• Home

Manga Girl, Imperiled

Posted on October 28, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

He couldn’t tell if it was the way she was standing or whether it was because of the clothes she was wearing that he thought of manga. Specifically the erotic ones. That she was wearing a tartan skirt that was shorter than he normally saw girls in was definitely an aid. But it wasn’t that either. Maybe it was what she said to him, “I think I’ve done something really bad.”

He noticed that she had really big eyes for such a small girl. So he looked into them, really willed himself to be drawn in by their twin brown Alpenliebe shine and asked, “What do you mean?”

She wavered and he felt like he actually saw her flicker like a hologram from Star Wars or something before she said, “Actually, it’s not something. It’s someone.” And he thought his own vision flickered right then and he looked up to check if a voltage fluctuation had momentarily jittered the lights like a twinkle-fingered DJ doing a series of baby scratches. But it really had just been his eyes so he craned his neck forward as if he needed to hear her better and said, “Pardon?”

She bowed her head, contrition only made her sexier. An amalgamated image of all that cartoon porn he had downloaded as a younger man flashed before his eyes. He had to blink away the images of heaving cartoon breasts, tightly-shut eyes and wide-open mouths, and the rapturous rendition of cartoon orgasms. It was all so inappropriate. He was a married forty-year-old and she, though she was pretty well endowed, was clearly barely out of her training bra. Sure it was D cup but that didn’t change the fact that she was very young.

Of course thoughts of propriety and monogamy went flying right out the windows to his soul  when she raised her twin brown peepers and sucked him in again. With all the poignancy of a well-rendered cartoon character she said, “I think I had sex with somebody really bad.”

He had to look around right then to see if any of his friends from work were standing just beyond his peripheral vision snickering into their scotch rocks because this was just too weird to be a real conversation. He didn’t see anybody he recognized so he said, “What is this?”

She sighed, “You looked like a nice guy so I came to you for help.”

“You had sex with some really bad guy and you need my help? What can I do?”

“You can tell him I’m with you so he’ll leave me alone.”

“Won’t he think there’s something wrong with that picture? I mean you just had sex with him.”

“I told him you were my pimp.”

He got to his feet, right off the high bar stool he had been occupying and looked around, stood on the tips of his toes and really looked around, “Now I know this is bullshit. Who put you up to this? Sameer? That Alexander fellow? Come on, who?”

She didn’t respond so he stopped scanning the crowd and turned to her and it occurred to him that she really did look small and defenseless [for a nasty little slut who just had sex with a ‘very bad man’]. He stuck his fists into the pockets of his trousers and looked at her, like he remembered cartoon detectives looking at suspects while rain poured off their shiny hair and splashed dramatically onto the stained and gummy ground. He towered over her and after a moment of relishing the image he said, “I don’t know what you’re pulling but it’s really not funny. Please don’t pick on me because I made eye contact. I’m a happily married man.” He flashed his ring and it caught a glint from one of the lights and he worried that he was suffering some sort of reality/manga breakdown.

All around him people seemed to be registering as degrees of clarity. The ones surrounding him were faces and expressions while the ones far enough away were simply shapes. And no one was as clearly defined as the girl in the short tartan skirt and the schoolgirl shoes over snow white socks.

Completely inappropriately, he wondered if she had kept her socks on during sex with the ‘very bad man’ and he immediately chided himself for going there in his head. She sighed again and he wondered if that was also something she did after sex. He didn’t like all this thought of sex with a girl who might be young enough to be his daughter, if he had married really early. Then it occurred to him that even twenty years ago he didn’t need to be married to have a kid.

And just like that, his paternal instinct went off like an atomic mushroom cloud in the pit of his stomach. He took her arm and led her towards the exit, “I’m taking you home.”

Right before the door a man with very bad skin and an even worse attitude barred their progress. He took a drag off a crooked cigarette and asked, “Is she with you?”

He could sense her sidling up behind him and he had the image of her large eyes going into shadow as she tried to hide her entire body behind his arm. So he squared his jaw and willed his own eyes to bore into those of the man with the smelly cigarette surrounded by the stench of his own evil, “You got a problem with that?”

A smile teased the corners of the smelly man’s mouth and he took a rakish step aside, “Just checking.” They passed without incident but he thought he heard the man mutter, “So I guess that’s what a white collar pimp looks like.”

They walked together in silence for a bit and then he said, “Where can I drop you off?”

She shook her head and said, “My car’s right there.”

He nodded and waited by his own car until she walked the ten or so paces to her’s. When she was inside and turning the key in the ignition he climbed into his own car and thought about the drive home.

On the actual drive home he wondered whether she would ever have had sex with him, a nice guy. [Probably not. Which is a good thing. Saves me a lot of trouble I don’t need.]

Comments