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Memoirs of a Monster	By : Luv Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2993 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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I shall pause here to warn the reader that the following account may be as hard to read as it is for me to write. Happiness cannot occur without its counterpart present. It is therefore necessary to include the following installment. I apologize in advance for the perverse twist my tale now takes, but all things have their purpose, and I mean to truthfully set forth the experience.

Chapter Three – On Being Disgraced

I decided, when the night of the premier finally presented itself, that I would take the opportunity to indulge in a ride, something I had long been deprived of. It was with a light and eager heart that I donned my breeches and tall black field boots, determined to be properly turned out for the happy occasion. I completed my habit with shirt, waistcoat, riding jacket and carefully tied cravat. With my mask (a special flesh colored one that was nearly imperceptible from a distance or in heavy shadow) and wig in place, I swung my cloak about my shoulders and fastened it. As an afterthought I added my black fedora. I glanced into the looking glass at my reflection and was quite satisfied.

Procuring Cesar was a tedious affair that required precise timing. This being so, I stole into the stable at a time I knew to be safe (the horses were fed and the stable hands and grooms were now feeding themselves), and I hastily tacked the horse and led him up out of his bleak home into the night air. Cesar’s periodic absence, though once a cause for alarm among the opera house staff, was now an accepted occurrence and quite overlooked as another trick of the Opera Ghost’s.

I believe the horse and I both breathed in a strong sigh of happiness at the rain tinted air. It filled my lungs and made me immediately glad that I had chosen to chance this outing. I looked at Cesar who chomped his bit quite eagerly and scanned his surroundings with large dark eyes. Laying a gloved hand on his broad face I rubbed him and talked to him, asking if he was ready to go. He replied by stepping lightly to the side unable to contain his joy at being in the fresh air. I chuckled at his eagerness, feeling much the same, and quickly slid my foot into the stirrup iron and swung into the saddle, taking care to settle lightly on his back. It had been too long since I had sat astride a good horse and I felt the adrenaline pump through my body. Cesar felt it as well and he quivered and stepped in excitement at the prospect of a long overdue gallop. I gathered the reins, taking care to hold just a light feel of his mouth and nudged him forward with my heel. He responded easily and we moved together through the streets of Paris winding our way to the outskirts of the city.

The moon was full and bright and Cesar’s coat shone like a pearl. In little time we had left the close confines of central Paris in our wake and found ourselves on the edge of a moonlit meadow that stretched into the darkness. Cesar’s will to run was not to be denied. Leaning slightly forward and taking up a half-seat so that the center of my gravity was properly situated, I kissed to the horse and we were off. The thrill of the powerful surge beneath me was only matched by the refreshing night air as it whistled by my ears. I kept my head tilted down slightly so that the fedora stayed put, but my eyes remained focused between Cesar’s alert ears as we moved over the broad expanse of grassy meadow as easily as if we had just sprouted wings. The fabric of my cloak billowed out behind us in the rush of the fast moving wind that we alone created. My heart pounded with absolute joy and I urged Cesar on, flattening myself closer to his surging neck. Together we flew through the night, our lungs expanding with the rush of cool air, our spirits one as we drank in the beautiful sweet sensation of freedom. I let out a great delighted laugh, unable to contain my overwhelming happiness.

When we came to the far end of the meadow, where the thick forest ran the length of the place, we swept around the perimeter and slowed to a rocking lope easing along the ground until we reached the road once more. I sat down on Cesar’s back and took a slight hold of his mouth and he obediently came down to a walk. Both of us were out of breath, neither accustomed to the invigorating exercise. I leaned forward and affectionately scratched my friend’s neck and gave him an appreciative pat. “You are a good horse,” I told him sincerely. We walked along the road then, allowing our respiration to return to normal and enjoying the peaceful surroundings. I felt more powerful and complete than I had in memory. A great awakening had taken place, something I had buried and forgotten in the vault of my deprived mind. This was what it meant to live, I thought; the feeling of a good horse beneath you and the crisp night air against your face (well, half a face).

It was with these thoughts, and my momentary lift of confidence that we returned to the inner streets of Paris. Unwilling as I was to return to the tomb of my home, I decided to wander a bit through the city and observe the people there. My curiosity was piqued by a narrow street that ran off at a sharp angle to the main thoroughfare. The sounds of raucous music drifted from the places along this street, and there were many people mulling about, most of them talking and laughing with one another. I rode slowly, my eyes casting left and right so that I could take in all the glorious commotion. No one seemed particularly disturbed or even aware of my presence, but occasionally a pair of eyes would drift over me and then look away. Cesar seemed as interested in the lively stretch as I, he kept his ears pricked and watched the brightly clad people who bustled in and out of the establishments lining the street. We moved cautiously together and came to another even narrower street that wound off of this one. I asked Cesar to stop and swung down from his back, my gaze still on the dark street. A faint red light seemed to cast over everything along the tiny stretch and I saw several young women loitering about together in huddles outside various establishments. This fascinated me, and ignoring Cesar’s persistent nudges (Wise Cesar! Even he knew better!), I tethered him to a nearby post and left him with the muttered promise of my return.

I had just begun to move down the crimson street when I became aware of several voices calling. It took a moment more for me to realize they were calling to me, a fact that both frightened and excited me. I turned my gaze this way and that, pulled by the taunts and random lewd promises hurled at me. I had heard of the existence of such places, a market for flesh, where men could pay to have their carnal urges satisfied. Until this moment I had never seen the reality of such a place and my senses raged at the very idea. I noted the dark alleyways that ran between several of the buildings along the stretch. These seemed to be the choice for many of the patrons to take their whores, and I gawked unabashedly at pair after pair rutting in brazen display out in the open with no care of being seen. I had never seen the act of love and I was utterly transfixed! I thought on the apt description Shakespeare had used in his Tragedy of Othello, “making the beast with two backs.” For that was precisely what coupling appeared and sounded like, what with all the moaning and primal crying out. The women were taken against the wall, and their customers hunched and grunted like boar hogs against them, growling and thrusting upward and inward. I couldn’t imagine the fairer of the pair had any enjoyment of the affair, the dominant partner seeming to alone take all the pleasure. Something seemed wrong with that to me, and though I felt an ache deep in my loins and a painful stab of need, I doubted I could be so heartless. (This must sound mad coming from a detestable, murdering monster such as myself, but as you will discover throughout, my twin dispositions were entirely in contrast to one another. My deep running malevolence was matched by an equally tender side, especially in consideration of the gentler of the two sexes.)

My thoughts on the matter were abruptly interrupted when I felt a hand reach out and grab my arm. Frightened, I pulled back and turned on the pursuer to find a stout woman with a dirty face and long tangled hair smiling up at me. When she talked, she revealed a set of teeth that immediately made me remember Cesar who was still waiting for me. “What will it be, monsieur?” she asked. Her voice was as harsh as her appearance. She boldly pushed her body against me (for I stood frozen to the ground in fear). “What do you desire?” Her hand smoothed down the front of my breeches and cupped my crotch. I did find the ability to move at that point, staggering back in shock, not at the woman’s forwardness but at my response. For though my mind wildly rejected what was taking place, there seemed to be another part of me that was all too willing. This seemed to be quite apparent to the woman before me who sauntered forward with a tsk, tsk, tsk.

“Don’t be frightened, monsieur,” she said with a grin. “Let Monique fix that for you.” I followed her gaze, looking down to find myself in such a state that mortification washed over me like a tidal wave. I hastily pulled my cloak about me, hiding the evidence of my disgusting arousal and turned to leave. A hand caught me, stopping me short and I turned to face the self proclaimed Monique once again. “A shy one,” she said, and her gaze fell on my mask for the first time. She seemed intrigued, but didn’t address it. “Come,” she snaked her hand past my drawn cloak and found her mark again. Like a lustful beast, I allowed it, the pounding strain in my loins beating out the waning cries of my conscience. “You will enjoy this,” she said, and she took my hand and led me to a dark crevice.

I was trembling and felt sick with fear as the whore Monique positioned me against the wall. Having no experience in what was about to happen, I felt faint. The fact that the blood had rushed from my face and every other part of my body seemed logical on the sight of my released organ which swelled to the point of pain. In another place, alone and with my sordid thoughts, I would have eased this torment efficiently with my own hand. Here, with a plump, eager whore looming chest high in front of me, I found the strain of my shameful erection beyond comprehension. I had no idea what she planned to do, but as it was I that was up against the wall and not her, I feared my recently gathered knowledge about the procedure was irrelevant. There was little doubt who was in control here, a fact that came startlingly clear when the meaty hand grasped and stroked me from base to tip.

“Mon dieu,” the whore exclaimed. She seemed wholly impressed with something, though I couldn’t attest to what. My eyes were shut tight and I was struggling to stay standing against the wall. The hot little fist that moved along my tortured length seemed to do so with a vengeance. I swallowed hard and fought back a groan, overwhelmed as I was at having another’s touch in such a place. The private attentions I afforded myself at home were often long and drawn out, taking place more in my mind than in the actual physical setting. I had to rely on imagined fantasies that played out behind my closed lids as I brought myself along to eventual release. But here, the stark reality and deviant circumstance of the act was about to force me to come undone at any moment. A woman was willingly pleasuring me, touching me and stroking me with great fervor. It was a sensation I had not thought I’d live to experience.

And all at once the vixen stopped her hand and stepped back. I opened my eyes, feeling like a mere shadow floating, the raging heat and throb of my organ the only true living part of me. It was as though all my being had rushed to that one junction between my legs, and the torture of it was crippling. “Why?” I panted with a pleading need. “Why did you stop?”

“You must pay me if you want me to continue,” the whore said flatly. She looked at me with complete indifference and held out her palm. I felt the humility and helplessness crash around me at once, knowing that I hadn’t any money. I stood with my obscene cock standing out from my fine clothes, and watched as the whore threw up her hands in disgust. She hurled an insult at me and spit, directly on the tip of my aching member, a final torturous act that caused the loathsome thing to twitch in response. She turned on her heel and left me, I supposed, to deal with my deplorable state alone.

I soon found out that I was wrong, however. In groups of twos and threes, the wretched woman brought her colleagues to see the despicable beast who had come with no money and was now paying the price of a healthy cockstand that would not be relieved. I felt a deep tearing pain as the memory stirred of another time in my life when I had been put on display, my unfortunate malady deemed worthy entertainment for others. Here I found myself nearly a quarter of a century later, pointed to and laughed at in as disgraceful a state as any might imagine. If one could die of shame, I would have dropped on the spot.

I don’t know how, but I managed to force myself back into the confines of my breeches and pulling my cape around me I shoved through the leering mob that had gathered. The anger I should have felt was no match for my deep sickening humiliation. I all but ran to Cesar who was looking anxiously for me and whinnied upon my sight. It was with great difficulty that I climbed into the saddle; the torment done to my poor body had left me sore and sensitive in places I shuddered to acknowledge. I therefore stood in the stirrups, hovering just slightly over the seat of the saddle and pushed Cesar into a full out gallop. We went racing through the streets past the admonitions and curses of those we nearly trampled. We bypassed the route to the opera house, and instead we ran back to the outskirts of Paris and the grassy meadow. We didn’t stop until we reached the tree line, and being able to go no further, I reined Cesar to an abrupt halt and leaped from his back. I left his reins over his neck, securing them over the saddle by pulling a stirrup iron through the thin laced leather so that they wouldn’t fall over Cesar’s head, as he was quite set on grazing. I allowed him the freedom, certain he would stay close. I then took it upon myself to adjourn to a nearby twisted tree trunk.

For whatever reason, I found that I couldn’t do what I must under the watchful eye of Cesar, and so I turned to face the dark woods, still leaning against the tree and with fumbling hands I loosed my painful organ. It was nearly flaccid now, but the ache further down was so excruciating that I could scarcely breathe. I knew I had to find release, as perverse as it was to do so at such a time and in such a place. So, like the hideous creature I was, living on the edge of humanity and monstrosity, I awakened my inner demon and called forth sinister visions of young chorus girls in their beds, and even rutting couples in dark alleyways.

I cried as I committed the filthy act. I cried for the memory of the boy in the cage. I cried for the broken heart that no one seemed to notice. I cried for the man I would never be.
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Memoirs of a Monster