Kyouki Shoujo: Part 10, New Student on Page 5

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Kyouki Shoujo: Part 10, New Student on Page 5

Post by kosherbacon » Wed Jun 09, 2010 12:28 am

aka Insanity Girls

You can blamethank GG Crono for the title.
Yamaku is not for mental patients.
But Saint Pfil's Specialty Academy is.

Here, we meet my Misha analogue, the de facto main character, along with the counterparts to Shizune, Hisao, and Mutou. More characters will follow, along with a good deal of mindfuckery.

I tried treating Not!Shizune's disability with sensitivity and care but all 5 minutes of internet research taught me that Tourette's patients really can and do randomly swear like that. I still tried focusing on unintelligible verbal tics instead of spontaneous profanity. Yet, I'm not 100% satisfied with how her dialogue ended up. I like Not!Misha better because she's a mean bitch and therefore more fun to write.

Canon Katawa Shoujo characters will show up later.

...And Leave a Beautiful Corpse

Aimi Kondou was wheeled out of her hospital room out into the halls. She sipped a brown, gelatinous mixture out of a sealed plastic cup through a straw and choked down its contents. It looked like vomit. It tasted like vomit. For all she knew, it probably was vomit. She'd rather not consume that crap but she was sick and tired of the doctors giving her a hard time for not eating and drinking what they wanted her to.

“Good evening, Miss Kondou,” the big fat doctor greeted Aimi when she was piloted into her office. “How are you feeling?”

“Eh. Why are my parents here?”

“We are all gathered here to discuss your plans for the future.”

“So what, you're a guidance counselor in addition to being a doctor and a fat-ass?”

“Aimi, please,” her mother pleaded. “Listen to what the doctor has to say.”

“This is all for the best,” her father added.

“Anyways, your parents and I have been talking about the possibility of sending you to a new school. It's an elite boarding school, built for the modern world. Many, many successful people have attended.”

“I already go to an elite boarding school.”

“This one's different and is more suited to your needs. Here, watch this tape.”

The old fart of a doctor popped the “tape” into the DVD player's tray and turned on the TV.

“This is Saint Pfil's Specialty Academy,” the bombastic narrator announced, “an award winning comprehensive educational compound with campuses that serve all manners of gifted students, from infancy to adulthood.”

“The school teaches everything from preschool to high school, feeding directly into top-rated universities around the country, plus it contains some technical and junior college courses for adults,” the doctor said, interrupting the video. “You'll be going to the high school there.”

“Go on,” Aimi sighed, uninterested.

The tape went on, showcasing staged scenes of school life. The campus's sleek steel, concrete, and glass buildings were complimented by the uniforms of the students. Pupils were shown strutting around in white shirts, light gray blazers, and navy blue pants and skirts. Aimi noticed how their neckties were the same pale gray-blue as the hospital gown she was wearing. The warm weather uniform was topped with white tennis shirts trimmed in the same light blue as the neckties. Glaringly, the uniforms all seemed to lack visible buttons, giving the uniforms a slightly futuristic feel.

The narrator guided the viewers through scenes of school activities, showing fit athletes, brilliant would-be-scholars, and... a class full of shifty eyed dimwits who appeared to clap randomly with their mouths dangling open.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Aimi shouted out, mashing the remote control's “stop” button with a clenched fist. “You're sending me to a school for RETARDS?!”

“Aimi,” her father admonished, “that is a very bad word. Besides, nobody is saying you're 'retarded.'”

“Miss Kondou,” the doctor corrected her assumptions, “St. Pfil's high school teaches only exceptional students who are capable of performing at a high school level. Those children you saw are indeed developmentally challenged, but scholastically, they are very, very intelligent.”

“An idiot savant is still an idiot.”

“I'm sorry, Aimi, this is the only way,” her mother admitted, “this school specializes in children with emotional and psychological... difficulties. There, you can be taken care of better than your father and I could.”

“So that's how it is. I've gone from being retarded, to crazy, to straight up being troublesome. Do they have therapists there?”

“Yes,” the doctor answered, “every student gets monthly, weekly, or biweekly one-on one counseling sessions with qualified therapists. In addition, there are group therapy programs and all the teachers are experienced with...”

“So I'll be sure to mention to the shrinks how fucking rotten my parents are.”



“Ah, good,” a silver haired foreign man greeted Aimi after she was led to his office at the school. “Miss Aimi Kondou, is it? I'm Professor Leslie Peppard. How do you like the uniform?”

“It's alright, I guess. This jacket makes me look fat.”

Aimi tugged at the clips and low-profile zippers that fastened her outfit together. Apparently some students have a tendency to eat buttons. Her necktie was a clip-on to prevent its use as a weapon or instrument of suicide. Only after making several calls to the hospital she stayed at before and running around back and forth between school school offices was she able to get permission to have pockets.

“Well,” the teacher noted, scanning Aimi over from head to toe with his big, glassy eyes, “it's actually quite warm outside. We do have tennis-style shirts to wear when you get hot.”


“I said, when it gets hot. You know, the weather.”


“Anyways, Aimi. May I call you Aimi? I'll be your homeroom teacher for the remainder of your time at St. Pfil's. Here, we follow our class of students from entry to graduation, then back to the first years to start the cycle over again. It gives us an opportunity to effectively track the progress of our students in the long term. I myself enjoy watching young women such as yourself blossom into budding fountains of womanhood.”


“Nothing. Sorry, my Japanese isn't as good as it should be. Anyways, it says here that aside from special dietary needs, you don't have any medications currently prescribed.”

Mister Peppard shuffled through Aimi's file and glanced over a long list of amphetamines, diuretics, anorectics, and laxatives.

“However, there is quite a list of medications on your banned list. If you need any drug, and I do mean anything, even if it's for a headache, you'll have to sign off for it at the nursing office and pick it up at the pharmacy window, do you understand?”


“Okay then, that's pretty much it. Lessons are going to begin in about twenty minutes. I'll show you where my classroom is.”


Mr. Peppard walked Aimi over to a seat in her new classroom. Instead of desks, the seats were arranged around circular tables, with four or five chairs per table. The wheeled chairs were comfortable but very heavy. Mr. Peppard said that this was to discourage students from throwing them. That revelation made Aimi very nervous.

She wondered what kind of students her classmates would be. Would they be drool-machines who wear helmets, schizos who talk to invisible people, or maybe even constant masturbators? Aimi's hands got clammy and her breath paused as the first of the students came into the room. They were... normal.

A boy and a girl sat at Aimi's table without any direction, indicating that she had been added to their study group. While the teacher briefly introduced the class to Aimi, she sized up her study partners. The boy was about a head taller than her and was stocky in build. He had gentle eyes and a quiet expression that clashed with his mohawk. The girl had board-straight black hair that ran down to her shoulders, with her bangs cut straight across, the opposite of Aimi's wavy curls that flowed past halfway down her back. She was a bit chubby too. Aimi started feeling bloated just looking at her.

“Hey, I'm Kouta, Kouta Ishii,” the boy introduced himself, politely.

“I'm Aimi Kondou,” she replied, flashing her expensively straight teeth.

“I'm Izumi Kimura,” the fatty interjected, “nice to meet you, K-K-K-CUNT!”

“The fuck you just call me?!” Aimi shot up from her chair, shoving it back into another student, while grabbing the mechanical pencil she smuggled into the school.

“Easy, easy!” Kouta frantically yanked Aimi back into her chair while Izumi sat there looking terrified at Aimi's perfectly understandable reaction. “She doesn't mean it.”

“What do you mean by that?” she skeptically asked.

“I ha-K-K-K-KA-have Tourette's syndrome,” Izumi shyly responded, twitching with every unintelligible sound that trickled into her speech. “Usually I do-DAH don't swear like that. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah-huh,” Aimi mumbled with a non-believing eye roll before she turned her attentions to Kouta. “What about you? What are you in here for?”

“It's a long story,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

“Ey, Kouta, what's up with that guy?” Aimi asked, pointing at how Mr. Peppard seemed completely oblivious to the schoolyard shanking that almost happened, instead focusing his attention down some girl's shirt.

“Him? Yeah he used to teach at a place like this back in America but he's not allowed around children there anymore so he started teaching here.”

Between her teacher's molester tendencies, Kouta's evasiveness and Izumi's spazzing out, Aimi could tell it was going to be a long year and a half until graduation.


After three months, Aimi managed to adapt to life at her new school, just barely. Her only friend, or rather the person who tolerated her the most was Kouta, whom she dubbed “Kokou.” Izumi, on the other hand, was still her rival at best and mortal enemy at worst. Their mutual animosity hung over Kouta's head like a dark cloud as he tried staying friends with both girls.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Mr. Peppard announced, “to our new student council president, Izumi Kimura!”

“Wait, wait!” Aimi protested after a round of polite applause, throwing her hand in the air and waving it excitedly. “When were the elections?”

“Uh, well not until next week. However, nobody else is running against her.”

“I nominate myself!” Aimi shouted, to everyone's dismay.

“Are you sure?”

“Hell yeah! There's no rule against candidates being from the same room, are there?”

“Well, no.”

Aimi eagerly filled out a nomination form while Izumi smugly watched. Aimi was an elected officer on the student council every year at her old school, and was a shoe-in for president before she got ill. As THE popular girl from schools much more elite than St. Pfil's, her victory over a fatso who could barely speak correctly was assured.


“ for me, and your dreams of respect from your peers will come true!”

The audience at the pep rally were silenced in awe. Aimi rehashed an old campaign speech from a past election and eloquently promised to bring glory to the school, elevating the herd of retards into a force to be reckoned with through emphasis on athletic excellence, scholarly competition with other schools, and better funding for internal school events to improve morale.

Aimi was an idol who stood on a whole level above Izumi. There was no way she could lose. As they say, in the kingdom of the blind, the man with one eye is king, right?

She strutted her way past Izumi, who was the most calm and serious Aimi had ever seen her. The poor girl must have been terrified of her competition. Izumi slowly approached the stage's microphone and cleared her throat.

“K-K-Ku... Ha...He...” Izumi struggled to squeeze out some intelligible words, then hastily spilled out her entire speech before her impediment ruins it.

“Hello everybody. Thank you for the support you have all lent me in the six years since I've become your classmate back in elementary school. I hope to have many more pleasant experiences with you in the coming year. Thank you very much.”

The audience exploded in applause after her weak excuse for a speech. Surely, they were cheering out of pity, right? Aimi coldly ignored what she heard and dismissed it as Izumi's planted cheerleaders or maybe even a hallucination. The election results will show that smug tweeker who's the boss.

Izumi Kimura: 985, Aimi Kondou: 3.


“Ugh, I don't get it, Kokou.”

Aimi ignored her canned liquid meal and dropped her head on the cafeteria table the day after the results were announced, drooling all over the surface.

“I'm sorry, Aimi,” Kouta said, patting down her head, “I tried warning ya. EVERYONE loves Izumi.”

“What's she got that I don't? She doesn't have any charm, charisma, style...”

“No offense, but she gets along with just about everybody except you. I mean, with your speech, you pretty much dissed the whole school! We don't want to be better than what we are. We are what we are and we've accepted each other a long time ago.”

“I'll ignore everything you just said and accept that it's just because I'm a newcomer. Come on, man, three votes?!”

“I voted for you, and so did Izumi.”

“Really? So add myself and...”

“Wait, you voted for yourself?! That's bad form, dude.”

“Don't even. I already feel bad that my two legit votes came out of pity.”

“Okay, I'll drop it. Aren't you burning up wearing that jacket? It's really hot today.”

“I get cold easily,” Aimi grumbled, sitting back up. “Anyways, where's Ms. President-Elect right now?”

“I think I saw her over by the payphones. She usually calls her boyfriend during lunchtime.”

“What?” she squinted in disbelief. “That bitch has a boyfriend?! For my peace of mind, I've got to go settle some things with her.”

“No! Aimi, don't!” Kouta grabbed out, trying to stop Aimi as she got up.

“Relax. This is how minor disagreements get settled back in the real world.”

Aimi stormed off towards the main offices to confront Izumi at the payphones, with an increasingly growing entourage following behind, despite Kouta's best efforts and dispersing them.

“H-H-Hey babe,” Izumi said into the reciever, sensing danger, “I go-KA-gotta go. Love you.”

“Izumi!” Aimi approached, cracking her knuckles. “I suppose some congratulations are in order.”

“K-Why thank you,” Izumi twitched out in response.

Aimi sent a fist flying towards Izumi, pounding a ringing sound out of the payphone as she smashed into the keypad.

“Wha-KA-What's this all about?” Izumi asked, unfazed by Aimi's threatening display.

“The fuck you mean what's this all about? You've had it in for me from day one, strutting around like little miss perfect, thumbing your nose at me.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Wee wee, look at mee,” Aimi held up a bent wrist to her face and sneered, imitating the face of a stereotypical mentally handicapped person. “My name is Izumi and ebberybuddy loves meee durr durr.”

“If you're d-done, I'd like to g-K-go now. I have some things to settle, cunt.”

“Oh, there you go again with your random swearing.”

“I meant it, this time.”

“That's it!” Aimi screamed, grabbing Izumi by the hair while she nonchalantly walked away.

With two hands digging into her scalp, Izumi was yanked backwards, and got a knee to the lower back. She struggled her way back around at slapped Aimi repeatedly in the face.

Soon, both girls were swinging at each other with their heads ducked down. A huge crowd had gathered around, cheering them on while Kouta struggled to push his way through to break them up.

With a trip behind the leg, Aimi sent Izumi flat on her butt. Her face red with rage, Aimi sent a fist swinging up to crash down on her arch-nemesis. On the downswing, she targeted Izumi's terrified face and...

...things went black. The last thing she saw was the world tilting as she fell sideways and Kouta squeezing his way through the crowd, reaching out to her.



Out in the darkness, someone was calling out to Aimi, and having a hard time at it.


It was Izumi. With her soul slowly returning to her body, she resumed her last movement before fainting. Limply, Aimi's fist flew across the bed and landed over the edge, dangling.

“Ugh, what do you want?”

“I was wa-WA-waiting for you to wake up. You fainted.”

“Wasn't I kicking your ass? Am I in the nurse's office? I ought to thank Kouta for bringing me here.”

“AcK-Ktually, I carried you here myself.”

“No you didn't.”

“Yes, I did. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Aimi groaned, not believing that she managed to defeat herself, needing Izumi of all people to rescue her.

“No, you aren't. I heard the staff doc-CUNT-tor saying that you have a history of these things.”

“It's none of your goddamned business. Now get out.”

“Okay, then,” Izumi disarmingly smiled. “I'm glad you're feeling better. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Aimi dozed off once she was alone. It was a fainting spell that got her into that school to begin with. She wondered if she'd somehow get kicked out and sent into a school for super-retarded kids.


The next school day was tense and uneasy for Aimi. She avoided talking to Izumi even more than she usually did. Why did Izumi take care of her, carrying her to the nurse's office and even watching over her as she slept? What kind of game was she playing?

The sad truth eventually weaseled its way into her mind. Izumi really was a nice girl and Aimi was just being a bitch the whole time. The concern had to be genuine. As she shuffled off to the cafeteria for lunch, she heard Izumi get summoned back to Mr. Peppard's class over the loud speakers. With two sides of her heart wrenching their way apart, Aimi decided to meet Izumi there. She had no idea what to say, nor was she willing to thank her, but at the very least she could call for a cease-fire.

“Miss Kimura,” Mister Peppard audibly scolded from within, “cat fights are NOT how class presidents conduct business. Now tell me, who started it?”

Aimi slowly pushed the door open. Peppard had a tearful Izumi backed into a corner. Something seemed wrong, though. This wasn't a normal disciplinary scolding. Things seemed predatory this time.

“chK-I did, Professor.”

Aimi's heart sank into her stomach, forcing a few tears out. Even after everything, Izumi was going to take the blame for the fight.

“You know,” he softly said, holding up Izumi's chin with his curled fingers, “as the staff advisor to the student council, I could throw out the results of the election. In fact, I could dissolve student council entirely.”

Mr. Peppard's hand drifted down to Izumi's knee, dragging her skirt up as he brought it back up.

“But that doesn't have to happen. Do you think we could come to some... agreement so you could stay in office?”

“N-No. I'll K-K-quit.”

“Aww, that's no good, Izumi, dear. Let me tell you a little secret. Every student council president since I became the advisor has been a girl. Do you know why that is? That's because they all know to go that extra mile to get ahead in life.”

“T-That's not tch-true.”

“Here, let me show you something,” he said, backing off momentarily to bring his computer out of sleep-mode and open up the contents of a DVD. ”See? Every student council officer knows how to make little sacrifices to get an office. It's just a fact of life. Someone like you will have to do it in the real world too, out in the job market.”

“N-No, I won't do that. I refuse.”

“I'll do it, teach!” Aimi happily announced, bursting in through the door. “You can just like, kick Izumi out of the race for the fight and give me the job. After all, I was the only other candidate and it would be disappointing to not have any student government for next year!”

“M-Miss Kondou,” Peppard stammered, reaching into his pants to hastily tuck his erection under his belt to hide it, “what brings you here?”

“I want to be class president, Professor. And unlike goody-two-shoes over here, I'm up for whatever.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You've seen my my transcripts, and you've seen my actual grades since I've started here. I've fucked my fair share of teachers to get where I am.”

“So that's how it is, eh? You could learn something from your friend here, Miss Kimura.”

Stunned, Izumi inched her way out of the room, only to be stopped when Aimi grabbed her arm on the way out, who grabbed her by the cheeks to give her a kiss.

“Hey, would you be interested in a job as vice-president?”

“Ew...K-Get away from me,” she cried out, trying to squirm away.

“Stay here, I need you,” Aimi whispered into Izumi's ear, only adding to her confusion.

With Izumi still in the class, not knowing what else she could possibly do, Aimi pushed Peppard backwards over onto his desk and straddled him. Eagerly, she unzipped his trousers and pulled his member out to knead it with one hand while reaching into her pocket with the other.

“You're quite a girl, Aimi. A girl like you is fun-sized. I could have a really great time throwing you arou... AH! What are you doing?”

“I'm glad you like me, Professor,” Aimi replied deviously, clamping down on Peppard's testicles while stretching his scrotum outwards towards her. She popped open a ballpoint pen she had with her to unsheathe a serrated letter opener.

“It's like this,” she said, holding the edge of the blade against his skin, ready to castrate him in one swift movement, “I would like to be president. Or rather, co-president with Izumi.”

“Fuck you, you skinny little bitch.”

“WRONG ANSWER!” She shouted, following a diabolical laugh while slowly dragging the edge against his stretched scrotal skin. “Do we have the job or what?”

“Ugh, fine, fine. Just take that shit away from my balls.”

“And can we cut class whenever we want?” Aimi demanded, drawing a small amount of blood. “And curve the shit out of our grades so we stay on top? And letters of recommendation whenever we ask?!”

“Yes, yes, anything.”

“Izumi, baby, go get that disc full of student-body porn out of his computer and get the hell out of here. Meet me in the town square in a half-hour.”

At a loss for words, Izumi obediently retrieved the disc and ran out of the room.

“What's that for?”

“Leverage, little man. To ensure you keep your end of the bargain, I'm going to mail that collection of yours back home. If you bother Izumi or any other girl in this whole fucking school, I'll have your balls, literally and figuratively.”

With a swipe upwards, Aimi yanked her knife into the air, leaving a deep gash that almost gave Mr. Peppard a half-vasectomy.

“It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Professor,” she smiled, blowing a kiss at him while he writhed on the desk, cradling his bleeding manhood.


“Wow,” Kouta gasped, “so you guys talked it over with Peppard and now you're BOTH president?”

“Yep!” Aimi grinned, proud of herself.

“Hey, Kokou, how about you, me, and Izzy go get a snack downtown?”

“Right now? Lunch doesn't start for over an hour!”

“Hell, yeah, right now! Official student council business. We have to plan for the transition of power next school year. You can be our um, sergeant at arms or something like that.”

“Well, I...” Kouta tried declining, just as Aimi grabbed him and Izumi by the hand and ran out of the room.

“Miss Kondou, Mister Ishii has work to do.”

Aimi answered by making a sawing gesture by her crotch with two fingers, then ran out the door with her friends.

“Hey Aimi,” Izumi said, poking at her shoulder, “thanks for yesterday.”

“For what, the ass kicking?”

“You know what chK-I mean.”

“No problem, Izzy, what are friends for?”

“Oh and Aimi...”



“What was that for?”

“That was for kissing me! You, you cu-chchk.” Izumi whined, biting her knuckle to keep from uttering her tick-word.

“What was that all about?” Kouta asked.

“Long story,” the two girls answered in unison.

Edit: Hey look, 9001st Fan Works post!
Last edited by kosherbacon on Tue Sep 14, 2010 9:33 am, edited 12 times in total.

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 1(Misha Clone)

Post by Saika » Wed Jun 09, 2010 12:58 am

kosherbacon wrote:a silver haired foreign man
For a second there, I thought you meant my character.
Great fic, keep it coming.

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 1(Misha Clone)

Post by Leotrak » Wed Jun 09, 2010 3:22 am


Write moar :P
"ice-cream-flavoured ice-cream" -Rin
"oh moe is me" -me
Numbered Days, my first piece of fanfic
Leotrak's Library, my other depository of written stuffs
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After: Emi>Rin>Hanako>Lilly>>>>>>>>>>>Shizune

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 1(Misha Clone)

Post by Smoku » Wed Jun 09, 2010 3:40 am

oh, finally posted.

I read it quite a time ago. The stories roll over the brain AND the heart. in a good way.

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 1(Misha Clone)

Post by Juno » Wed Jun 09, 2010 11:09 am

kosherbacon wrote:a silver haired foreign man ... Leslie Peppard
So he's the pedo SCIENCE offspring of Leslie Nielsen and George Peppard, eh?

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 1(Misha Clone)

Post by GG Crono » Wed Jun 09, 2010 12:05 pm

Had I taken a look at this before it was posted I may have suggested cutting back on the genital trauma a smidge, if only because it's rather difficult to read without cringing. >_>

That said, you're off to an interesting start here. I look forward to seeing what new depths you sink to where this story goes. ;)

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 1(Misha Clone)

Post by Smoku » Wed Jun 09, 2010 12:09 pm

Believe me, this here is soft-core compared to the rest.

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 1(Misha Clone)

Post by Leotrak » Wed Jun 09, 2010 1:00 pm

Smoku wrote:Believe me, this here is soft-core compared to the rest.
That only makes me more interested... Kosher, PM me some of that stuff you're sharing with Smoku, please :D
"ice-cream-flavoured ice-cream" -Rin
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Numbered Days, my first piece of fanfic
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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 1(Misha Clone)

Post by kosherbacon » Wed Jun 09, 2010 1:02 pm

I think that's it for genital abuse... So far.

Dont worry. The rest of thse stories will show up eventually.

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 1(Misha Clone)

Post by kosherbacon » Wed Jun 09, 2010 10:26 pm

...I'd like to imagine that Misha and Shizune employed much the same methods to get the same amount of class-cutting privileges from Mutou.
Juno wrote:So he's the pedo SCIENCE offspring of Leslie Nielsen and George Peppard, eh?
Well actually no, he's inspired by a realSure, why not. :)

We'll get back to Aimi and company later. Time to introduce a guy who started out as the Anti-Kenji, my counterparts for Emi and Rin, as well as a few others.

Don't worry, folks, no genital-directed violence in this one, just one hell of an unconventional romance.

Imagine Cornelio talking like The Most Interesting Man in the World, and read to the end...
SnigendePind wrote:MyBrainIsFullOfFuck.jpg

“Good afternoon, Mister Ota. How have you been doing this week?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“This week, I'd like to try something new. To get a feel for the current depth of your problem, why don't you guide me through a typical week in your life.”

“Well, uh...”


Kazuko burst into my room as if she lived there. Her excuse for coming here after every practice is that my room is situated exactly between the soccer field and the girls' dorms. She lied. I checked. Peeling her uniform and gear off one at a time, she left a trail of dirty items before dumping herself on my bed, face first.

“Rough day?”

“Ugh, you have no idea,” she groaned, “I swear, middle school kids keep getting fatter and slower every year. I've practically killed myself doing drills with the early sign-ups.”

Kazuko Abe is the captain of the school's soccer team. She has a tendency to overwork herself getting her teammates and hopefuls up to her standard. We started seeing each other like this earlier this year.

“Ey Hiraku, gimme a massage, will ya? My hamstrings are killing me.”

I sat on my bed and wedged my lap beneath her legs. Kazuko is an amazon with a figure that simply screams “I will break you.” I've got more fat in my gut than she has in her entire body. And I'm no fattie either.

Her toes cracked as I firmly kneaded the knots out of her legs, before moving up. She gave a laugh of amused exasperation at my intrepidity but did not protest further. Sad to say, I'm a little jealous of how well built her back and shoulders are. It doesn't help that she pokes, prods, and comments on my comparatively soft physique whenever she can.

Firmly grasping her shoulders, I whispered some forgotten come-on into her ear from behind. She stank, reeking of grass, mud, and B-O. And I liked it. There's just something about having the school superstar peel herself bare for me fresh out of practice that makes me dizzy with excitement.

“Be careful, little man. Just because I'm hurting doesn't mean I'll go easy on you.”

“I'd be disappointed if you would.”

It doesn't take too long for my massage to devolve(or evolve, depending on how you look at it) into our usual activities.

“Why're you stopping?” she indignantly pants out. “I'm not finished yet!”

“I-I.. ha... I'm fine.”

“Oy boy,” she teases, “getting winded with a little one-on-one? Why don't you stop by the field sometime for some conditioning?”

“And by conditioning you mean fucking in the equipment shed, right?”


“We did that, last time, remember?”

“Oh yeah... AH! There! Harder!” Kazuko bit her lip with satisfaction before grunting more commands.

“Now shut up and fuck me.”

The most satisfying part of being with Kazuko is getting to hit the showers by ourselves when we're done, when all the jocks are long gone after taking their turns. Kazuko used to shower before coming by, but that deprived me of the pleasure of getting to share a stall with her and well, continuing our workout.

Kazuko is one of those girls that always keeps you on your toes. She's hard to satisfy and is physically high maintenance. Everything is a competitive sport for her, from office chair racing to fellatio. She keeps me in top form but honestly, it'd be exhausting to be her boyfriend.

Oh yeah, did I mention that I'm not her boyfriend? We're just friends. With benefits. Kazuko might have a healthier than average libido but I am apparently a full blown sex addict. I lost my virginity in my second year of middle school to my homeroom teacher.

Nice huh? Best of all, she was one of those mega-hot teachers you see on the news. Well, no, not really, but she wasn't BAD looking. Since that first taste of honey, I've been hooked, my old yearbook was full of red Xs over the portraits of girls in my class, not that I was limited to that. First, I was a rumor, then a legend, then a curse to those around me.

To be honest, I didn't see what the big deal was at first. Everyone's got a dick or a pussy, and everyone wants to use them, right? A few well earned bloody noses from jealous boyfriends who couldn't keep their girls happy served as a wake-up call. My folks sent me to therapy and after every session, I'd feel relieved, happy and relaxed.

But that wasn't a good thing. Before long, I realized that therapy was just an unsexy orgasm shared with some old fart who probably thinks a g-spot is where gangsters go to buy drugs. Sure, my mind knew that I was lucky to be alive and uninfested with social diseases but none of those things matter whenever I was in the middle of the hottest girl I've seen all day.

Thank God I'm on good terms with the dorm leader and hall monitors, because I was sent to this school on the hopes that its system of institutionalized cock blocking would set me straight.


“So, whacha think?”

“It's... good. Very unique.”

“Liar. You hate it.”

“No, I don't hate it. I just... don't get it. It needs to grow on me first.”

“That's better. So anyway, wanna go see a movie or something?”


Wakana Yamazaki dug into my dresser and pulled out one of her going-out wigs, then asked me why I've got a girls' soccer uniform dangling out of my hamper. For some reason, my partners all have a habit of leaving their crap in my room. What can I say, I'm just really hospitable.

After giving Wakana's latest sound collage piece a couple more playthroughs, I got ready as well. She's a musician, sort of. After her experimental “industrial” band dissolved by way of psychotic breakdowns of her bandmates, she went off on her own to explore the boundaries of what could be called music. Her current obsession is rearranging and altering recordings of sounds and conversations from around the school into coherent pieces of music.

“Well, so much for that!” she laughed, putting down the microphone and grabbing the remote from my end of the table.

We ended up skipping a movie and went straight for karaoke. For a musician, Wakana sure couldn't sing worth a damn. She could compose masterpieces using woodworking tools but mastery of her own voice was beyond her. At first, I thought the guttural grunts she gave with pop songs was some high brow interpretation of hers but really, she was covering up the fact that she couldn't sing.

After my turn, we sat on our room's couch and stared at each other over drinks. Wakana liked being looked at. She wouldn't be wearing corpse paint and a blue dreadlocked wig if she didn't want attention. Getting gawked at by strangers was one of her hobbies.

Despite her very unapproachable appearance, she's actually a very friendly and laid back girl, as I and a few select friends of hers know. You could talk about anything and everything with her. I was extra special, though. I was familiar with the girl under the costume. Out of my current partners, she's the one I've been with the longest. I'd never actually get emotionally involved, though. She's never been one for romance or sentimentality.

“Wanna do it?”


Sex with Wakana needs very little fanfare or circumstance to get started. If we're both in the mood, which in our cases, is rather often, then we go for it once we're alone together. Sometimes even when we aren't alone together. The first time we had sex was actually during the intermission of a show of hers, in the middle of an audience that was too stoned to to care that there was a couple fucking among them.

After unlacing her patent leather pants, she laid back on the couch with her legs up. She developed a liking for anal sex and double penetration after one instance before she started taking birth control shots when we both really had to have it when neither of us had a condom. While having my way with her back door, she used a dildo for the other hole. I asked her if she wants to be with two men at once but she declined.

Good thing, too. I don't like to share, at least not with other guys. Also, I promised a mutual friend of ours that I wouldn't let her anywhere near strange men. More on that later.

After finishing, she took out a pack of sanitary wipes out of her backpack and we cleaned up. You never see porn address those sort of logistical concerns, do you? We left the building with Wakana latched onto my arm and snuggling closely, which is striking considering that we never hold hands or walk together closer than at arms length apart except after sex.

Looking into her contented eyes, I could see some trickling of fondness inside her. It's during these brief moments of post-coital tenderness that she really looks like girlfriend material. Almost.

Too bad my heart belongs to someone else.


The light from the sunset filtered through the curtains and filled the international cooking club's classroom with amber light. Using the key that the club president gave me, I locked the door behind me. With everyone else gone, Mayu and I were finally alone.

She was busy washing the bowl and attachments of a stand mixer while a creation of hers baked away in an oven. At a nearby desk, her uniform was neatly laid out, ready to throw on at a moment's notice. Even wearing only her apron, shoes, and her favorite sun hat, Mayu continued her kitchen business as if she was in the middle of class.

“What took you so long?” she asked, retrieving a bowl of handmade frosting from a lower shelf of the refrigerator, displaying her bare rear to me.

Instead of answering, I took the bowl of frosting out of her hand and placed it on the counter. After turning her around to face me, I kissed Mayu while caressing her back. Slowly and carefully, I judged her body language, analyzing her level of comfort through her breathing and adjusted my aggressiveness accordingly.

Mayu Fujiwara is the girl that took the longest to open up to me. She's every bit as standoffish and adversarial as you'd expect from a girl belonging to an ancient old-money family. Truthfully, I never thought I had any chance in hell scoring with nobility, but I will admit that such a conquest is worth bragging about. That is, if I was one to brag.

Just being friends with Mayu was a slow dance of strategy and patience. One false move or accidental display of rudeness and you're on her shit-list forever. Initially, we barely got along, but slowly, we became familiar with each other. The big surprise came when I finally felt comfortable enough to tell her why I go to this school.

I half-expected her to be thoroughly disgusted and ignore me forever, but instead, she smiled with relief and said “Mister Ota, I would like to give my innocence to you.”

No, seriously, that's what she said. I wouldn't have believed it if someone told me that either. You see, Mayu's family is ultra-old fashioned, with medieval customs and traditions. Once she's done with school, her family is going to marry her off to some cousin of hers in an arranged marriage. What is up with rich people and their incest?

Mayu decided that she wanted to be with me as an act of defiance. She wanted some part of her fate in her own hands. She wasn't about to give her most precious thing to an old man she barely knows, she wanted to give it to someone of her choosing. And apparently that someone was a commoner she befriended.

After that revelation, the floodgates opened. It turned out that Mayu was a total freak in the best way possible. On the outside, she was a quaint anachronism from days past, conducting herself with ladylike restraint with everything and sneaking in Victorian looking adornments onto her uniform. On the inside, she was a barely controlled explosion of passion. It wasn't enough to get defiled once, she wanted to be ravaged on a nearly daily basis. And that was fine with me. Even with her assertiveness, I couldn't shake the habit of being extra careful when dealing with her. But I suppose that sort of attentiveness went towards making me a better lover, overall.

Mayu sat up on the counter, took off her apron, and applied the frosting to herself with a rubber spatula. With her frilly hat, arms and face speckled with flour and batter, and naughty bits coated in white frosting, she looked like a wedding cake.

“It's delicious,” I noted, cleaning her off from the top down.

“The trick is to not go overboard with the sugar and vanilla,” she replied between quivers. “You can eat more of it when you're not overwhelmed.”

No argument from me. The frosting was smooth and complimented the main course she had prepared for me instead of overpowering it. After taking her where she wanted twice, we moved to one of the dining tables for my turn. I enjoyed my dessert to the fullest, licking away a stray spot of cake batter from her neck when I came.

Afterwards, we cleaned off the sticky residue with damp dishtowels and sprawled out onto the floor. The rough industrial grade berber carpet was harsh on our skin but easy to ignore. Next to me, I had a real lady. I was truly privileged to have her.


“Oh! The cake is done! Mr. Ota, dear, mind going to the supply pantry and getting some frosting? It seems that we're all out.”


“You know what your shirt says, right?”

“Hell if I know. What does it say?”

“It says 'Eat smugly die rich.' I... I guess it makes sense, sorta.”

Behold, Cindy Anderson, my own personal transoceanic cultural ambassador. Thanks to her, I'm very self conscious about the foreign gibberish that adorns my clothes.

In case you haven't figured out, Cindy is a foreign exchange student. She came here from the United States and had gleefully soaked herself in Japan, Japanese culture, and overall Japaneseness since then. I've always imagined her having a constant orgasm upon arrival to this country, spending hours in fluffy-headed fascination over things like what we have in convenience stores. Hell, she probably would get a kick out of getting molested on a train. I should try that with her sometime.

Hilariously, Cindy's biggest obsession are cartoons and comics. I grew out of that stuff when giant robots beating the crap out of each other stopped fascinating me in elementary school, but Cindy is probably the closest thing there is to a living cartoon character. She cosplays. Seriously. The first time she came back with me to my room, she kept trying to steal Wakana's wigs, trying to match them with costume ideas of hers.

She used to get on my nerves with her hyperactive bubbliness, but Cindy really taught me how to get over myself. Sometimes, when I'm with her, we don't even have sex at all. We just chat and play games like I'm a kid again, before I was a glorious all-conquering sex god.

“I don't get it,” I complained, watching one of Cindy's favorite cartoons on DVD. “It's just a high school soap opera. Why does it need to be animated?”

“Shh, watch.” she shushed me, watching the TV with those wide eyes of hers. Suddenly the two female protagonists who up until that moment were just best friends started having sex. “You can't do that with live action, can ya?”

“Hah, wow. Okay. You got me there.”

I'd hate to admit it, but I'm starting to get into the shows she likes to watch. I'm getting infected.

Remember how I said that we don't always have sex whenever we hang out? It's true, we don't. But we usually do. And when we do, it's quite an occasion. You see, Cindy is far more aggressive and adventurous than the other girls I'm with. She also is more honest and detailed when it comes to feedback and communicating what she wants and how she wants it. No timid squeaking from her while laying there nearly motionless, if Cindy isn't having a good time, she'll take matters into her own hands and fix the problem.

I can say that I've learned nearly as much on sexual technique from her as I have from all my other partners combined. The first time we were together, she made some comment about Japanese men being poorly equipped, whatever that means, and told me that she'd help me make up for my shortcomings.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm good at sex and I've gotten few complaints beyond “ouch, not there” and “my boyfriend is coming home,” but with Cindy, I've become a master. As my experimenting with her continued, I impressed the hell out of the others I was with.

That night, Cindy had me help her break-in one of her new costumes. I must say, she's quite a seamstress.

“Y-Yes... right there. C'mon baby, don't stop.”

With her sailor collar flapping, she guided my hips with her hand into a circular motion, striking her g-spot with every thrust. The costume is a bit weird but I'm well beyond caring.

She rolled over, pushing me with her hips against the wall, knocking some thumbtacks out of my posters. Clenching with some very well exercised internal muscles, she squeezed the life out of my member while grinding me against the wall with her butt.

“Cindy... I'm gonna...”

“N-No, Hiraku-kun! Don't...”

She reached down and pulled me out, pumping me between her thighs to finish me off. Cindy never had much faith in contraception.

“Oh no!” she cried, seeing that I just blew my load across the room and onto one of Wakana's wigs. “I was gonna use that!”

“Aw man, Wakana is gonna kill me.”


“Heeey, how's it going, my friend?” Cornelio greets me as I let him inside. “Are you ready to go make our marks on the town, yes?”

We headed out into town, with Cornelio hitting on every girl between the school, the bus, and the hangouts we end up visiting.

Armed with fake IDs, we stormed the town's hot spots, getting kicked out of progressively nicer places before ending up in the rather classy gentlemen's club that we usually end up at. Cornelio flashed his charm at the door and we settled into our usual private booth.

“I've been longing for your sublime grace for what surely has been many forevers, my flower of the orient.”

Right now, he looks like a bad stereotype with his slicked back hair, curly sideburns, and half open shirt to show off a huge white gold crucifix on a chain. However, to his favorite dancing girl, he's a regular Casanova. No, seriously. She dances on him for free. Now THAT is charm.

“Another glorious night for a pair of strapping young conquistadors, eh?” he congratulated me as we took a back alley route back to the school.

“Yeah, not bad,” I replied, “I'm no slouch with the ladies, but you've got them really figured out.”

“Practice makes perfect, my friend,” he smoothly said, reaching up to try putting his arm around my shoulder. “Learning your way around a woman is easy, but learning your way into a woman is what separates the men from the boys.”

“Hah, I know that.” Actually, my problem is NOT finding my way into women. But whatever. If Cornelio actually followed through with his flirting, he'd put me out of business.

“With just a little brush here, a strategically timed smile there,” he lecherously demonstrated with me, “and the ladies will be putty in your hands. Here, I show you.”

“Not this again...” I bemoaned, getting pressed against the wall by a little latin lover.

Joaquín Maria Cornelio Álvarez de la Concepción Alonso Rubio Sanz Marín Castro Serrano came to Japan several years ago when his father, a diplomat from Nicaragua, was assigned to the consulate in Tokyo. As a fortunate son of an aristocratic family with his future laid out for him, Cornelio developed the sort of classlessness and unrefinement that come with being idle and spoiled. In keeping with the expectations bestowed upon virile young men of his standing, Cornelio is a ladies' man who has studied and mastered the arts of romance and seduction.

And he's gay.

He'd never admit it, but Cornelio is definitely a man's man. He's even recited love poetry to me in Spanish. It was actually quite nice and indeed very romantic. That is, until I looked up the words and found that it was mostly about rippling muscles and thrusting. Having returned to my room, he pushed me down onto the bed and started planting kisses along my neck like he usually does.

“Dude, quit it. This is way too weird for me.”

“You say these things like a typical reserved Japanese man, but your manhood says otherwise.”

Cornelio and I started sleeping with each other about four months ago. To date, he's the only guy I've ever been with. Prior to that, we would just hang out, hooting and hollering at women in town. Then one day, he found some boys-love comics Cindy left in my room and got the impression that I was gay. He claims that it's perfectly normal for young men back in his country to experiment and educate themselves on each other to perfect their technique with women.

Yeah, right. How am I supposed to learn anything about being with women if he's always on top? Still, he IS charming, and I really don't mind being with him once we get started. It's just the workup that feels weird.


I woke up as sore as I usually am whenever Cornelio visits. The comforting sensation of warm skin against mine reminded me that I wasn't alone. It wasn't Cornelio, though. A different sleeping face was dozing off next to me. It was Mariko.

Even with my lifestyle, I still get surprised whenever I wake up next to someone unexpected. I pulled the sheets up to cover up Mariko while carefully avoiding looking directly at her breasts. She'd kick my ass if I actually saw her naked. At the risk of waking her up, I took a finger and peeled the curly locks that made up Cornelio's “sideburns” off her cheeks. It's a shame that she's soaked in his overbearingly strong cologne. Mariko smells so nice on her own.

Mariko Ito is a bit different than the others. To be honest, she's my best friend. We grew up together on the same street. As children, we used to play make-believe in the playground. She was quite an expert at pretending. The grown-ups never did understand her back then. After a while, her “pretending” got worse and when we were in the middle of elementary school, she went away to go to a special school.

When I started having issues of my own, fate brought us back together at St. Pfil's and we became just as inseparable as before. Unlike the adults who thought I was a freak, the boys who thought I was a smug jerk to be envied and hated, and the girls who thought I was a monster, Mariko accepted me for who I was while I accepted her for whom she had become.

In the years we were apart, Mariko's “imaginary friends” mutated and coalesced into full-blown split personalities. She was sent away here when her game of pretend stopped being a game. Her characters matured along with her. The Olympic athlete became Kazuko the soccer team captain. The rock star became Wakana the cutting edge musician. The elusive strange girl who kept getting in trouble and leaving Mariko to blame became Cindy the goofy foreigner. Finally, the castle princess grew up into Mayu the dainty proper lady while the knight in shining armor grew into Cornelio the swarthy Latin playboy.

Towards the end of last school year, Mariko and I came to a special arrangement. She had been made aware of her “neighbors'” growing sexual desires and put me in charge of watching over her while they visited. Even though I'm a raging addict, she said that she'd rather leave them with me than allow her body to be abused by strangers. Things have worked out since then. Thanks to her friends, I've been able to whittle away my pool of sexual partners down to Mariko's tenants. I can't even remember the last time I've actually been with anyone new.

Come to think of it, if I were to ever have anyone new, it would be Mariko. I've never been with her before, you see. For her, I'd be normal.

The doctors have tried dissecting my behavior, trying to convince me that I am the way that I am because of some abandonment issues and various bits of bullshit. They tell me that some lack of physical affection as a child has warped my mind, leading me to seek out non-stop encounters with ever changing partners to fill some void in my heart. They're wrong, though. I've had a normal, happy childhood. What gets my blood flowing is their faces. Everyone, no exceptions, makes a unique face when they come.

Kazuko gets excited when she's working up to a climax. When she comes, her face lights up as though she just scored a goal. Wakana smiles contently, smugly holding back the satisfaction I'd normally get from knowing I just ravaged her. Cindy makes a show of it, just like a foreign porn star. She really knows how to give positive feedback with loud moans and grunts to make a guy feel special. Mayu's face relaxes and she exhales deeply, as if sex with a commoner liberated her from high society's burdens. Cornelio can look downright terrifying at times. When he comes, his eyes bulge out with determination as if he just kicked down the castle gates. I wonder what Mariko's orgasm face looks like.

I threw on a pair of sweats and stood outside of my room as Mariko started to wake up. She's a private girl who prefers to get dressed alone, even around me. With a knock on the door from within, I returned inside when it was safe. Mariko and I cheerfully chatted as though we had met in the cafeteria instead of in bed. The first few dozen times, things were painfully awkward but now we're both used to seeing each other this way.

Mariko is a completely different person from the others. Her voice is different, she wears her hair differently, she walks different, and even Cornelio's clothes sit differently on her.

“Hey, Mariko, what are you doing later?” I asked, working a knot out of my stomach. You'd be surprised just how much harder asking someone on a date is as opposed to simply asking them to fuck.

“I dunno, why?”

“I was thinking,” I answer, pacing around while grinding my toe into the carpet, “maybe we could go get something to eat in town later, maybe go see a movie.”

“Yeah sure, I could... wait.”

Mariko stopped mid-sentence and analyzed me accusingly.

“Are you asking ME to... no, you aren't. You're normally so much more confident when you approach women. What's going on, Hiraku?”

“I...I... Mariko, I'm asking you out on a date.”

“Why? Didn't we just fuck?”

“That's different. That was Cornelio I was with and well, I like you.”

“You're not serious, are you?”

Mariko's tone shifted from skepticism to concern and confusion.

“You really mean it? I mean... I like you too, Hiraku but I won't be just another one of your playthings for you to discard once you're done using me.”

“Yeah, I do mean it but if this is too weird, it's okay. I'll live.”

“It is weird but... why? What's so great about me when I've got all these people hanging off my neck who are way more interesting than I am?”

“I think I've figured you out, sorta. The others might be people on their own, but they're still a part of you. They're really just aspects of yourself that branched off into their own. Even when you're just you, you're pretty damned unbelievable. You're more athletic than I'll ever be, you speak three languages, you've got an ear for music, you're a damned good cook, you're adventurous, and you're the bravest girl I know. I like you because YOU are all those things even without the others.”

Mariko's face went blank with disbelief.

“So you are serious. How long have you felt this way?”

“Since we were kids.”

Mariko fell back onto my bed and took a few deep breaths.

“Well, only one way to find out...”

She then got up to push me down into my chair. Approaching me seductively like Cindy does whenever she gives me a lap dance, Mariko held her chest out by my face. Slowly, she unzipped her shirt and pulled down her bra. As the edges of her nipples started to peek out, my palms started to get moist while my feet began to nervously shiver. My vision started to go gray around the edges as my brain started to short out from all the anxiety I was experiencing then. Technically, I've seen the skin before me on many occasions, but today, these were Mariko's breasts I was seeing. Don't ask me why, it's just different.

“Wow,” she exclaimed with amazement while zipping up her shirt before I got to see anything unusual, “I've never seen you get so worked up over a pair of tits before! You must be in love!”

“I told you!”

“Okay, Hiraku,” she laughed, “I'll be your girlfriend.”

I slumped backwards into my chair, laughing with satisfaction. Finally, I had a girlfriend. Believe it or not, I've never had one before. Not a real one anyway. I might have told a few girls I loved them so I could get to their pussy but really, I DO have feelings for Mariko.

“So um, are you going to continue that show or what?” I asked.

“Psh, no!” she brushed me off. “You will have to WORK for these. I am still a virgin, after all.”

“So that's how it is, huh? I can wait.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Don't think this releases you from our current arrangement, though. By the way, Japan vs. Nicaragua will be on the soccer channel tomorrow. Expect either Kazuko or Cornelio to pay you a visit.”

“I'll be sure to console or celebrate with whoever I end up with afterwards.”

Mariko's friends have been treating me well. Kazuko fueled my fighting spirit and taught me how to be competitive, Wakana showed me how to find beauty and friendship in all places, Mayu taught me discretion and culture, Cindy taught me how to lighten up and learn patience with others, and Cornelio taught me a few things about being a classical romantic and how to be submissive if needed.

Soon, I'll be perfect for Mariko.


The therapist scribbled and mumbled his way through another weekly session. We've reached the point where her asks his usual questions like clockwork.

“So, Hiraku,” he asked, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with the eraser of his pencil, “how many partners do you currently have?”

“Just one.”

“One?! Is that so? How do you feel?”

“Yep. I feel pretty good, actually.”

“And how often are you intimate with this person.”

“We haven't done it yet.”

“Impressive,” he noted, before groaning at the remembrance of my association with Mariko and the realization of the loophole I've discovered.

“Well,” he resigned, “progress is progress. I'm glad to see you're taking control of your actions. What brought on this sudden drive?”

“I fell in love.”

“No you didn't.”

“No, seriously, I did.”


Yes, Cornelio has the body of a teenage girl and receives vaginal intercourse. However, he's usually on top and is oblivious to the fact that not having a penis makes him a female.
Last edited by kosherbacon on Tue Jul 06, 2010 4:09 am, edited 3 times in total.

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 2("Kenji," "Emi," "Rin," etc...)

Post by GG Crono » Wed Jun 09, 2010 11:37 pm


That's pretty much what happened to me when I got to the Big Reveal.

Well done, Kosher. Well done. Didn't see it coming, and it all makes a weird amount of sense. You're a damn good writer. One with a strange sense of humor, but still a damn good one. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 2("Kenji," "Emi," "Rin," etc...)

Post by Leotrak » Thu Jun 10, 2010 3:58 am

... Well, that was a surprise O.o Amazingly well done, though.

By the way... How many puns did you hide in Cornelio's name?
"ice-cream-flavoured ice-cream" -Rin
"oh moe is me" -me
Numbered Days, my first piece of fanfic
Leotrak's Library, my other depository of written stuffs
Before: Hanako>/=Emi>Rin>Lilly>Shizune
After: Emi>Rin>Hanako>Lilly>>>>>>>>>>>Shizune

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 2("Kenji," "Emi," "Rin," etc...)

Post by Smoku » Thu Jun 10, 2010 6:24 am

Told you
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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 2("Kenji," "Emi," "Rin," etc...)

Post by kosherbacon » Thu Jun 10, 2010 8:36 am

Leotrak wrote:
By the way... How many puns did you hide in Cornelio's name?
Actually, none. Not intentionally, anyway. I just threw a buttload of Spanish names together.

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Re: Kyouki Shoujo: Part 2("Kenji," "Emi," "Rin," etc...)

Post by Juno » Thu Jun 10, 2010 10:01 am

A buttload doesn't even begin to describe it. :lol:
Not even a person who has composed surnames and from back when the Catholics were given three names in baptism would have a full name that long.

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