The Ritual Pt. 05: 12:00 AM

Chapter Five: 12:00 AM

No sooner would you have seen a more crestfallen image than me in my current state. Legs are strewn across the couch, boxers clinging around my thighs and hips, with a hoodie wrapped around me like a protective shroud nursing my raw and bruised masculinity.

Each motion is an ache, every shift of my body a reminder of what Damien did to me last night, and the pain passes through my lips.

"Ahh--" I let out a gasping breath, rolling off the couch, tumbling, as my feet hit onto the hardwood. The dress from the night before is on the ground, as are the black lace panties and matching bra, discarded before I settled onto the couch when I stumbled home in the dark. I kick at them, detangling all of the ritual's uniform from my feet. Everything is sore; my arms, legs, and most of all, my ass.

When I stumble into the bedroom, I flick on the light and pull down my boxers just enough to see the mark on my right cheek within the full-length mirror. Still there, still red with the print of his hand staining me from the night before. His spank reverberant.

Beyond the flushed cheek, I feel what he implanted inside me too. A piece of himself, and I know it's somewhere deep within, inseminated, searching for an egg it'll never find.

But what's more important is I feel no overt change. My manhood might be splintered from my acquiescence to his raw sexuality, yet I don't feel like Alexis. The quiet shame still lingers within me despite the conflicting thrill of it all. I don't feel like Alexis despite the ritual's promises. I don't look different either. I'm still Alex, no matter what I renounced or did last night.

Sliding my hoodie up to reveal my bare stomach, I see the sigil is still there too, its strange lines and swirls smudged but visible. Letting go, the fabric falls down, covering it. Grabbing at a pair of sweat pants, I slide into them.

Quickly, moving back to the living room I grab the items off the floor--the lingerie, the dress--and shove them into the grey backpack I took to Damien's apartment. It hides the wig and heels as well, and I shove it all towards the back of the closet in the bedroom, sealing them all with a thud of the doors.

Their ghosts linger. Lace pulled down, the tight fit of the dress thrown to the floor, the way I slid to my knees, put him in my mouth, spread my legs for him, gave up my body for Damien and the ritual. I feel a flush of excitement despite the shame, yet my heart beats faster, not because of the arousal, but because I'm not growing erect as I usually do.

A knock at the door cuts through, sharp and insistent, and my gut twists, shaking the thought from my head, the strange new feelings of being aroused yet flaccid.

I'd known Lena was coming, yet I still feel unprepared, as if she'll read me right away, knowing I wasn't home yesterday. Instead, discovering in an instant what her boyfriend was really doing just by taking one look at my guilt strewn face.

"Coming!" I exclaim from the bedroom, pushing against the closet doors, making sure my secrets are truly sealed away.

Looking at the mirror one last time, I study my face; pale, eyes sunken. The makeup is gone, scrubbed away, now it's just me--Alex--a battered version of myself, but passable as the man she's always known. I force a smile, a flimsy mask, and move to the apartment door.

"Hey!" Lena says, as I swing the door open. She's there, scarf loose around her dark hair, a paper bag in her arms. She steps inside, kissing me on the cheek, then pauses.

"Wow, you look really sick, Alex."

I gulp down nervous saliva. "Uh, yeah, just couldn't sleep, I was up all night tossing and turning," I respond hastily.

She shakes her head. "I'm worried about you. Look, I made you that chicken noodle soup you love, like when we were snowed in at Colorado."

Lifting the paper bag up to show me, she smiles and I mirror her smile back. Her tone's warm, unguarded, and guilt slams me, heavy and cold. She doesn't know, doesn't suspect I let a strange man use me, bare and reckless, while she thought I was sick last night.

I watch as she walks into the room, heading to the kitchen, and I stand still, solemn. A war within me raging. Lena sets the bag down on the kitchen counter and pokes her head out from behind a column, eyebrows scrunching.

"What are you waiting for? Come on, babe."

"You didn't have to," I add, breaking my frenzied mind as I join her in the kitchen. She shrugs, unwinding her scarf and throwing it onto the corner of the counter.

"I wanted to. You sounded off yesterday, and now I see how terrible you look," she pauses, investigating my face, "figured you could use some soup, you know?"

Her care stings, and I mumble a thanks, turning to grab bowls. Hiding my face, hiding what I think might still be faint eyeliner around my eyes.

"I didn't mean it like that, babe," she continues, "I'm just worried about you."

"No--no, I know," I reply, bowls clinking as I pull two out from the shelf. Everything I do feels like I'm exposing myself, revealing my lie, and I'm hyper aware of everything I say and do all of a sudden.

Placing my ass onto the seat, I groan, a stab reminding me of my betrayal. She joins me, sitting next to me at the kitchen table, chipped Kohl relics in front of us both as she ladles out the soup. Chicken noodle, steaming hot, the kind she makes from scratch. Made with love.

"Eat," she says, nudging the bowl towards me, and I do, spoon clinking against ceramic. It's good. Salty, warm, and it reminds me of him, the way he felt as his manhood pried my mouth open. I gulp.

This is a comfort I don't deserve, and she watches, sipping hers, eyes soft.

"You look tired," she says, not accusing, just noticing. "Was it a fever or what?"

I swallow, the broth sticking in my throat. "Uh, yeah, something like that. Kept me up." A lie, but she nods, trusting, and guilt coils tighter. How could I let him fuck me like that, no condom, no shame, while she worried?

"Was your phone off last night?" she asks, sipping at the soup.

My hand shakes, the spoon spluttering soup. My phone; shit! The green text when I was in Bushwick, when I was in the subway. Thinking quick, a lie flies out of me.

"Uhh, yeah, my phone it was auto-updating, or whatever. I saw your text, it was late after it finished so I didn't reply."

Soup feels stuck in my throat as Lena looks at me, I can feel her eyes digging into me--or at least it feels that way. I steady my shaking hand, and scoop another tablespoon of broth, my face down at the soup, avoiding her gaze.

"Oh my god, mine did that the other day too, it's so annoying," she replies, mirroring my action, taking another spoonful of golden liquid.

I can't keep doing this. Guilt feels like it's going to tear me apart. How can I sit next to this woman, someone I love, all the while pretending everything is okay despite what I did?

Silence hangs between us.

"You're quiet," she says after a while, spoon pausing, and she's right I have been quiet, lost in my thoughts, not my usual self. "Everything okay?"

I force a smile, weak. "Just wiped out. I'll be fine."

Lena reaches across, her hand brushing mine, small and warm, and I flinch, covering it with a cough. "Thanks for this," I say, pushing the bowl away, half-finished.

"Of course, babe," she says, scooting closer to me. "Do you want to maybe lie down, rest for a bit?"

"Sure," I reply.

Her face brightens, and she nods, standing, grabbing my hand and leading me to the bedroom, heart pounding, my body aching with every step, his curse still somewhere deep in me, and I pray I can fake my way through this, be the Alex she needs.

The room's dim, curtains drawn, bed unmade from yesterday's restless sleep before I found my way to the couch. She kicks off her boots, sliding onto the mattress, and pats the space beside her. I join her, stiff, lying back as she curls against me, head on my chest.

"Missed you last night," she murmurs, fingers tracing my hoodie, and I tense, nodding.

"Missed you too." A lie. She was there in my mind, each step of the way, begging for me to turn back, begging me not to renounce things I couldn't take back, fading only when Damien took me.

She tilts her face up, lips finding mine, soft and slow, nothing like his, and I kiss back, desperate to feel something.

"I-I don't want to get you sick, Lena."

"You won't," she replies with a whisper, and kisses me again.

She unzips her jeans, shimmying them off, thighs exposed, soft, red panties clinging to her, the same red as the crimson in Damien's apartment last night. She slides them down too, revealing herself to me, but I feel nothing.

Her hand reaches into my pants and slide lower, under my waistband, and I freeze. Nothing. My dick's limp, dead, even as she presses closer, her breath warm on my neck.

"Touch me," she whispers, guiding my hand. "I just want to feel you, Alex."

Wet, warm, folds yield under my fingers, but I'm numb, staring at her, her curves, her need, and nothing stirs. Her fingers wrap around my soft dick, tugging slow, then firm her thumb circling the head. But it doesn't respond. It flops, a dead weight, no pulse, no hardness.

"Fuck," I whisper, and I see it when I close my eyes, third-person: me and him, last night. Damien's erect eight inches, a real man, slamming into my ass, wet 'slap-slap-slaps' as he stretches my hole pink, leaking his cum, my own dick flopping useless below, impotent in the red light.

She starts sliding my hoodie up, and the thought of her seeing the sigil makes me sit up.

"Lena, wait--" I rasp, pulling back, and she blinks, confused.

"What's wrong?"

I sit up even more, running a hand through my hair beneath the hoodie, panic rising. It's not just the sigil, it's everything else. My body is completely smooth. How do I even explain that, when I was supposed to be sick?

"I... I can't. Not right now."

Her brow furrows, hurt flickering, and I scramble for words. "Is it because you're not getting hard? It's okay, we don't have to rush," she says, assuring me.

"It's not you--I'm just off, still recovering."

She sits up too, searching my face. "Are you sure, Alex? You've never..." She trails off, and I see it; doubt, then worry.

"Yeah, uh, just a rare thing," I mutter, and in my head, it's not her I see, it's Damien, third-person, my moans loud and broken. The memory floods me, raw and vivid, and I clench my fists, scrunching the bed sheets, trying to will it away.

"Hey," she says, softer now, hand on my arm. Pulling up her jeans and panties. "It's okay. Really." She searches my face, waiting for me to say something, but I just stare at the bottom of the bed, my throat tight.

"If you're not feeling it, we don't have to," she adds.

Her voice is gentle, understanding, and it guts me. Lena's love, her patience.

"You don't need to push yourself for me," she adds, smiling faintly. "I just want you to be okay."

I nod, throat constricted, guilt crashing in, she's too good, too accepting, while I'm a liar who craved another man's dick.

"Thanks," I choke out, and she leans in, kissing my forehead. "I'm going to go to the bathroom," I add, and she nods.

I can't go on like this, the guilt is too much I think to myself as I close the bathroom door behind me. My ass throbs, Damien's mark still there, and I lock the door, phone fished out from my pants and shaking in my hands.

"Is this reversible? The ritual, it's not permanent. Right? I feel so guilty, and I couldn't get hard."

I look at the text, then delete the last line, ending on "I feel so guilty," and send it to Damien.

Pulse racing. I don't feel changed, just sore, ashamed. Maybe no change comes at all. But then again, I was completely soft around her just now. That's not like me. I've always been hard for her, always wanted to make love to her. "It's guilt," the voice in my head reassures me, but I'm not so sure.

His reply comes instantly, as I stand there alone in the locked bathroom.

"No reversing it, princess. You're mine now. You should come back tonight, you know you want to. I'll take care of you."

Heat surges, my ass clenching at his words, and I hate how it pulls me, his dominance, his filth. Another text follows. A photo this time, and it's me, last night. A view from behind, my ass up, cheeks spread, his manly hand prying open one cheek and his come leaking from my hole front and center, wet and obscene in the red light.

My breath hitches. I don't even remember him taking that photo. I stare, shame at what I've done and the want for more warring. But I also want answers, there's more to this, I just know there is.

"I'll think about it," I type back, not yes, not a no. Torn, just like my masculinity, just like my hole.

When I exit the bathroom, Lena's there, sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone. If only she knew moments ago there had been lingerie right at her feet. She looks up at me and smiles.

"Everything okay, babe?"

"Yeah," I nod back, smiling, faking it.

"I was thinking, you probably need rest," she says, standing. "I'll give you space, let you sleep it off. Will you call me later though?"

It's love, not disappointment in her eyes, and I nod again, mute, as she gathers her things. She walks over and gives me one last kiss, a smile, and turns away, scarf around her neck, as I watch her from behind.

Her ass, filling those jeans, how I used to crave it, still do. Don't I? Yet I couldn't even get hard for her, why?

The apartment door shuts behind her, a quiet click, and the silence swallows me.

Lena's gone, her soup cold on the kitchen counter, and the replay hits again. Damien's grunts, my feminine moans responding to his call, him filling me. I could go back, not for sex. No--confront him. Make him reverse this curse or whatever it is he did to me.

But I don't feel anything. It's not like I'm growing breasts, turning into a woman! I'm just not getting an erection. Is what I'm doing justifying an opportunity to see him again?

I pull out my phone, and text him.

"I'm coming, what time?" fingers trembling, guilt buried under the pull for answers, or maybe something more.

My phone buzzes and his text simply reads: "12:00 am. Come as Alexis."

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Thank you for reading! As always, feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments below and if you're enjoying the series.