was he like this? Why didn't he have any control? Why was he so unclean? 

He grabbed the towel he'd used that morning for his shower. He'd left it on his bedroom chair out of habit, knowing he'd need it later that day. 

He used it to clean himself up, glaring at the evidence of his weakness with bile rising in his throat. 

He knew other guys masturbated, and that some did it more often then others. But he was pretty sure they didn't feel like this afterward. The way they talked, it was lust and not compulsive need that drove them; they actually had a choice. 

Tears fell again, falling freely as he curled up into a ball on the bed. 

After everything that had happened to him, why was this the one thing he turned to when he was upset? Why was this the only thing that made him feel normal again? 

He'd told himself he would stop or at least reduce how often he masturbated. He was in control of his body, after all. But apparently he wasn't, because it wasn't getting better. It was getting worse. He was doing it so often now that his body actually hurt. 

And now he was using Ishka, the one person he'd vowed he would never sully with his lewd mind, his polluted body. 

He sobbed into his pillow thinking about seeing her tomorrow. She'd greet him and smile, so warm, and innocent, and trusting. 

How was he going to look her in the eye after tonight? 

And how much longer would he be able to hide his addiction?