I've always been drawn to night, even before mom died. The city casts its familiar glow upward, purple skyline providing a jagged, neon backdrop. My canvas. 

The pair of paint aerosols are full by my sides.

Shake shake.

Lifting them 6 inches from the suburban wall, I pause. Breathe in. Press the nozzles. Sweep my arms in opposing arcs. Commit. In-fill.

The familiar buzz begins in my stomach, spreading up beneath the dark crop top that hugs my tits. My heart thumps beneath them, pulse soaring as the design takes shape.

“Burnt orange.”

I toss a spent can over my bare shoulder where the fur-lined leather jacket has slipped. Tensho catches the can. Passes the next. Smooth, like an Olympic relay race.

Shake shake.

Psssshhh.

He’s awestruck. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah? Just wait. Black next.”

A siren wails in the distance, drawing nearer. I freeze. Hold my breath, adrenaline spiking. Ready to run. I relax when the wail turns away and fades.

Shake Shake.

Psssshhh. Psshhhhh.

Toss.

“Cotton.”

He rummages in my bag. Flips the off-white can over my head and I catch it. Spray the highlights. The finishing touches.

The buzz inside spreads. Works downward. My pussy aches. Cock stiffens too. Everything's connected.

Stepping back, we admire my artwork. It’s good. Real good. Think I'll call this one The Unapologetic Futa. It's self-expression. Hyperreal with stark lines and overemphasized features. Big tits. Bigger cock. Veined and leaking cum.

It's striking. Probably my best yet. Might have something to do with being low-level horny all day. The anticipation of painting, maybe. But it's more than that. I crave to fuck. Or get fucked. It's been too long, building inside. Consuming me.

Being different isn't cool here. Well, anywhere really. The last four potentials ran a mile—probably further—when they discovered I was a dickgirl. Dented my already fragile confidence. Part of me is afraid to try again. But sometimes the urges take over.

I sigh. Guess I'll be flying solo tonight. Yet again. One hand wrapped round the dildo sploot splooting in and out of my pussy, the other encasing my thick, veiny shaft that resembles the one I painted. I love to jack it fast. Then faster as it swells alongside rising excitement. Thickens in my palm.

Fap fap fap. Unghhh.

There's nothing greater. Double pleasure is hard to beat. Such an intense rush to cum from two places, sourced from one smouldering epicentre, deep in my core.

Sometimes I convince myself I'm not different. That I'm better. That all the normals are the ones missing out.

But then… I am different. Wired wrong. Defective. Or something.

I get thoughts. Powerful ones where I wanna just grab someone who's into me. Find an alley. Kiss. Shove her against the wall, and fuck her hard.

Slam. Slam. Slammm.

There's intense pleasure in her nails grating the brickwork as she begs for it harder. Love those throaty moans puncturing the night when she's taken fully. Deeply. Panties shredded. And I adore when she cries out, “Oahhh,” as her orgasm claims her. Then staggers away with my cum dripping down her thighs.

Other times I'll get this hunger. Prowl for someone strong—male or female—to do the shoving. Bend me at the waist. Forearm on the cool bricks, my pussy filled to overflowing with cock, fingers, fist, or toy, while I groan and jack myself into the gutter.

When I'm alone, I love synchronized actions. Either plunging the dildo in when my grip is at the cock base, or anti-phase so I'm empty when my fist rhythmically meets my groin.

It's like being double fucked by people totally in tune with my body. I love it. All the tension knots behind my dual genitals. Generates a feedback loop. One that rises, deepens, amplifies with every passing second. Until I writhe. Rock onto my side, dick rigid.

Spurt. Gaasp. Spurtt…

I’ll freeze. A helpless mess of juices and splattered spunk on the sticky sheets, fireworks dancing in my head.

Boom. Blamm.

I sigh again. Reach for Tensho’s hand. The only person who hasn't run. Who gets me. But we're not like that. He's straight. Shy. We're just long-time friends since first grade, and I love his floppy-haired self for it. The silly grin that makes his blues sparkle. He's my rock. Dependable. In my corner when I need him. And I'm in his, likewise.

We stand and observe the painting. He nods. “You could sell that.”

“Nobody wants a twenty-inch cock on their wall through choice.”

He shrugs. “S’pose. Point is, you're crazy talented.”

“Thanks.”

He squeezes my hand. “D’you think this one’ll get defaced?”

I scratch my nose with the base of the paint can. “Depends if they find it.”

Yeah. Depends. My unknown, faceless nemesis. Lurking in the shadows.

Someone out there despises what I do. Sprays over my work. Daubs hate-filled speech across the carefully constructed lines and curves. It grates. Really pisses me off.

If I ever catch ‘em, they're dead.

~剛美~

It’s late when I get back. I trudge along the hallway. Toss my bag by the bed. The paint cans clatter and I flop onto the mattress, dog tired.

Sleep won’t come. Like part of me is still wired from the art. From the thrill of not getting caught. Gung-ho cops love arrests in this city. Love making examples of us. Extortionate fines. Lock-ups. Beatings. I've heard the stories, and there have been a few almosts. But I mostly got away. I'm fast.

Only one time I wasn't fast enough. Manhandled. Cuffed and shoved against his cruiser. He snarled in my ear I was a freak of nature.

I panicked. Told him he hadn't lived until he'd fucked a freak. Ground my ass against his crotch. Begged him until he gave in and grabbed my hair. Tugged. Growled he was gonna teach my kind a lesson. Undid his uniform, lifted my pleated skirt, and entered me roughly.

The cuffs clink clanked with every thrust. My breath fogged the roof of his car as he reached round, gripped my cock and wanked me. Made me stiff. Pounded into me until he grit his teeth. Pulled out. Groaned up into the dank city air and jacked both of us to splatter cum against the squad car door.

When he did himself up, he laughed. Said I was stupid and he was gonna book me anyway. Started to bundle me in the car as I struggled.

The wolf whistle pierced the night. We both snapped attention to the figure at the crossroads, a short distance away.

Tensho. Holding a remote control unit. He took his fingers from his mouth and pointed skyward over our heads. We followed his direction. The cop stiffened. Let go of me.

The drone hovered like a black claw, recording everything. No court in the land would refute that evidence, despite my misdemeanor. Plus, his marriage would be over.

He uncuffed me. Shoved me towards Tensho. Like I say, he has my back.

I roll over. Stare up at the ineffective ceiling fan. Still horny.

Decisions, decisions.

Grappling with my belt buckle, I unthread the front. Snap the button and unzip. Scooch the cargos down. Free my cock, swelling in my fist as I stroke it.

It hardens at my touch. I trail fingertips up its sides. Circle the glans. A dot of pre-cum forms, which I smear with my thumb. Jack my fullness. Wriggle my hips. Edge. Back off. Rise again.

As I thrash my head on the pillow, the orgasm nears. Creeps up. Clear fluid oozes from my tip and I pump.

Schlick schlick schlock.

More pre-cum dribbles down my shaft. My breathing tightens.

So close.

Then my hand cramps with the effort.

“Arghhh.”

I stare at the ceiling, flexing my hand. Blink. My pussy craves attention. Maybe that's what's missing? But my toys are in the wardrobe.

Reaching over the bed edge, I twirl my hand in the bag. Grab. Pull out an aerosol. Upend it and spit on the base. Smear.

Wiggling trousers to my ankles, I spread my knees and position the impromptu toy at my entrance. Shut my eyes as I work it between my slick lips. Ease it inside.

A few inches in, I snap my eyes open. Swear I hear a noise. A rustling? A breath?

Pause.

Nothing.

Probably the city breeze swaying the curtains.

Need resurfaces and I continue the insertion. Glide in deeper, splitting my pussy, jaw dropping as pleasure mounts.

When it's beyond halfway I withdraw it. Ease back in, wetness clicking in the quiet room.

Beginning a steady rhythm, I fuck myself with the can. Sigh. Switch hands and grab my semi-hard cock, stroking in unison until its steel returns.

Better. Dual stimulation. Nothing else like it.

Schlock. Squish. Schlock. Squish.

A growl forms in my throat as I tend to my organs. Muscles tighten as the climax nears again. Edges closer.

I bite my lip. Stifle a cry and my pussy contracts around the can, squeezing to the beat of release. I hold it deep. Pulse around it, and pump fast with the other hand, letting jets of cum splatter my belly. They mostly miss the crop top but a few arc and spray higher. I don't care. I'm gasping. Writhing. Lost in ecstasy as my orgasms claim me.

Only when the clenching fades do I let go. Flop hands to my sides and bask in the tail end of pussy flutters, cock softening in the pool of jizz.

My heart rate slows. I should clean up. Maybe after a short rest.

I let my eyes drift shut, just for a moment.

~剛美~

Midday

Blades of sunlight stream across my cum-caked body. The can has slithered clear and is by my thigh. I rub my eyes.

Streeetch.

Must have needed that.

I stand. Strip. Pad to the shower. The water is welcome. I turn up both dials until I can barely see for the steam. Lather. Shampoo my messy bob cut. Soap my body to wash off the cum, and scissor clean water into my slit. I'm half tempted to masturbate again. But I resist.

The faucet squeaks when I shut it off. I grab a fat, fluffy towel and dry off as the steam rolls away.

Partially dry, I spray deodorant and step into clothes that stick to me. Sheer lace black panties. Cargo pants with big pockets. Fresh tank top, plus the fleecy jacket from yesterday. No bra.

I choose a choker with a purple pendant and secure it. Matching earrings. Turn this way and that in the mirror. Fuck, urban chic looks good on me.

Skipping down the hallway, I open the front door and step out.

Slam.

It's too late for breakfast. Dino’s it is. Fresh waffles with caramel, strawberries and whipped cream. Brunch of champions. Dino puts it on my tab. He knows I'm good for it.

Heading out, I strut to the arcade. It's the usual cacophony of bleeps and blarps and shouts and music, each machine trying to entice. But there's only one for me.

I make a beeline for Maimai, its distinctive cabinet like a front-loader washing machine. Rhythm games are kickass.

There aren't many people around, but after slipping on my gloves, signing in and selecting a pacey J-Pop piece—Master difficulty level, of course—a few gather to watch.

The tune starts and I tap the screen. Hold. Release. Swipe. Tap. Slap at one of the 8 curved buttons around the central porthole. Each touch meets the corresponding animated ring, timed to the beat.

The points rack up. The crowd mushrooms, murmuring at first, then gradually sharing my success, clamouring as points soar and the song nears its end.

At the final slam there's cheering. I turn triumphantly, hands high in acknowledgement, then turn back to the game for the final score.

98%.

Room for improvement, but at this level, that’s close to godliness.

Removing my gloves, I step away and push through the back claps and buzz. Tensho is there, palm raised.

Slap.

We high-five. Press on through the arcade until we taste city air. Faint drizzle on skin, taking the edge off the prickly heat lately.

“Reckon you'll get 100%?”

“Sure. One day. It's only practice.”

“You're so good at stuff.”

“Aww, you say the nicest things.”

We lapse into comfortable silence, just the occasional squeak of sneakers on the sidewalk. The call of a street vendor.

Downtown is similarly quiet. Noodle bars are still serving. People browsing clothes shops promising Sale Ends Soon, or clutching oversize bags emblazoned with shop logos.

The further out we walk, the grimier it gets. Urban sprawl vs commercial district. Alleys. Litter. Graffiti.

We meet a few other crews. Dap. Chat. Move on. Turn a few more corners and end up in the alley where I painted The Unapologetic Futa.

Except there's someone else there. With a spray can.

“Oy!”

The figure snaps attention our way, face shrouded in shadow from the hoodie.

I march in, Tensho close behind. The tagger pauses, turns and runs. I give chase, catching sight of the defacement where they've airbrushed out the cock and sprayed “Futafreak” alongside.

Racing to the end of the alley, they launch onto the chainlink fence and vault it. I scramble up and over. Jump down into the alley beyond, feet splatting into a puddle. I sprint after the fleeing figure.

The alley walls whizz by as we turn, dodge, leap. I jump an upended trash can like in Donkey Kong. Gain a little ground. Tensho isn’t as athletic as me and the gap widens. I pant hard as my energy reserves ebb. But keep on running, abs tense, feet pounding the uneven surface, the alley walls a blur.

We dart left into a dingy dead end. The figure skids to a stop. Whirls. Snaps head left and right, cornered, I'm on them in an instant, grabbing the collar of the hoodie and shaking. It falls away.

I gasp.

She's beautiful. Golden iris flecks nestle in caramel pools that catch the light filtering between the buildings. A cute little nose. High cheekbones.

After the momentary pause, I come to my senses. “Why are you destroying my work?”

“Work?” she spits. “It’s a freakshow.”

“WHY?!” I shake her again. March her back. Shove her against the wall.

She huffs as the breath is knocked from her. “It's disgusting.”

“Disgusting?”

“Yeah. All that… dick. Spoils the female form.”

I smirk. “Oh, really? Do I disgust you then?”

Her eyes widen. “You’re… one of. One of them?”

She glances down between us. Looks up at me like I'm contagious. Struggles in my grip, as if being this close might cause her to sprout a dick. “Let go.”

I shove myself back off her. “Do you know how hard it is being different? Being judged?”

Pulling her hoodie back into shape, she eyes me. “Seems like a you-shaped problem.”

Rage boils. “No! It's a society-shaped problem.”

“So is all your work,” she air quotes, “a cry for help?”

“Fuck you.”

I kick a loose stone at the wall a few times. 

Pa-ting. Pa-ting.

Glancing up, I notice she hasn't moved. Just breathing hard from the chase. I shrug. “You don't understand. It's self-expression.”

“It cheapens the city.”

“Says the girl who sprays over it with hate speech.”

“Says the… futa who needs to draw attention. At least I know who I am.”

My eyes narrow. Mom always told me to not be afraid of who I am. That I'm special. Dad's less good at encouraging that. Says I need friends. And to do that, I need to fit in. My teeth grind. “I know exactly who I am.”

“Yeah. A freak.”

I step in again and she half-turns. Guarded. We eye one another. Sometimes I get this... burning need and it clouds good judgment. I say or do stuff fuelled by rage or raw lust. Stuff that's not me. “Most people who are this polarized, they, well, they turn out to be curious.” I take another step till we're almost touching. “Are you… curious?”

“No!”

Cocking my head, I study her. “Sure?”

She bites her lip. “100%.”

My knee snakes between her legs. Our hips touch, pinning her to the wall below the waist. “Yeah?”

I trail my hand up her side. Grab her wrist, securing her upper half to the wall. She squeaks and I smile. “You don't think about what it'd be like to have…”

Slipping her hand down between us, I rotate it and press it to my hardening cock. “One of these?”

She gasps. Pauses. Then rubs and I slide her hand lower. “And one of these.”

Her lips part. She inhales sharply again.

Leaving her hand in place, I go for broke. Unbuckle my belt and yank my cargos open. Lift her hand inside, brushing my cock en route to easing her palm into my panties.

She doesn't move. Nor do I, apart from drifting my eyes shut as wetness coats her hand. She tentatively slips lower. Curls her fingers up, splitting me. Then, emboldened, grips my cunt and drives two fingers inside.

My eyes fly open, jaw forming an ‘O’. I grab my dick and shuffle it beneath my panties. Then take it out. Wank it openly, stiffening with each wet stroke. “Oh fuck.”

She says nothing. Picks up speed and I match her rhythm.

Fap. Squelch. Fap.

The city seems to hold its breath around us. That's what amplifies the gasp from the mouth of the alley.

We both turn. Freeze.

Tensho.

I relax first. Carry on stroking, eyes on him. She stares likewise, eventually resuming the plunges of those talented fingers inside me.

It ought to be awkward, but somehow isn't. Tensho is a statue in the alley entrance, shadow cast before him. Just watching. Like it's not the first time.

The rumbling of an orgasm begins to make itself known deep within me. My thumb smears pre-cum with each stroke.

Her demeanor shifts. She starts grinding against my leg, clamped between her thighs. Breathing harder as the stimulation intensifies.

I drop my head to her shoulder. Huff through gritted teeth. “I need to fuck you.”

Her response isn't negative. She doesn't draw away, but also doesn't acquiesce. Just… remains. Like she's waiting for something.

Pulling myself from her grip, my pussy clutching at damp afternoon air, I grab her hips. Turn her to face the wall and shove her against it, palms slapping the brickwork.

I reach around. Undo her jeans, wriggling them and her panties down to bite into those trim thighs. I exhale at the beauty of her alabaster peach, full in the diffuse light. Reach under her, seeking her pussy.

She's soaked, juices slickening her perfectly shaved cunt.

I rub and she gasps. Twisting two fingers into her hole, she moans as I saw in and out. Split her. Prepare her.

Smearing her juices on the bulb of my dick, I form a fist and glide to its base. It's veined. Thick. Unapologetic. I take aim. Slide between her thighs to coat the tip in more wetness, alter the angle and drive up into her.

“Ohh. Ohhh.”

Her little mewls intensify with each thrust. Sometimes muted as she bites her lip. Sometimes full breaths that bounce off the alley wall.

She's so tight. So… welcome after all this time. I couldn't hold back if I wanted to. I'm gonna claim her. Fuck the rage from us both.

My fingertips dig into her hips, cargos slithering to pool at my ankles. Her two-tone nails—diagonal pink and black—claw at the bricks as I increase the pace, pounding. Our bodies rhythmically join and separate.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

I slow the beat but deepen the thrusts. Her groans ring out as our hips bang together hard.

Throwing my head back, I cast a glance up the alley. Tensho is gone. I'm both disappointed and relieved. Maybe it's for the best. He should never see me like this when I'm out of control.

But that's a moment before I sense his breath on my neck. My ear. His whisper quavers: “Forgive me.”

His dick swipes between my thighs. I moan and rock my groin back to meet the exploration of his full, hardened ridge. Let him adjust. His fingers come to rest on my hips, fatness easing into my pussy, inch by glorious inch until I'm full.

None of us move for a short while, basking in the moment. Then I wiggle, thrust forward into her, Tensho slipping almost all the way out before I reverse and I'm filled again. The base of my cock absorbs alley air. Then sinks into the hot, wet cocoon of the girl spread in front of me against the damp wall.

My pussy lips try to close, keeping just the tip of Tensho inside. It's unreal being split all over again. Thrust upon thrust. We somehow set up a haphazard rhythm. A chain of in-out, me sandwiched by the heat of their bodies. Six hands clutching and scratching. Breaths intensifying.

Our groans synchronize then syncopate, each of us lost in the other. I'm filled. She's filled. I'm filled. Over and over we buck.

As my orgasms crest and breathing tightens. Tensho slides one hand up to grab a fistful of my hair. Tugs down a little, and I squawk. His growl is loaded with need. Gives way to a harsh whisper, an edge to it in my ear. “I lu… love you, Takemi. Have done for years. I can't pretend anymore.”

A knot forms in my throat. I cry out. The throb inside me expands and bursts. My dick pulses, jetting spunk deep into the girl, mixing with her juices and dripping into her panties from around us.

Tensho stiffens behind me, his grip tightening. Then he groans. Breath hot. Needy, and I clench around his buried length. Each judder of his body meets a shiver in mine as I milk him with my rippling pussy walls.

Time seems to streeetch then snaps back like fresh elastic. Lengthens again.

The three of us stay frozen. Joined. Glowing. Sharing heat, pulses peaking then gradually normalizing.

Tensho withdraws first, spunk tumbling from my slit to splatter the cargos and uneven paving slabs between my feet.

I pull from the girl, remnants of my cum drooling into her panties. My dick withers in the cool atmosphere and I help roll her jeans up, bubble butt encased in the tight fabric.

She turns, fastening them. Eyes the pair of us. Nods. “I feel like I'm interrupting your moment.”

I quickly look at the floor. Tensho does too. She laughs.

“You make a cute couple.” She readjusts her clothing. Pulls her hood up, shrouding her face in half shadow. Waits for me to slide my gaze up. “Are we cool?”

Conscious I'm still exposed, I tuck myself away. Zip up. Pat my hair. Shrug. “Depends if you destroy my art again.”

She gives a half smile. Tilts her head. “How about we compromise? I'll leave your stuff alone if you, y’know, lay off the statements ‘kay? The city’s already a mess." She runs a hand down, smoothing her top. "Your shit's good. Seriously. Open a gallery. Whatever. Do it legit. Get paid. Everyone needs money in these times.”

I slump my shoulders. “Who'd give me the chance? People would rather people like me didn't exist.”

“Is that what you think?”

I shrug again. Kick at the same stone. “Well, that's what you thought.”

Pa-ting. Pa-ting.

When I meet her gaze, she's amused. “Damn you're easy to bait. I’ve been trying to draw you out for ages. Get over yourself already. I'm just curious, right?” She scratches her cheek. “Sorry about running and all that. You took me off guard.” I still say nothing. “Look, it's nobody’s business who or what you are. You just... are. Make the most of every breath, yeah?”

I sigh. Nod. She breezes past us, waving dismissively over her shoulder. “Laters, lovers.”

And then she's gone. Leaving just the space between me and Tensho. A chasm represented by mere inches.

Neither of us speak. Avoid each other's eyes. Then I slowly lift my chin and wait until he does likewise.

His mouth is a line. Unreadable.

I glance up the alley. “Should we…?”

“Yeah. I s’pose.”

“We probably should.”

I lead the way. Exit and turn left. Tensho is a half step behind me, then draws level. Casts me a sideways glance. Offers a pathetic grin. I do the same, smile spreading into a laugh. The sides of our hands brush.

“Race you home.”

His expression lights. “Yours or mine?”

“Mine has fewer roaches.”

“Harsh. But fair. You're on.”

I smile. Take off, splooshing the occasional puddle his way as we dart through the back alleys and streets we call home.

Maybe the girl's right. And Mom's right. Maybe I don't owe the world an explanation. Maybe everything I need is right here and has been under my nose all this time.

Or maybe the thing that makes us all the same as a species is that everyone thinks they’re different.