A Sexual's Reproduction Ch. 01

Mirin peeled her leg from the leather sofa. Sweat clung to her skin in a fine layer, just enough to adhere to the furniture, but not to warrant any special attention. The office didn't offer air conditioning. For her at least. Out in the waiting room where others had waited with her, she was cool and hydrated. She wiped at her brow and waited for her therapist to continue.

"It sounds to me like you're restraining yourself," the dismayed woman said, paying only minimal attention to her patient. This wasn't their first session, or even their second or third, and still she made every effort to keep Mirin uncomfortable. Even the more unpleasant patients got better treatment.

"How so?" Mirin asked.

"It's rather obvious," she said, condescending as a fresh college graduate, "All you're doing is going with what people want of you. Not that I can blame you. From what you've said before, everyone at work is out to get you. Hardly surprising."

"So, what? I need to make decisions for myself?"

"Yes, within reason of course. Flaunting that body like you do might be too far. Perhaps some medical tape for the breasts? Or maybe adopt a child so it's not as... unbecoming."

Mirin swallowed her response, "I don't make enough to support a child."

"No, I didn't think so. Getting hired as a novelty worker mustn't pay well."

"Just get to the point, please," Mirin rubbed at her temples. She wished people would just ignore her body for once. Day in and day out, someone would comment on her figure, demeaning her for it. For the longest time, she thought such teasing would end once she left school, but it just followed her like a cowl. At this point, most words dripped off her back.

"My point, miss Lester, is you should consider trying to blend in with society."

"I tried. It ended up with my lungs almost being crushed," Mirin sighed. She'd explained it before.

"I see," the therapist said. Mirin didn't use her name where possible, preferring to disassociate the woman with reality. Without a name, she was just another venomous mouth, "Perhaps it'd be best to work from home."

"Tried to. My mother wouldn't let me."

"Ah, yes. You still live with your parents."

"Just my mum."

"No wife? That might explain a lot."

Mirin wished her glare could pierce skulls. No matter who they were, people ignored the things they were responsible for. Her mum couldn't get a wife, because everyone knew what had led to Mirin's birth, and everyone knew because they couldn't keep their fucking lives to themselves.

She didn't take the bait. Even a fish would recognise the dangers after enough time. Mirin turned her attention to the future, formulating her day off and strategy for handling work. Therapy should help her handle it, provide a release, but thus far it hadn't made anything easier. Just another drain on her funds and time. One more session and that's it.

"And our time is up," they still had ten minutes, "I look forward to seeing you next time, Mirin. Same time?"

"Yes. Thank you," Mirin said and left for the restroom. In a stall, her worst kept secret flopped out into the toilet bowl, slapping the icy porcelain. She wrinkled her nose at the smell. Any other woman might be grateful that their armpits never reeked no matter how hot a day became, and she was, but the assault on her sinuses whenever she stripped made her question that gratitude. A sigh slipped out at the release of pressure.

Once emptied, she pulled her pantyhose over the meaty log. Heat wave or not, she couldn't let it swing freely, or hang in a pair of jeans. Without leggings, skirts were impossible in public, knee-length or not. Mirin hissed as she pulled too far and pinched her sack.

"Fuck's sake." Some adjustments and she felt she was presentable, but still glared at her reflection. No matter what she wore, her body seemed to pop out like an absurd children's book. Her blouse, something she thought looked cute from a magazine, strained to cover her chest appropriately. Her skin glistened under the lights, drawing her eyes at any moment.

"Why aren't these longer?" Mirin tugged at her skirt. This was her summer attire, the only chance she had at aerating her crotch outside, but the garment length put her under constant threat of exposure. A random gust, bastard children, or any passer by, and everything was released. She smoothed out her crimson locks. It wasn't the clothes fault, they were designed with a sleeker form in mind.

Not someone with hips wider than shoulders, or boobs larger than heads, or with a seven-inch slab of meat nestled against apple-sized testes. Mirin couldn't change herself. Plastic surgery had been outlawed several years ago, as people decried artificiality. Even so, mutilating her body was too far. She pulled on her ear, where a faint hole reminded her of carefree days. When she didn't give a shit about consequence and attacked everyone.

She missed those times. Perhaps she should take up boxing, except her boobs would get in the way. Or running, except her thighs and... thing weren't suited for it. Sport had been the bane of her life since Year 7, when her body decided it was time to grow. If it had just been upward, then everything could've been great. All her little nuisances wouldn't show and she might've had a better social life.

No use regretting the past, she thought and splashed some water on her face to cool off. She didn't wear makeup. People used it to accentuate their cheeks, their lips and eyes to craft a mature air about them, but hers needed no aid. Using product seemed like a waste of money.

Studying herself didn't last long. She'd seen her face too often to be surprised by it any longer. Sometimes she thought perhaps a new freckle had grown in, or maybe the beauty mark on her chin had darkened, but they never did. Whatever force that designed her seemed finished. Mirin dried her face and left, face down and away from whispering gazes.

There was no hiding her body, however. Tired disdain pulled lips down wherever she passed, eyes followed, waited and started talking when they thought she was far enough. She never was. Mirin kept her right hand clasped around her purse strap, the other hung limply, twitching at every sharp comment. Just more knives in her back.

At this point, the bite of her bra was worse. Mirin sighed and headed to the nearest maternal store. By sixteen, she and her mother shopped for the same sizes, and just a few months later she needed larger. Imagine it, entering the last year of school and shaming every parent or teacher in the vicinity, then rising from there in a dizzying spiral. Even now, ten years later, her growth hadn't ceased, merely slowed.

"These please," Mirin said. The cashier took one look and recognised her, a sneer replacing the welcoming grin on her lips.

"Shocking, the cow needs new clothes. Surprised you haven't just retired to a farm with those things." She had a sharper accent, a northerner Mirin supposed, that added another obnoxious bite to her words.

"Just get on with it so I can leave," Mirin sighed.

"Hold your horses, I was just about to go on break. Come back in ten minutes would you."

"I know your schedule, Cadence," Mirin said, wreathing the name in spite.

"Are you stalking me?" Cadence's voice pitched several notes higher, a worry entered her gaze, while an anxious hand darted to her phone. Or was it pepper spray?

"Who in their right mind would stalk you? No one needs to know the crap you get up to." Someone else said, coming from the back. She was an older woman, clearly a mother by her marginal curves. Her expression wasn't any kinder than Cadence's. "Just take her damn money and get her out of here. Don't need people talking."

"Fine," Cadence pouted, "Come here again and I'm calling the cops."

"Whatever." Mirin knew bullshit when she heard it. While she was held in contempt by the whole of Ireland, and likely the world beyond, she couldn't be incarcerated without evidence just because of her gender. That didn't stop people from trying.

Her mum wasn't home when she returned to their flat. The economy hadn't been kind, nor was her insatiable clothes budget, and so they'd moved two years ago, leaving their old house behind. Though cramped, she appreciated that the tenants kept to themselves. Proper neighbourhoods liked to stuff their noses where they didn't belong, especially when the infamous Mirin lived so close. No one here could do that inconspicuously.

If she were a celebrity, the constant attention might be beneficial. Not a day without her name in the tabloids, or websites paying for information on her. As it was, she was just the freak next door. Inconsequential but detested all the same. Mirin plopped onto the sofa and stacked her feet upon the coffee table. The tv was still on, meaning her mother hadn't left long ago.

"Boring, boring, boring," Mirin flipped through channels and settled on a documentary, "Might as well." She got up and went to the fridge, grabbing the supermarket brand beer they kept well-stocked, an out of date bagel and some jam, then returned to her spot. The cushions had been worn out, but her ass provided all the comfort she needed as she nestled into the familiar position. Slouched, beer and food in hand, she let her mind drift as the tv played.

It was a historical documentary, detailing what led to the current Asexual world.

"An hour for this crap?" Mirin groaned, "I can do it in a few sentences. Fucked up disease killed half the population, people got desperate and made themselves Asexual. Except me. Where's my fucking documentary? Bullshit." She slurped the rest of her beer, got another and switched to some cartoons.

Though she wasn't wrong, the death had been slow and terrifying. For years, humanity feared its extinction. The half that died was a single people; men. She was born after they were gone, as such she'd only seen grainy images of such people. All she understood of them was they were hairier, thicker set and shared her extra 'equipment', something that animals filled in for easily enough. Their role was once to help reproduce. Made redundant in the current world.

"Then what's my role?" Mirin mumbled and tossed aside her fifth can. The alcohol warmed her body all over, but focused in her face, blearing the world and sapping her energy. Why was she born this way if humanity didn't need penises anymore?

Everyone else liked to think it was for their amusement. She was different, therefore lesser, and she couldn't do a thing about it. Just getting a decent education and job proved almost impossible. But things could change. Surely if she had been born, another one like her was as well. The world was too huge for her to be alone.

She pulled out her phone and checked the internet again. Always, she typed the same word; hermaphrodite. Her name came up instantly, superseding even the wikipedia entry. None other.

"Someday," Mirin laid across the sofa and let her eyes drift shut. There had to be someone else.

"Yes, ma'am, I'll redirect you right away," Mirin said and sent the call to another department. She worked in management at Falihax, making sure the company functioned, alongside dozens of others all crammed into cubicles. Another call came in, "Hello?" Talking on the phone was a reprieve. Most people on the other end didn't know her. To them, she was just another stranger, free of deformity.

That is, when others would leave her be.

"Move your fat ass," Erin said, kicking at her chair, despite it being tucked under the desk, "Jesus, can't move an inch with you here."

"Deep breath. Oh, sorry not you, ma'am. Yes, I'll get someone on it right away. Have a nice day," Mirin set the phone down and glared at her co-worker, "What is it?"

"No need to be so hostile. Boss just wants you to fill out these reports," Erin tossed her a USB drive, "She would've emailed them to you, but she's too busy for you."

"Yeah, yeah," Mirin waved her hand at the blonde, "What else?"

"Hmm, now that you mention it... hey, are you using a new perfume or something?" Erin asked. She should've ignored the question, it was too obvious a set up, but Erin's voice lacked a certain edge.

"No," Mirin said with a curious glance to her colleague. Seconds ticked by as Erin sniffed the air, scrunching her nose in concentration, before shaking her head.

"Whatever. Just get my shit done," she said and headed off.

"I thought it was for Ciara."

"Sorry, can't hear you," Erin sang. The lone hermaphrodite sighed and inspected the drive. With a miracle, she might get it done in her usual work hours. Such hope dribbled out as the antique OS chugged along, loading document after document. The bitch hadn't done anything for almost a week. Which meant another long night of unpaid overtime.

The sun set at its normal hours, finished with its workload for their hemisphere, while Mirin refilled her coffee. She hated the beverage. Always too bitter and hot, and it messed with her sleep, but short of drinking a damned energy drink, she had no choice. Her face creased at the taste, but it gave her a slight boost of energy at least.

Everyone else had left. Their cubicles were dark and the office silent but for the clicking of one keyboard. Gentle squeaks filtered in amongst the sound. Mirin returned to her station and found Erin sat in her chair, swivelling left and right, wearing out the furniture and staring at a blank screen. Blue eyes glowed in the faint light as they looked to her.

"Sorry, Mirin. Thought I'd check and make sure you were doing alright, but, wouldn't you know it, technology fucked up. Guess you'll have to restart. Better save them more often," Erin shrugged and got up, snatching Mirin's coffee "Thanks, I'm exhausted. See you tomorrow."

Fate liked to fuck with people. For Erin, it somehow told her exactly when to leave before she could be punched. Everyone realised this as well. One of the few things Mirin shared with her co-workers was a dislike of the Swedish girl. No one could do anything about it. The blonde might seem inept, but she covered her tracks well. Without reliable evidence, she went free and escaped any violence as if she foresaw it.

Mirin slumped in her chair and rubbed at her temples. She'd get her back someday. Maybe if she was the one to take her down, people might warm up to her. Or at least leave her alone. She shut the window with Erin's files, and moved onto another set. Ciara had also piled more work on her.

"I should just dress up like a fucking donkey," Mirin muttered and got started.

Summer sucked for sleep on late nights. By the time she got home, dawn bled into the night sky and the roads were dead, save for a few cars or drunks. Her mother was home and in bed. Mirin crept to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, careful not to rouse her roommate. Back in her bed, she rubbed her stomach in slow circles. It grumbled at her touch, disgusted by the amount of coffee she'd forced down her gob, and refused to let her sleep. As did an ache in her balls.

"Just let me sleep," Mirin rolled onto her side, praying for comfort. Her alarm clock read 4:24AM, blinking at her mockingly. The throbbing in her testes synced to it, not painful but incessant. Aided by the residual caffeine in her blood, sleep eluded her until an hour before the alarm blared. She sat up in bed, glaring at the device.

"I hate you."

Preparing for work, she would rather have the flu or a chest infection. Her eyes felt rough when she blinked and every step felt like wading through sludge. But she couldn't miss work. Even taking sick days played with a dangerous fire. And yet, no matter how weary she felt, her face appeared immaculate. She almost wished for the bruise-like circles most people had.

Mirin arrived for work on time and flawless, like she hadn't spent the night awake. No one suspected anything else either. They wouldn't care if they did. She booted up her computer and tried finding a comfortable position, spreading her legs far as her skirt would allow. Still the ache in her sack didn't abate. She tugged on her underwear, adjusted the tights, even fanned herself without luck. Mirin snatched some paracetamol from her bag and swallowed them.

No sooner that that, Erin poked her head into her cubicle, "So, where's my reports?"

Mirin's eye twitched. Oh, how she wanted to yell at the blonde and make her leave, but she took a deep breath, "I'll get on them now."

"I need them now."

"Then you should've done them."

Erin's mouth contorted into a sneer, "Listen to me, bitch. One word to HR and your ass is fucked, got it? Just one excuse is all they need."

"Try it," Mirin countered, unable to catch the words in time, "And I'll just break your nose."

"Yeah right," Erin snorted, "I'll put you on your ass in no time."

That almost tore a laugh from Mirin. This pampered foreigner? She hadn't seen what Mirin had done in her teenage years, when she hospitalised girls in mosh pits or on the streets after drinking. Instead, she just groaned and slyly adjusted her legs again. Not sly enough, though, as Erin noticed.

"Oh, it must be so tough being a freak," Erin said, "Just get my reports done."

"Fine," Mirin sighed. The girl lingered, however. The conversation's over, she thought and turned to her screen, scowling at the reflection of Erin. Why is she just standing there? Mirin sucked in a sharp breath, ready to remind Erin that other people existed. Fortunately, someone bumped into her.

"Sorry," Erin said. She moved on, shooting a final glance at the hermaphrodite.

"The fuck's her problem?" Mirin mumbled to herself. She rubbed her eyes, cracked each finger, and settled back into the same pattern as mere hours ago. Everything blanked her mind. The click of keys, people talking, ring tones, and footsteps, all stacked and repeated. Her eyes drifted between open and closed, snapping open when her head dipped, or when her balls stung. She rubbed them, hoping to soothe the growing agony. It worked.

Minutes later and she did it again. Each time felt a little better. She'd heard that stimulation was required for procreation decades ago, but she wasn't doing that. Was she? The click of her keyboard faded from the others as the touches dragged out. Desire lashed at her discipline, its strikes firmer and coiling like a serpent with every minute that passed. She felt warmth displace the ache, threatening to burn her alive. Impossible to ignore.

"Oi! Mirin, can you hear me, freak?"

Mirin slammed her hand to the desk. Something wet clung to it, she didn't dare inspect it. That voice wasn't Erin. This woman had a bite to her bark. She turned to face Sasha, second only to Ciara in the department. People joked that she was just a dog, following Ciara's word without autonomy, however that didn't remove her danger. One word from her and anyone could be fired.

"Yes, Sasha?"

Dark eyes glared at her, scanning for any sign of improper attire. Despite the weariness pervading Mirin's body, nothing appeared out of place.

"Ciara wants those documents now."

"I, uh..." Mirin looked to her screen. She had no issue biting back at those with the same payroll as her, but something about Sasha made her seem like a Goliath, though she was shorter than Mirin. Most people were. Perhaps it was the perpetual glare on her face, the sharpness to her dark features, or simply her position.

"I'll get it done right away. I just need fifteen minutes." She could get away with ten, maybe even five minutes, if she concentrated on something other than her aching loins, but Sasha didn't need to know that.

"You've got ten." She didn't linger and moved onto another cubicle, chewing out someone else. Not Erin, of course. Probably someone else that bitch had passed work onto.

"Shit," Mirin gasped and gripped her desk. Her balls made an audible gurgle, rumbling against her thighs and chair. She glanced around, wondering if someone else had heard. Something must be wrong with her. Was it that coffee yesterday? It never did anything like that before, but the office had recently changed to the cheaper stuff.