Author’s Notes and Disclaimers: There aren’t any really, this time! This is my own, original story, so all characters and situations, copyright E. Friedman, 2000, all rights reserved.
My great thanks to the Fanfic Revolution for their editing and assistance with my writing and to Pattie for everything else.
Sex and the Single Otaku
“It’s the short skirts,” Dan says with finality, raising his voice to be heard over the too-loud background music.
I walk into the living room with two mugs of coffee, placing them on the side table between couch and lounge chair, momentarily blocking his view of the TV. He cranes his head around me, making a big deal of that, and laughing at the rude noise I make.
“How many times have you seen this scene, anyway?” I glance over my shoulder in time to see the requisite full frontal nudity of the heroine’s transformation. I can tell that she’s sixteen – she has nipples. The heroines of 14 or younger are always shown in genteel silhouette.
“No idea,” Dan picks up the coffee mug and sips it, without testing to see how hot it is. He makes a face, drinks deeper. The coffee has passed muster. I sit down on the couch, close to the side table, my feet tucked up underneath me.
We watch for a few minutes, pointing out our favorite moments of music, animation, character. Eventually an obligatory panty shot comes up and we cheer, thanking the heavens for magical girls and censors who are blind to certain things.
“C’mon, admit it – it’s the short skirts.” He insists.
I shake my head, emphatic in my denial. “Not for me. While I admit they have their appeal, I’m just not a leg girl. And panties do nothing for me.” He smiles at that. It’s one of the few things we have in common. Neither of us understands the Japanese national obsession with girls’ panties.
Dan isn’t really a friend, per se. We have hardly anything in common, we haven’t known each other long as such things go – maybe a few years. We met in the video store, in the Anime section and have been getting together roughly once a week to watch Japanese cartoons and talk about sex. We like to discuss what makes these characters intrinsically sexy. Sometimes we talk about what we like, or what we fantasize. Mostly we talk about the characters, their loves, their kinks, their sexual fantasies.
It’s verbal masturbation and we both know it. We like it that way. Like cybersex should be – it’s clean, it’s fun, it’s obligation free and no one gets hurt. Sometimes it even gets heated. Sometimes I wish there were more, sometimes he does. But never at the same time.
Dan likes the girls topless, or in short skirts. He goes for the young, sweet characters. I like them older, creepier, cooler, more competent. He likes them fragile and soft, I like them cynical and hard. We never agree on anything, except the panty thing. I like tentacles, mutations, demons with a millions arms, he likes mecha, explosions, giant robots. He likes the heroes to win; I like them awash in a sea of melancholic tragedy.
Tonight’s feature is a demon-hunting teenager, her battle against the evil demon who has designs on her virginity, and the requisite full-frontal transformation sequence. I love this series; it’s derivative on so many levels. The character is supposed to be naïve, in that sweet-sixteen kind of way, but Dan and I don’t buy it.
“Ah,” he says callously, “she’s been doing it since she was 14. Probably went off with some older guy…”
I throw a pillow at him, scandalized. “No way! Otherwise she couldn’t be a demon hunter, duh!” I fill my voice with derision, but then demur. “On the other hand, she is pretty hot…if there was someone that good looking in my school, I wouldn’t have cared that she had a greater destiny.”
He throws the pillow back and uses the same tone. “That never counts, duh. Only sex with a guy counts.”
I grin evilly at him. “I know.” He grins back and we share a laugh. We’ve talked about that a thousand times. He sees it as an expression of institutionalized sexism, I see it as an open invitation. We don’t agree on that, either.
On the TV screen, the demon antagonist – a woman – has appeared. She’s even hotter than the heroine and we spend a few moments wolfing about her.
“You just know she’s going to be into bondage and leather,” I comment, hopefully. He sneers, shifting slightly in his seat. I can see he’s a little turned on, but tactfully say nothing.
The she-demon doesn’t disappoint, showing up in an outfit that defies the laws of physics. She’s busty, something Dan likes, and evil, something I like. I can feel myself on the edge of excitement, as the evil chick uses her powers to seduce our innocent heroine. The demon’s voice actress is sultry, practically purring her Japanese into the ingenuous demon hunter’s ear. Her bright eyes go dark, flat, she melts into the demon’s embrace. They kiss.
The room is silent, each of us in our own world. I like this about Dan – he doesn’t mind the silence. He doesn’t need to comment, or laugh and he isn’t embarrassed when the scenes get hot. He just enjoys them in his own way, as I do. We watch the demon’s long slender hand caress the demon-hunter’s firm breasts, listen in rapt silence as our noble heroine moans, seduced by more than the dark side of the force.
Lips to breasts, more moans. We can’t take our eyes off the screen, neither of us saying much. We bask in the low-level turn-on of this sex twice removed. I know without looking that Dan’s turned on, and I can hear his breath, a little raspy, as the demon lays our intrepid (but not for much longer) heroine onto the bed, moving between her legs.
The animation is artistic in what it leaves to the imagination. Bodily fluids are prominent, anatomy is not. We add our own detail in, shaping the pubis, coloring in hair, adding in details. The background music swells, as does the demon, as she begins to take more than fluids from the poor girl. Her body distorts, mutates, forming tentacles that wrap and bind the plucky demon-hunter, in that complex and artistic way the Japanese prefer.
As orgasm hits them, their moans crescendo into an aria of sexual sounds, accompanied by my delighted cheers, and Dan’s grunts of annoyance. Together the four of us weather the throes of sexual release, my cheers turn to groans as the heroine finds her inner power. Focusing her ki, she uses her own sexual energy, now released through orgasm, drawing her own energy back from the demon. No longer lovely, the demon is a figure of vile aspect, (as the heroine would say) and in turn begins to wither, her own energy expended.
Dan turns to me, radiant with satisfaction. “And thus, good once again triumphs over evil.” he says, finishing a single beat before the heroine says the same exact thing to the now defeated demon.
I sigh with exaggerated displeasure at his smirking face. “The sex is nice, but I loathe a demon hunter who gloats.” I say, pretending to be the demon, as I always do.
After the credits are over, Dan helps me clean up the coffee mugs and the bags of munchies that lay sprawled across the table. He gets his coat and leans in to kiss me lightly on the cheek. I give him a quick squeeze, then let my hands linger as we slowly separate. I grin at him. Tonight its my turn to wish that there was something there, some chemistry between us, something that might smolder and one night, burst into flame.
I wave to him as he walks down the path, calling after to him, thanking him for the great sex. I know he’ll blush. I know he’ll laugh. I know that he’ll go home know and I wonder, as I shut the door, if it’s the nubile demon hunter he’ll be thinking of, or the demon…or me.