The Tumours Made Me Interesting

by Matthew Revert

  By the end, I was wearing their fingerprints like a body stocking and feeling exhausted. Fiona kindly gave me a handful of recuperative Minties, which, truth be told, didn’t really satisfy me. I was made to sign copies of a book I hadn’t even read let alone written. I tried telling a couple of people this, but they weren’t concerned. What kept me going, no matter how depleted I felt mentally and physically, was the thought of me at Fiona’s house. I had no idea where this encounter would lead, but there was a possibility it would involve mutual nudity. My tumours made me interesting to her – they made me interesting to everyone in the room. I had found my niche and I was prepared to milk it. If I was going to die, I was going to die as someone important.

  10.

  Fiona’s home wasn’t what I was expecting. The events leading up to this encounter convinced me that she must reside in some esoteric mansion, secluded from the life as I understood it. This wasn’t the case. Her home was humble, almost welcoming. The front door was decorated with a trite ‘welcome friends’ sign. Her confident sense of self was beginning to wane a bit and she almost looked bashful as she held the front door open for me. This unnerved me. If this was going to result in sex, I really needed her to take charge. There was no way I could solicit it. I wasn’t capable of initiating something of this magnitude. The bashful Fiona may have made for a more comfortable conversational partner, but it didn’t bode well for my fantasies of her throwing me to the ground and riding me like public transport.

  The smell of cat food permeated her home, which I responded to with an involuntary nose scrunch.

  “Sorry if it smells a bit in here,” she said. “It’s just the cat's in here during the day and the place gets a little stuffy.”

  “It’s fine. Mind if I smoke?”

  “Please do. In fact, I might even join you.”

  I tapped two cigarettes from the pack and handed her one. We moved to the lounge room and smoked in loaded silence. I had no idea where her confidence had gone. She coughed and spluttered as the smoke entered her. It surprised me. Was she even a smoker? Why did she give me cigarettes in the first place? A white cat appeared from behind my chair and started rubbing up against my leg. It walked semi-circles around my calves, filling me with pleasant tingles.

  “What’s its name?” I asked, trying to break the silence.

  “It doesn’t have one. It doesn’t seem right to name animals.”

  “How do you get its attention?”

  “I just have to think about her and she comes. Cats are good like that.”

  Once more we fell into silence. The faint purr of the nameless cat tickled my ears.

  “You probably have a lot of questions,” she finally said, filling me with something resembling hope.

  “That would be an understatement,” I replied in an understated way.

  “Well, ask away. I’ll be as open as I can be.”

  I didn’t know where to start. I almost wished for the silence to return. The questions were churning around inside me but I was afraid to ask them. I wasn’t sure if I wanted the answers. “Why are you so nervous?” I eventually asked.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing her thighs until smoke wafted from beneath her palms. “You have to understand… in many ways, my life has led up to this moment. Do you remember that episode of Road Runner where the coyote actually manages to catch it?”

  I knew it well but shook my head anyway, not wanting to seem like the nerd I was.

  “Well,” she continued, “the coyote has dedicated his life to one goal: capturing the roadrunner. When he finally achieves this, he doesn’t know what to do. All he can identify with is the chase. Well… I now feel as if the chase is over. I’ve found you.”

  The frenetic thigh rubbing had sparked a little fire on Fiona’s skirt. She excused herself and left the room. The nameless cat dug its claws into my leg and began a painful ascent toward my lap where it curled into a soft ball. I motioned to stroke it but was met with a hiss. I let it be. Fiona returned with doused singe marks and a tray of biscuits.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked.

  “I want to help you. I want you to realise your full potential.”

  I didn’t have it in me to respond and instead sucked down cigarette after cigarette. The ash snowed down on the sleeping cat. Somebody had to make a move and historically speaking, it wasn’t going to be me. Moments earlier Fiona had mentioned her cat would come simply by thinking about her. With this in mind, I threw sexually desirous thoughts at Fiona… pummeling her with a storm of indecency, hoping she’d hear and respond.

  “Take off your clothes, Bruce.”

  The request blindsided me. Although probably just a coincidence, I couldn’t help thinking that my mental desperation had worked. My lips released the cigarette, which fell on the cat, setting it on fire and burning it from its slumber. It extinguished the flames with a diligent tongue and swallowed the butt. What a good kitty, I thought. When I stood up, the cat flopped to the ground, landing on its back and writhing like a capsized turtle. I kicked my shoes off, sending them careening through the nearest wall, which coughed up plaster dust upon impact. I maneuvered out of my shirt, catching my face on the neck-hole and nearly breaking my nose. Fiona helped me with the pants. She knelt before me in a fellatio position and worked them down. When they were at my ankles, I tried stepping out of them but only succeeded in tripping backward and hitting my head on an empty aquarium. The dead, dried fish lining the bottom fluttered out around me. I scooped glass and dead fish dust from my bleeding eyes as Fiona tugged my pants away. Clearly assuming I no longer had what it took to complete the task myself, she removed my underpants for me too. Holding them in a disgusted finger pinch, she hurled them out the window, where it blinded a passing paperboy and sent him into the path of a garbage truck that smeared him across the road.

  Despite the calamity, I still managed to sport a healthy erection, which seemed to follow Fiona’s movements like the eyes of a haunted portrait. This was it. I could feel it in the marrow of my bones. I was going to have sex with a real woman. The self pity from endless hours spent masturbating to progressively more deranged internet pornography evaporated. I now looked upon it as rehearsal – as training. Fiona wasn’t taking her clothes off, but that was okay. She could keep the skirt on if she wanted. The lack of visual penetrative stimuli would probably help me hold out longer. This was potentially the last time I would ever have sex and I didn’t want it to end with premature pubescent disappointment.

  Fiona left the room. Perhaps to change into something kinky, I thought. It took all my willpower not to grab my cock right there and tug away. When she returned, she was holding a length of clear plastic tubing. She flashed me a smile – much bigger than usual – and twirled the tubing above her head. That wilting vulnerability she had possessed upon entering her home was no longer present. Had it been some strange act?

  “Do you trust me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I lied.

  “Do you want me to help you reach your full potential?”

  I nodded.

  “Will you let me do to you as I wish?”

  I nodded again, my cock in danger of throbbing its way to involuntary orgasm.

  “Get on all fours, baby.”

  I did as I was told, lost in the moment, enslaved to Fiona’s whim. She ran her fingernails over my back, sending shudders through every zone in my body. Use me, I thought. I’m yours.

  “You’re an amazing vessel, Bruce,” she said as the tubing was worked into my arse. My lips quivered. My cock barked. I could feel the tubing slide deeper and deeper inside me. Her fingernails still scraped gently across my back in new formations with each passing.

  “I want a cigarette,” she said. “Get one for yourself too.”

  I scrambled for my pants and plucked two cigarettes from the packet, lighting them both and passing one behind me. I sucked on it just like I wanted her to suck on me.

  “Remember, Bruce – I’m only doing
this because of how special you are.”

  I glanced behind me and watched as she inhaled half the cigarette in one erotic puff. Her eyes glazed in ecstasy as she held the dirty smoke in her lungs. In one hand she picked up the tubing and held it to her mouth. She threw me a wink (which I dropped) and blew the toxic smoke into the tubing where it made a brief journey deep into my bowel. She repeated the process until the cigarette was nothing more than a burning filter.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “If you don’t feed them, Bruce, how do you expect them to grow?” She held her ear to the pipe end and listened. A grin spread across her face. “They’re happy, Bruce. They’re purring. They’re purring.”

  I fell silent. Fiona was right. I could hear the purrs like rapid little drums, but more than anything, I could feel it. The tumour cluster buzzed and pulsed. They were absorbing the poisonous smoke like starving animals. I handed her another lit cigarette, which she fed to my disease, gorging them like ticks.

  “I want to fuck you,” I slurred.

  “We can’t, Bruce. Please… feel free to pleasure yourself. Enjoy this moment. You deserve it.’

  I had fallen too far into animalistic desire to feel disappointed. I clutched myself hard and stroked without restraint. I didn’t just cum… I exploded – thick seminal molasses shot in an unbroken jet and kissed Fiona’s carpet. I collapsed with the intensity of the release. Fiona whipped out the tube. I could still feel the tumours buzzing and growing.

  I swam back toward consciousness with Fiona stroking my head, which was cradled in her lap. I wondered if it had been a dream and came close to asking until I saw the shit-streaked tubing coiled lifelessly on the carpet beside us.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “I don’t think I do at the moment.”

  “That’s okay. The only thing I want you to feel is how important you are. The only thing I want you to understand is the perfection of your disease.”

  “You want me to embrace my death.”

  “Well that’s a glass half-empty way of looking at it,” she scoffed. “Yes, my dear Bruce… you are, without any shadow of doubt, going to die. Most people in your position just give up and fade away. You have the chance to make a real mark on this world. Let your death bring something positive.”

  “Will we ever get to fuck?” I asked.

  She shook her head slowly. “No, dear. I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

  I channeled my inner three year old and threw a drowsy tantrum that probably looked more like an enthusiastic yawn. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. “Why not?” I sobbed.

  “I’m not built for it. I don’t have the required biological equipment.”

  I tried to read her eyes, hoping it was a joke. They weren’t laughing. “Are you a guy?” I asked while my sexuality deflated.

  “No… I don’t have a penis. In most ways I am female. I simply lack genitalia.”

  “You got nothing?”

  “Just a smooth, androgynous hump.”

  I rolled out of Fiona’s lap and crawled toward my pants. My face was trapped in a pout and my eyes were sticky with tear glue. “This is bullshit! I really thought you were going to fuck me.”

  “You’re acting like a baby, Bruce. You’re focusing on the most unimportant things.”

  I jacked my jeans up, determined not to look at her. I slammed half a dozen cigarettes in my mouth and set them alight. The influx of smoke was so voluminous that smoke began drifting from my ears. It relaxed me. With each inhalation I felt myself calming, becoming more pliant. There was something devious about these cigarettes. Something that went beyond the standard cocktail of poisons one would hope to find. I couldn’t escape the feeling that Fiona had done something untoward to them. I tried taking a step back from myself, but stopped when vertigo hit. Why was I going along with this? I only met this woman a few days ago. Why was I content to stand with my cock out in a room full of strangers when I didn’t even like seeing myself naked? Why was I letting this, undeniably insane, woman blow smoke up my arse? I inhaled again, knowing I was letting myself fall prey to her. It felt like my resolve was a crumbling wall. She was drugging me. I knew it. She existed only to speed my death. She didn’t care about me. She only cared about my disease. I hated her. I turned to face her. I walked with purpose toward the arse tube and plucked it up. I held it out to her. She didn’t move.

  “Go on! Take it!” I yelled. “Feed them. You want them so fucking bad, you can have them. You want the perfect disease? Then make it happen.” I dropped my jeans back down and spread my arse. “Go on! Feed those hungry fuckers. I only exist to grow them. I know that now. Make my life mean something.” I whipped her with the tube. “Go on! Stick that fucking tube up me.”

  Finally, she snatched the tubing. Her somber expression was replaced with a smile. “You’ve made the right choice. I want to help them be all they can be. I just need your utter obedience.”

  11.

  Fiona was quick to capitalise on my acquiescence. Clearly she sensed my indecisive nature and proceeded before procrastination had a chance to settle in. She informed me that she wanted to meet with any people I may be living with because, in her words, they required ‘briefing’. As little as a week ago, this would have been unnecessary, but it now seemed I had my own makeshift family. Fiona made arrangements to meet us all the next morning and she was quite vocal about ensuring everyone attended.

  I prepared an area in the lounge room with chairs and mild refreshments. I even went so far as filling a vase with posies, which I placed on the coffee table as a centrepiece. I was filled with Christmas morning levels of excitement and I wanted to do everything right. I had never been the subject of a meeting before and it made me feel great. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. The journey thus far had been a deeply strange one. The heart that beat at the centre of all this interest was a disease that was destroying me and intellectually I knew that my participation was misguided. But given the position I was in, I just wanted to feel happiness. I had been shown something that resembled joy and I was prepared to take it.

  I assembled the Stotsons, Arthur, Belinda and her mother into the lounge room. Each had an allocated chair with their names misspelled on them and I insisted, for reasons I couldn’t explain, that they all sit in their appropriate location. Belinda bounded for her chair and bounced upon it excitedly, clearly feeling the rush. The others tagged along, not with enthusiasm, but without resistance. Arthur lagged behind preparing a cup of Earl Grey. Fiona was due to arrive at 9:00am and, given my experience up until now, I expected her to be bang on time.

  “Hurry up, Arthur,” I said. “She’s going to be here any minute.”

  “Don’t be desperate,” he replied. “A good cup of Earl must be crooned to before it releases its divine flavour.”

  I stood behind him, tapping my feet and sucking on a cigarette, trying my best to smoke him out of the kitchen.

  “You won’t get anywhere rushing me, lad. Just show some decency and allow me my humble fancy”.

  With the teacup held below his mouth, he quietly sang songs into his Earl Grey. I strained to make out the words and thought I heard something about break dancing. He brought the cup down and allowed the steamy curls of aroma to reach him. He exhaled deeply, made eye contact and said, “Okay… I am now ready”.

  With an impatient hand pressed against the small of Arthur’s back, I guided him toward the meeting area.

  “Were you a child, I’d find this endearing,” he mocked.

  As he took his seat, his joints sounded off like fire crackers. We all partook in a communal wince.

  “You try spending 30 years hunched over in a ceiling and see how your joints feel,” he said. “Standing is only achieved with ease if one is accustomed to standing.”

  None of us dared respond. Instead I glanced at my Captain Planet watch, whose muscular arms, steadfast and true, told me the time. The second his jutted finger clicked over to 9:00am, Fiona burst t
hrough the door. The jolt of this gave us all a start. I stood to commence introductions but caught my belt on the arm of my chair and fell back down. Fiona gave me a dismissive wave so I just reached for a cigarette.

  “Introductions won’t be necessary,” she said. “We will be meeting regularly and grow to know each other quite well.”

  Fiona’s demeanor bled a dynamic dominance that entranced everyone immediately. She could have held a gun to their heads and they would have beamed smiles in response.

  “At this stage,” she began, “who you are is insignificant. Who I am is of more import because I am going to be overseeing your actions until the conclusion of this project comes to pass.”

  She circled us, completely ignoring the chair I’d prepared for her, which annoyed me, but not enough to vocalise it.

  “As you are all aware, Bruce is in possession of cancer. What I’m quite sure you’re not aware of is the highly specialised nature of his cancer. Bruce has, what we call, ‘perfect cancer’. As I speak, tumours are growing within him that defy anything we’ve seen before. They are, without a shadow of a doubt, the best example of a disease we’ve seen.”

  “So we’re here to help you make Bruce better?” asked Rhonda with palpable confusion.

  “In a sense, yes…” she replied. “But probably not in the way you think. Our goal is not to rid Bruce of cancer. Our goal is to make Bruce the perfect vessel for the cancer. We have a rare opportunity here.”

  My excitement was beginning to wear off. I no longer wished to be the centre of attention. My neck retreated into my sternum. What Fiona was saying struck me as ludicrous when said amongst a group. In the one-on-one space, without the judgment of others, it was easy to get swept away. The look of horror that painted their faces spoke volumes. This horror was punctuated by Arthur’s monocle, which slipped from its socket and landed with a splash in his tea. Fiona was prepared for this.