Hungry an hour later

Filed under:nanofiction,writing,Rob Andrews
She broke up with me in a chinese restaurant and to this day I don't like chow mein. So you say, well of course, Logan, I understand why, no one wants to be reminded of bad memories. It's not that simple. You don't know this, but I've always felt like I've been trapped in the wrong body. You've heard of transsexuals, right? Men that feel like their lives would be better if someone chopped of their dicks and woman that slice off their breasts like butchers and grow boy band beards. I'm sorta like that. No, I don't want estrogen pumping through my veins. There's a reason that I'm hung like a horse and am is hairy as fuck. Mother fucking testosterone. Can you smell me? I'm strong alright. I dont' use deoderant. I'm no pussy. Oh yeah. That's the shit that I'm talking about. You understand what I'm talking about so far? I'm a man, through and through. But like I said, there's this problem.

I don't feel right in my body. Since I went to the zoos when I was a kid and saw the apes, I felt a kinship to them. I'd look into their soulful eyes and I knew that I was looking at my cousins. I started to feel like an alien, a creature wearing the suit of a human being. I told my parents that I wanted to be like the simians. They laughed it off. Childhood phase. We didn't bring it up again, a buried secret in our family.

I found out later that I had this rare genetic disorder. There's a scientific name for it, but I won't bore you with the details. Thanks to this disorder, I a believe that I'm an ape stuck in the body of a man. Transsexualism for the animal kingdom. Very hush-hush in the medical kingdom. There's only a handful of doctors in the world that know about it and couple dozen fetishists. There's a treatment for it too. It's called the Real Life Test. They splice and dice you with animal DNA. High tech stuff, the Russians dabbled with it during the Cold War. They wanted bat people. It had mixed success and it was expensive as fuck. It helped bring down the wall, so it was aces as far as the American government thought. That's dusty history. Who cares, right? We're not history buffs. Anyhow, the Real Life Test works like this, you're pumped full of chemicals, see a shrink on a weekly basis to make sure that you're not fucking up your life. The counselling is pretty important. Some people do it for sexual kinks, their attempt to bypass sexual laws. Kinky bastards. They're screened out pretty quickly and rarely go the full way.

You're encouraged to slowly transition to a more suitable environment as you prepare for transition. Some guys go to the jungle, others, liking the comfort of the city go to zoos. You know Koko, the sign language monkey? She's one of us. Very bold. She loved the spotlight. After the chemail pump and dump, they cut up your brain, paring it down to it's most base insincts. There's no second chances, once you start the gravy train, it don't go back.

I told this to my girlfriend at Chinese buffet. She puked into her food. I don't think that me slinging my shit at the waitress made things better. I thought that her response was extreme, but she's prone to historonics. I guess that's why she called you, officer. Not many women can stand for public masterbation and walking on all fours. Looks like I won't be getting any bail for a while, she has my bank card and access to our account. But you gotta stay true to yourself, you know?