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[Shit, brother, sorry. Rough night and rougher morning. We're leaving now.]

Sora puttered around the kitchen, unable to keep still her nerves were frayed so. Even during breakfast, she kept rising from her seat between bites and busy herself with more preparations. There were so many things to consider! They would need someone to collect their mail while they were away, water house plants, see that utilities and rent were on automatic payment. How embarrassing would it be to return from the Digital World, triumphant and full of hope...only to come home to an eviction notice and debt?

"Shit," she murmured, scooping a few more mouthfuls of rice into her mouth before rushing into the next room to retrieve her phone from the charger. She plucked it free from the cord and had to swipe through two dozen missed calls and messages before getting to the home screen. "I have to cancel my yoga classes and gym membership before we go," she shouted as means of explanation for her sudden departure. She dialed the number from memory and pressed the phone to her ear. "Any word from Yamato and Mei-? Yes, hello, my name is Sora Takenouchi, I need to cancel my membership. I'm going on a-err...trip out of the country." No use in explaining herself to the front desk and risk getting roped into a big conversation. News of the attack traveled far and wide in the night. It was no coincidence that a lot of the messages and calls she had received in the ensuing hours were from people she had not spoken to in some time.
Typically, none of them were from Yamato or Mei. At this point, she would have taken a text from Gabumon if it meant they were on the way to the rendezvous point.

She cradled the cell between her cheek and shoulder and filled a plastic spray bottle from the bathroom tap. While on hold, she sprayed down the plants in every room, willing Honda-San, their upstairs elderly neighbor to get back in touch with her about seeing to the apartment while they were away.

"What? No, I was holding for a manager to cancel my next appointment and membership-, yes I can hold again." Muzak filled her ear so suddenly she jerked her head away from the receiver. It was a bad cover of a Teen-Age Wolves tune. "You have got to be kidding me..."

She poked her head back into the kitchen long enough to gobble down a few more bites of cooling rice and pickles, not bothering to sit this time.

Her phone buzzed in her hand with a new notification, but it wasn't Yamato or even Honda-San. It was an update from one of her social media apps and the headline told her everything she needed to know without reading the article: Yamato Ishida of the Teen-Age Wolves (and others) had beaten a giant monster at the climax of their concert. Was it real? A stunt? A product of hallucinogens in the drinking water? Either way, a media circus was gathering like storm clouds on the horizon. Whatever they did, the Digidestined would need to depart asap.

Sora turned to voice this thought to Tai but the words caught in her throat. He was the picture of calm and collected, casually munching away on his breakfast without a care in the world. As if they were taking a trip to the country for a long weekend and not a world where they would have no way of anticipating what would come next...

Yet, she broke into a smile then a wide grin when she spied the goggles in the ticket of his hair. A trick of the accessory and her own nostalgia regressed him, and he looked so much younger. Could they really find that innocence and strength again? The question made her heart ache. Yet, she smiled all the wider.

"I love you so much," she shook her head, starting to lean in for a kiss...then quickly straightened up, speaking into the phone again.

"No! Not YOU! Are you a manager? Oh, for crying out loud!"



Yamato hefted the duffel into the middle of the floor with the rest of the baggage. Would they really be able to lug all of this through the chaos of the Digital World? If things were really as bad as he feared, would it be wise to weigh themselves down with so much gear? He wondered briefly about repacking the bag and throwing a few things out. How many pairs of pants did he really need over there? He had worn the same jeans and shirt for ages during their first visit. Then again, he had been a prepubescent boy in those days and sweat glands had been kinder.

Still mulling the decision over, he stuffed his cigarettes and lighter into the breast pocket of his jacket and patted around for his phone. Mei's urging had sparked the search and when he came up empty, he glanced around the room, hunting for his missing phone until realization broke on his face like the dawn.

"Oh shit..." He bent down to scoop up the fragments of his cell phone from the floor and held them out to Mei sheepishly. "Um...can I borrow your...?" He spied the promotional phone still in its box on the coffee table. "Never mind." He fished his sim and memory card free from the wreckage and binned the rest. After jamming the slivers of plastic into the appropriate slots and turned the device on, he was surprised to find it fully charged.

While waiting for the device to complete its activation process, he internally scolded himself. They were wasting time now, all because he had turned into a petulant five-year-old and threw one of his toys. Had he ever been that immature, even as a kid? He honestly couldn't remember. Most of his life pre-junior high was a bit of a haze now, like glimpsing distant figures across a foggy street. He could only conjure up vague shapes of memories, malformed and possibly not even his own.

Yoshi was prevalent in most, usually grinning at him from behind the business end of a syringe.

"My Golden Boy has to be on stage tonight...I need you to be perfect..."

The crest bearer of Friendship...and this is the company I kept? That was my best friend?

It took a long moment for him to realize he was starring at the home screen of his new phone and a steady flood of new messages, emails, missed calls and updates all muscled their way onto the tiny screen at once, fighting to be next in line. Shaking himself out of the past, he thumbed his way through the index of contacts, finding Tai's number and hammered out a quick text message with trembling thumbs.

Shit, brother, sorry. Rough night and rougher morning. We're leaving now.

At least it wasn't a lie this time. Yamato gave himself a few brownie points for that one. Perhaps it was even a sign of things turning around. Did he dare hope? He looked to Mei, untested Digidestined of Balance (whatever THAT meant) and her tagless and crestless Digimon.

His head was crying out for a drink and it would only get louder and more belligerent as the day went on.

No, Yamato...you're crest definitely was not Hope...

Yamato watched her go and watched longer still once the door (or what was left of it anyway) was closed. He studied the deep fissures in the wood, trying to find patterns or faces in the splinters like clouds in the sky but couldn't make anything out. It was just lines that failed to run together, reminding him only of how very close he and Mei had come to making the biggest mistake of their lives. He was thankful the mon's had interrupted them in retrospective. Aching as he was to feel her body against his, Yamato knew it was for the best if they kept their attention on the mission and not on each other's private parts.

He lifted the cigarette to his lips, taking another soothing drag of smoke, willing the toxins to help him believe this wasn't another mistake in a long series of mistakes. It was doing wonders for his nerves but absolutely useless for a bad conscience. Still, it helped him collect his scattered thoughts and refocus his mind on what was to come. The Digital World lay ahead, no doubt warped to meet some new masters means if that rogue Kuwagamon was any prelude...

He conjured up their arrival in his mind's eye: the dense foliage, the cloudless blue sky, the shared anxiety of what was to come matched only by the exhilaration of adventure in a land where no human had ever traversed. He tried to twist it, maybe warp those strange cable-less phone booths into tombstones or the cable car they spent the night in the belly of some Lovecraftian beast but came up wanting. Frightening as those first few hours and days were, he had nothing but good memories associated with their adventures into the Digital World. Without realizing it, Yamato had secreted his childhood self-there, locked away and thrown away the key. This young Yamato was still a boy with the oversized gloves and sleeveless top that showed off adolescent muscles without full appreciating why he did so. The boy would exist agelessly, never knowing the pinch of needle or sting of cocaine at his nose.

Without meaning to, he flashed back to being 19, falling down drunk backstage somewhere in Hokkaido, slurring that he couldn't play today, he was too sick.

Yoshi materialized, shaking his head. He was crouched before the lad like a mammoth toad in a cheaper suit but the same amount of hair on top. "My best boy has got to be on stage tonight," he cooed, pushing up the sleeve of Yamato's shirt.
"What are you doing?" he looked so young then, so damn young.

"Just giving you something to pick you up. My best boy has got to be on stage tonight. That's you, baby. That's you Yamato-baby!" The man slapped Yamato's arm, conjuring up a vein and they both watched in amazement as the syringe filled with blood.
Yamato was crying without realizing it and gave a start when his trashed apartment bedroom came into sharp contrast before his eyes. He went to take a fresh drag from the cigarette and found he had smoked it down to the filter. It burned listlessly.

Stamping it out, he rose from the bed and groped uselessly for his Digivice, finding only empty air. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, getting composed before he dared venture out into the living room. The last thing he wanted was to give them the idea he was falling apart before they even left. That gave him a bitter chuckle. Some Friend you are huh, Yamato? Already keeping thing from them...

He dutifully ignored that niggling voice in his head, massaging the heels of his palms into his face as if to physically rub the thoughts out. He wondered instead if he would find that boy again. Deep in the jungles of the Digital World, could he still exist?
Yamato started for the door.

Yamato caught the pack of casually tossed smokes. Surprisingly, given how badly his hands were trembling. With some difficulty, he fished one of the long, white sticks free from the cardboard sleeve and jammed it between his lips. He tossed it back, "Thanks." He didn't light it right away, instead opted to rest his elbows in his jittering knees and bowed his head. His head still a wash, a muddled fog that had nothing to do with whiskey or drugs and everything to do with the woman standing across from him and...

His hand dropped to his chest, groping for his Digivice but found only his narrow chest. He tried to played it off by smoothing his fingers over his collarbone, scratching at his chin and even to him it felt terribly unnatural. "I'm not," he started, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. "...really hungry." At least that wasn't a lie. His appetite had fled, along with Yoshi and all sense of self-respect. How could anyone be expected to sit down to a quaint meal after a scene like that?

He glanced slowly around the room, turning his head like a spying periscope of a submarine. It had never occurred to Yamato until just then. He did not own any pictures of his family, much less hand anything framed and hung on the wall. The closest thing he had were a few scattered pictures on his cellphone and those were years old by now. His most recent photographs? He tried to remember, to see them through the haze of bad alcohol and wanton women. Topless photos he had saved. His own vanity pictures of himself before his bathroom mirror, his jeans around his thighs to show off his length of manhood to anyone who would have it.

He grunted.

'Manhood', now there was a laugh. Well-endowed and exotically pierced as he was, a more apt name would have been 'Boyhood'. It was his favorite toy after all and he wasn't too shy about sharing with others on playdates. He even kept it shaved smooth.

What else? Selfies with actors and actresses he had met at awards shows and special ceremonies, backstage at concerts. A couple of static bowls of steaming noodles for his Instagram? He waved his hands, almost forcing the images aside physically.

Now it appeared to be Mei's turn to make with the pep talk though it was likely to have similar affects his had had on her. Well-meaning for sure, but there was too much to fathom about Yamato. Too much buried deep down in the mud of his existence. He wasn't a man, he was a headstone eulogizing what was or could have been. Both.

"Pack it up," he placated. "I'll eat it later when my appetite returns." Fat chance but at least it wasn't a complete and total lie. He lit the cigarette at long last and inhaled deep, dragging a soothing ghost of smoke into his lungs. There wasn't anything else inside of him, he reasoned. "We should probably get a move on anyway. Tai and Sora are likely already at the Rendezvous."

Yoshi rolled to his side once freed, hand immediately groping to his sore throat and trying to massage away the worst of the pain. Slowly, he collected his feet beneath him and stood up, face red and eyes visibly wet with unshed tears. His tie was askew and there was deep fissure like wrinkles in his jacket. His shirt had come untucked too, spilling out around his middle like a white gown. Yoshi fingers his running nose, then his eyes, sniffling before he used the end of his tie like a handkerchief and dabbed his face dry. "You think you know what's best for Yamato Ishida? Lady, that guy is an atomic train wreck! The Teen-age Wolves wouldn't be anything without me! The world wouldn't have given a shit about some punk kid from Odaiba. They're as common as fleas on a dog!" Despite his brazen attitude, he was quickly backing toward the door. Distance brought a renewed boldness, "I made this band and held it together for years. Without me, they would have fallen apart ages ago, the whole damn thing down his throat with a shot of tequila and where would he be? Pumping gas at some filling station. Tell me, would you still be so in love with him then?" His hands groped for the knob behind him blindly. He gave it a hard turn and stepped out onto the terrace. This isn't over, he thought to himself, slamming the door behind him. He stormed off to the elevator, the wind tearing at his suit with savage fingers. Not by a long shot is this over...

The guitar had erupted with a resonating sour note that seemed to shake the windows. Yamato came to a rest beside it, panting down at the carpet but it had not done any good. He was still full of rage until he thought it would manifest itself as a living flame and consume him on the spot. He felt hot and slouched into the bathroom to duck his mouth beneath the faucet. Yoshi's words cut deep, exposed wounds that should have healed ages ago but were raw now as if they were fresh. Yoshi wasn't some vile Mephistopheles, temptation made flesh. He was Yamato's failings, an albatross worn around his throat, a burden. A curse. He and Yoshi, they deserved each other. Who was he kidding? If he were any real friend to any of the Digidestined, he would take a running start and hurl himself through the bedroom window.

Yamato swallowed another mouthful of water and gauged his reflection in the mirror. He reeled his fist back, meaning to strike the glass with all of his might. He let his hand drop to the sink basin dejected. It was too cliché. Wouldn't make anything that Yoshi had said untrue and that was the biggest disappointment of all. Who had he been fooling? Besides himself, that is. In an envelope of bated breath, warm flesh and cold sheets a person can fool himself into believe anything and for a moment too long, Yamato thought that he and Mei could have a future together. He could give up his vices and give himself wholly to one person. But that wasn't the Yamato Yoshi knew. The rose colored glasses had been fanciful for a time but Yoshi had one what managers did best and set him straight. Yamato could never be deserving anyone's love, not after the broken hearts trailing behind him. He was unworthy to even try and what he had done to Mei, seduced her into his bed, was a terrible crime.

He returned to his ransacked bedroom and proceeded to stuff the clothes scattered about the floor into the gym bag. He dimly recalled a few jeans and shirts, socks but looking back later Yamato could not be certain what he packed. Hauling the thing into the living room and rejoined Mei. He took a seat at the edge of the box spring suddenly feeling foolish in her presence, ignoring the plate of the food and instead held out two fingers to Mei. "Got a cigarette?"

He perused the room, thinking about what Mei had advised, thinking about things that mattered to him. The penthouse was bulging at the seams with valuables, rare items and rock n roll memorabilia yet.... "There isn't anything of value here," he said at last, looking away to the floor. "I guess...we've both seen each other at our worst, huh?"

Yoshi had not been in a fight since the third grade. It was an embarrassing scrape to say the least, since even back then he was on the portly side of the scale and preferred watching such violence on the television in the form of super sentai programs rather than engage them. He held both arms up, crossed over his paled face in a feeble attempt to protect himself. He braced for a blow that was taking an eternity to land. That or it was Einstein's theory of relativity in action. What happened instead was most unusual. He felt a slight pinch against the back of his neck and when he chanced a peak through his meager defenses, he found Mei standing over him with her hand outstretched to his throat. "What in the devil are you-?" He tried to sit up but a lightning bolt of pain rocketed through his fat frame, forcing him back down to the floor. Yoshi stammered out a cry of agony, writhing but that only seemed to make it worse. He resolved himself to sit still.

Yamato felt Mei's anger radiating off of her like a heat wave. He imagined the scene playing out in manga or anime and envisioned a red, pulsating outline around her body that only seemed to get wider and darker as the panels progressed. The air seemed to have evacuated the room and all eyes were glued to Mei, waiting to see what she would do next. A tense quiet followed and for a moment, it felt like time really had come to pause, brought to a grinding halt by the sheer force of the young woman's anger. What came next would have surprised some. They would have anticipated a shouting outburst, a passionate rant full of swearing and more physical violence. Yamato had not known Mei long but even he realized that this methodical, deliberate speech was far more dangerous. He begged off, loosening his grip on the man's blazer and stepped away, clapping his hands together as if brushing away dirt.

Yoshi nodded his head hurriedly in agreement despite the searing pain it caused. "Y-yes, anything you want! Anything you-just let me go!" He clasped his hands together, feinting a prayer. "You're really hurting my-AH-if you could just loosen your grip on my NECK!"

Yamato wasn't nearly as contained when it came to his anger and stalked away, shaking with fury. He stalked into his bedroom, over the door lying on the floor and wished it were on the hinges so he could slam it shut or rip it off all over again. He grabbed handfuls of his scalp, flexing his fingers until they became tearing claws. He stifled a scream by biting down hard onto his tongue. He slapped both hands down on the nightstand and upended it, sending the alarm clock and lamp flying into the air. It landed on the floor with a crash, the three drawers spilling open like intestines, spilling their contents. That wasn't enough. He tore his sheets away, hurling the mattress onto its side. He raked his hands along the walls, hurling the frames away. The dresser was next and split apart down the side when it tumbled over. He wrenched one of the acoustic guitars free from the hook, feeling momentarily like the Clash's Paul Simonon from the London Calling album, and smashed it against the box spring.

Yoshi tried to treat Mei's sudden appearance with as much courtesy as he could muster but that amounted to less than a tablespoon. He had always harbored a secret jealously of Yamato's good fortune when it came to the opposite sex. The money from managing one of the hottest rock n roll acts on the planet was nice and while it did sometimes result in a girl or two warming his bed at night, even he wasn't foolish enough to believe they were there for his personality.

Everything revolved around Yamato, even pussy he wasn't fucking. Still, you don't bite the hand that feeds you and last night, Yoshi had lost his cool. He was here now to make amends in the only way he knew how.

He flinched noticeably when Mei shattered the bottle into the sink. "Yamato-baby," Yoshi said, forcing a smile to play off the distress. "I didn't realize that you got married last night!" He said married like it was a foul tasting four letter word. "Could have at least gotten an invite, thrown you a bachelor party that would make you cry during your vows for whole different reasons!" He waved his little pinky at Mei, the one bearing the largest of his rocks.

Yamato starred at Mei in the aftermath, recalling the same tigress rearing her head before and she was just as intimidating now as then. He adjusted his gaze to the glass of offered whiskey before pushing it away, back to a flabbergasted Yoshi Masahara. His manager looked from him to the glass and back before shrugging his thick shoulders around the area where his neck might have been and scooped it up.

"Suit yourself." He downed it in one gulp.

Yamato watched them move around the kitchen, wondering after how easily this man could get his hooks into him. had he really fallen so far? Even after all they had been through, all that had been said between them, Yoshi still had a mysterious hold on him. Some strange spell concocted from alcohol and greed and egotism and Yamato never hesitated to suck it down. It wasn't arrogance that had driven Yoshi to barge into his penthouse apartment unannounced, thinking that everything that had transpired was just water under the bridge. No, it was experience.

The two Mon's hesitated at the order, wondering if they should stick around and watch the strange intruder through a mix of concern and morbid fascination. Gabumon most of all, seemed especially concerned. "Is...everything alright, Matt?" He asked tentatively, shuffling his furry feet.

"Yeah, buddy. Everything is cool. Go on, do what Mei said about the fort."

He turned to Mei and her cat-like digimon with what he thought was a sympathetic look. If he had any reservations about speaking to what amounted to a talking feline, he did not show it. Yoshi was flexible like that. Patronizingly, he said, "Listen, Cinderella, I know one night with my Yamato here makes you feel like the Queen of the world but at the end of the day, the ball is going to end, your carriage is going to turn into a pumpkin and you'll go back to making clothes out of hand-me-downs with your rodent pals." He smoothed a hand over the thatch of combed over jet-black hair. "Honey, anyone your daddy could get to kill me, I probably already know. They might like him more, but I'd pay better." He winked but there was nothing playful about the gesture.

Yamato rose from his stool so suddenly that it knocked over behind him, drawing his manager's attention. "You need to leave. Right now, Yoshi. We're through. Take your crazy someplace because," he glanced back at his Digimon partner, dutifully folding laundry over his outstretched arm, "we're all stocked up here."

Yoshi was undeterred. "Baby, baby, baby!" he moaned and grabbed at his temples with both hands as if suffering through a migraine. "You gotta stop all this talk about the Digital World now. That's old hat, toots, you feel me? What about the real world? Are we all supposed to march in place or shut down so you can run off with some broad to play happy family?" He leaned forward to plant a beefy hand over his thin shoulder, giving it a fatherly squeeze. "We both know that monogamy isn't for you. We both know that...whatever this is could not possibly last-!"

Yamato seized him by the lapels and hauled him bodily over the dividing island between them, wrestling the man to the floor.

Yamato had anticipated the closet to be in a state of disarray. A long bar of barren hangers and single swinging lightbulb creating a halo of sallow light over a pile of wrinkled clothes in varying states of cleanliness with the filthiest items piled below. He blinked at what lay before him like he had just wandered into a room and forgotten what he had come in for. Either side was lined with a neat arrangement of clothing, some still sealed inside of plastic bags. The floor was dominated by rotating racks of sneakers, boots, loafers and moccasins, something for every occasion.

"Since when do I own moccasins?" he asked aloud, studying the leather tassels of the shoe. He moved down the line with bemused interest, passing a series of three-piece suits, tuxedos and other designer-wear. It was a strange feeling, like he was perusing a complete strangers closet and couldn't shake the sensation that he was somehow invading some else's privacy. Almost like at any moment the owner of all these extravagant outfits could storm in and catch him....doing what exactly? Puzzling over shoes?

Yamato shook off his nerves and began pulling shirts and pants free from the hooks, tossing them into a haphazard pile on the bed. He thought, at least I'm going to have more than one outfit to wear while backpacking around the Digital World. He visualized himself at such a young age; a coltish adolescent wearing jeans his mother assured he would grow into, a sleeveless, rolled collar shirt and...brown gloves? He shook his head at the memory, ghosting a hand through his hair half-expecting to pass through a crown of blonde spikes. Ah, late 90's fashion...

He found a brand new gym bag with the price tag still attached to the strap and tossed it out beside the modest pile of jeans and t-shirts. He had just begun to contemplate the process of marrying such a large, unfolded pile with the space available in the bag when his doorbell chimed. He glanced up as if to see the pealing bell dangling over his head. A foolish gesture bore from so much confusion and anxiety and with a healthy red glow to his cheek, Yamato made his way through the penthouse to the front door in his bare feet. Who could be calling so early?

The doorknob jittered impatiently, followed by another ringing of the doorbell. "Alright, alright!" Yamato cried, furiously unlatching the chain. "It's too damn early for-!"

Yoshi Masahara rushed him through the threshold, his pudgy hands working their way over Yamato's before he could finish, cutting him off with a startled cry.

"Yamato-baby! I've been trying to reach you all day! Phone of yours keep going straight to voicemail, your inbox is about to bust! I was worried about my Golden Boy so I decided to come right over and cheek on him!" The man beamed up at Yamato, their height difference more pronounced now that he was so close, with his former manager's comb-over brushing just beneath the youth's chin. He reached up two beefy, liver-spotted hands to clap Yamato's cheeks between. "Baby, baby, you sleepin' okay? You look like death warmed over, if you'll pardon the cliché. We'll get some breakfast in you before we leave." He gave Yamato's whole head a hearty shake that was supposed to be reassuring. "Haven't I always taken care of my Golden Boy? Hey, who's lookin' out for you, baby?"

He suddenly released his former charge and sauntered into the room, jigging his way into the kitchen without a backward glance. Yamato noticed that Yoshi had changed his suit, showered, even shaved. His comb over looked particularly impeccable this morning and did a good job of mostly hiding his bald crown. Mostly.

"What are you doing here, Yoshi?" Yamato asked after weathering the rapid fire lip assault he had just received. "I fired you. You remember that you were fired?"

Yoshi had vanished behind the island in the kitchen. Only his hand was visible as he rummaged about in cabinets. "Oh, kid, we both said a lot of stuff we didn't mean. Totally understandable, right? Emotions were high! You were stressed, I was stressed the whole damn town tore itself apart once the news hit! Giant monster attacks Japan. What're the odds of that?" Yoshi reappeared with his lips pursed together and glanced around with hands on hips. "Where did you....?" He spotted the bottle of alcohol on the counter and snapped his fingers, pointing at it. "There she blows! C'mere, Yamato-baby. Breakfast is served." He produced two glasses from the cupboard, shoved them into ice from the freezer then set to pouring. "The attack during the show has gone viral. You heard me right. VI-RAL. The whole world saw you fighting a big ass cockroach and totally kick its ass! Baby, the Teen-Age Wolves are hotter now than they ever have been before. I could kiss that bug right on the pincers for this! It's only been..." He checked his wristwatch. "....not even twelve hours, and our albums are selling out all over the world. Merchandise is up over 200% on the website and I got the media beating down my door for exclusives, movie deals, special appearances, a television show where you and Flava Flav stay at haunted B & B's!" He raised his glass dreamily into the air, toasting success. He passed Yamato his glass before guzzling down his own. "Don't be shy, Yamato-baby! It's after 5 somewhere!" Yoshi roared with laughter, turning to pour himself another drink when Mei entered the room. "Oh...hey...forgive me." He gave the faintest of bows before eyeing his ex-client sideways. "Guess I see what kept you up all night."   

Everything was happening so fast it was hard for Yamato to get a firm grasp on the situation, let alone react to it. He clutched a wad of bedsheet to his privates, looking from one Digimon to the next in an exacerbated silence. Just behind them, the door gave a sorrowful moan then slipped off its hinges. It did a sort of 'walk', balancing on its two bottom edges like feet for a step or two before falling flat on the floor with another loud crash. A fist-sized chunk of plaster came free from the drywall next, crumbling to the hardwood like cookie crumbs. Gabumon had the decency to look sheepish about it. He even winced regretfully when the door broke. Nyamon though? Not so much...

Beside him, Mei gave a shriek about dreams then rushed away, half-naked. He reached after her but any movement, no matter how subtle was too painful for words. Like someone had hooked up a car battery to his genitals, everything felt like a surge of three hundred volts. He rocked onto his side, still favoring his waning erection as if it too was retreating in shock.

"I'm so sorry, Matt," Gabumon gushed, his cheeks reddening. He gestured with a clawed hand back at the path of destruction. "When we heard...I don't even know what we heard....and Nyamon..." He trailed off, scratching sheepishly at the back of his horned head.

Yamato waved it away, finding his voice at last thought it came out as a strained whisper. "S-s-s'okay, Gabumon," he moaned. "Ju-just give me a few minutes to get dress, huh?" Gabumon bowed politely at that and bounced off the foot of the bed. Nyamon lingered for a beat longer however, her tail swishing mischievously. She threw him another contemptuous look and bounded away after Gabumon, satisfied that whatever moment he and Mei were sharing had thoroughly ended. He didn't have the voice to reply to the cat-like digimon, could only cap in reply at the revelation of birth control and turn a shade of scarlet at the barbed jest 'making a Digiegg'. He had not bothered with a condom and if Mei wasn't taking any form of birth control, that wasn't too far away from the truth. He was so stunned and wounded that the notion of a Digimon possessing knowledge of human contraceptive did not occur to him right away.

Gabumon was quick to correct Nyamon on her assumptions about Digimon Eggs. "That is not how Digieggs are produced," he explained while leading the way out. "They don't begin when a daddy digimon and a mommy digimon love each other very much. They..." He paused, screwing up his face in after thought. Gabumon breathed, "Oh....OH. OOOOOOOH! Nevermind."

Once alone, Yamato swung his legs out of bed to inspect the damage. His cock had gone limp again, still aching slightly but otherwise appeared unharmed. He breathed a sigh of relief, like a boy with his favorite toy. Not wanting to chance another awkward moment with Mei, he pulled his drawers opened and pulled out fresh clothes, trying to call the strange events of the morning. Jeez, not even breakfast and already weirded out...

He struggled his legs into a pair of jeans, realizing all at once that he had not had any time to pack anything for the trip! Shit, what time had Tai wanted to meet for their departure to the Digital World? He slipped a faded Joy Division tee over his head and worked it down to his middle. He hopped over to the closet on one foot, trying to struggle into socks and look for a suitcase or duffle for the trip. 

The words played over and over through his mind. He could hardly believe it after their night together, that she would allow him to make love to her at last. His mind swam with the possibilities until he too wondered if this were a dream. If this is all in my head, he mused, positioning his hips between her legs, never ever let me wake up. He looked down the length of their bodies, marveling at the contrasting figures. His slender frame hovering just above hers but the similarities ended there. His tattoos great swatches of color down his front. The glittering jewels in her nipples. His cock, hard and shining dully with his Jacob's Ladder piercings running up the length from the base poised at her soft, tender folds. It almost looked too large for her, too much for her virginal flower that had never known the flesh of a man before now.

Yamato hesitated. Could he really take her virginity? All at once it felt a bit like a great theft, something he would rob from her forever. His old reservations were returning and, fearing Mei's would as well, cupped her hands in his and guided his erection between her legs. The heat from her sex reached out to him with ethereal fingers, coaxing him forward. His lips found hers again, wanting to feel every inch of her reaction once he entered her body for the first time. Would she cry out? Would he? Would her body writhe and quake beneath him in the sudden onslaught of a fierce orgasm? Yamato pressed the swollen head against her, the mess of their shared arousal meeting at last. He inhaled a deep breath, held it, preparing to slid himself the rest of the way in. Despite the eagerness, he knew that he must take it slow for Mei's sake. No matter how wet she was, there was still a possibility that he could hurt her if he went too fast, too soon. He had remarkable control over his body, arching his hips gently to hers. Her could feel Mei begin to part for him, those dewy pedals falling away for him-

The door was thrown open with a crack of plaster siding and splintering wood. It rattled in its frame, threatening to shake itself off the antique brass hinges as their Digimon companions stormed into the room with a force typically reserved for category 4 hurricanes.

"Don't worry, Matt," Gabumon cried, bounding into the room. "We're here to...help?" Nyamon's climb up onto the mattress was more graceful, barely warranting a sigh from the bed with her light, felines weight. Gabumon struggled to haul his considerable girth up after, rolling up on his side like a beached manatee. "We heard strange noises and thought perhaps that you were under attack again!"

Yamato waved him away, still grimacing in pain with one hand clutched firmly between his legs while the other wrestled the bedsheet up to cover he and Mei. The sudden entrance had startled him, startled them both, and the sudden shift as he whirled around to see what the matter was caused his erection to slip and plunge downward and press forcefully into Mei's taint. Gritting his teeth, he waved them away, unable to speak at all. it felt for all the world that he had been snapped in two!

His labored breath matched her own, Yamato fighting with all of his being to prolong this experience for as long as possible. Already their shared excitement was reaching a fever pitch, threatening to boil over and explode like a pot of water. Her body constricted deliciously around his probing fingers until she sheets beneath them were drenched in her arousal. Her heady scent permeated the room, maddening him until Yamato was trembling with barely contained lust. His eyes met hers, dark and cloudy like a storm of desire, allowing her to see his need for her. He bit into his lip sharply, hard enough to hurt. It was the only thing holding him back now as her fingers found his aching sex.

Her hands were soft, warm against him, a succulent juxtaposition. He felt he may melt into her hand, his member dissolved into a molten slag between her fingers. He was feverish, hot to the touch as she guided a hand up and down his length, furiously masturbating him to near climax, until his cries matched hers in volume.

"Let me inside of you," he rasped, his voice a harsh growl from the pent up frustration. He rolled her over onto her back, hovering above her with his length still between her hands, awaiting permission despite bursting with need. "Let me make love to you." He kissed her mouth before she could answer, hips bucking against her restraining hand. "We can cum together..."

Was it possible for a woman to finish a man with only the sounds of her desperate pleas? The sound of her voice, so wanton and eager, clouded his thoughts until nothing but their shared pleasure remained. Her body became his sole focus. Mei's pleasure became his own and somewhere along the way, their bodies seemed to become one. Had he ever shared such an erotic moment with anyone before? His flesh ached to be inside of her, to have her in so many different ways, more ways than were possible in a single lifetime. Yamato thought he would die with so much desire.

He kissed her lips then, pouring that fierce yearning into her like a liquid fire. His hand slipped down her pubic bone, finding her sex with his fingers and gasped into her mouth upon finding her slick, wet and ready. He massaged his middle finger through her cleft, smearing her mess like he was applying a cream. Yamato nibbled at her bottom lip before pressing her into another kiss, teasing her slick entrance with the tips of his fingers as if testing the tune of fine piano keys. He scoured her neck next, spreading that searing flame across her feverish flesh, down to her chest like a forest fire. "Mei," he moaned into her body, between nibbles and chaste kisses. "Mei, oh, Mei..." until it became a lewd mantra.

His cock was screaming for release between them, the head swollen into an angry purple knot, glistening with pre-ejaculate. At last his finger pierced her delicate flower, two of them, higher and higher until the heel of his palm was pressed against her heated sex and leaving a puddle in his hand.

If this was a dream, Yamato prayed he would never wake. Selfish, perhaps but he had already established himself as anything but the bearer of the crest of Friendship. So what was one more sin? Here, he was happy. With Mei pressing into him wantonly was thrilling, feeding some long dead desire for real companionship and affection. Could he ever love her, the way a woman like Mei deserved to be loved? Or would she, as Mei put it, be just another notch in his bedpost, another of his countless conquests? In his sleep-heavy mind, he dared to dream. The great rock n roll star Yamato Ishida, settling for one woman? Stranger things had happened....

The flames in Mei seemed to catch with Yamato, spread through him like a wildfire until the room was ablaze with the heat of their passion. She rolled over and he let her, smoothing his hands in wonder over the flatness of her belly, the gentle rise of her hips and buttocks. He slipped a hand inside of her panties from behind, caressing the soft flesh of her backside before sliding her underwear down around her thighs.

The sight of her puckered, pierce nipples sent a thrill through his tight frame, so wound up he bowed his head over the first and closed his mouth over their stiffness. The familiar taste of metal filled his mouth, sending sparks over his tongue like he had just licked the head of a battery. Lingering just below the surface of that coppery sensation was her, Mei, the intoxicating flavor of her body. He groped his hand up to cup her breasts from underneath while he suckled against her.

Mei was gyrating up and down his length of manhood, making him shudder. The sensitive barbells threaded through his aching shaft gave him electric sparks as they were ground against her mound. Yet he resisted taking her. Oh, how easy it would be now! He could so easily roll atop her, collect her hands behind her head and kiss her mouth fiercely, stealing all chances to deny him again. She was so wet between the legs and he so hard, he could guild himself easily inside of her without the need for a hand. He recalled her tight nest constricting his fingers and trembled all over, longing to give that sweet release to his swollen, aching member. Yet, he resisted. Fought off that urge to claim her and instead enjoy the sensation of her body against his and simply...explored. There was so many things different about this, about Mei. When was the last time he had had sex sober? How long had it been since foreplay was his main focus? At what point, had Yamato stopped caring?   

Her responses to his touch brought wonderful memories back to Yamato of their one night of passion. The sensation of her bare skin against his hands, the hardness of her piercings against the coarse pads of his fingers was invigorating. The sweets sound of her pleasure spurred him further, ghosting his hands over the bottom of the sports bra, lifting it higher on her chest to expose the other breast. He caressed each in turn, allowing languid strokes. Why hurry? Certainly there was still time to enjoy the simple pleasures of lying in bed together before setting out on a dangerous journey?

Yamato turned his face to her back, giving her throat a chaste kiss. The taste of her flesh between his lips aroused a bottomless hunger, recalling her uniqueness on his tongue like an exotic spice. His mouth practically watered as he groped his mouth along her shoulders, up her neck before sating themselves on Mei's earlobe. He breathed her name seductively, burying his face in the tangle of her bedhead, relishing the way her hands flexed into his scalp.

His own arousal met hers, starting as a lazy sleep-erection against her buttocks but now was standing stalk stiff against her lower back. The wanton ach returned full force, swelling his cock to its full length but he made no move to rush. For now, he was perfectly content exploring her body with his hands and lips, hungry to coax more sweet music from her. His favorite instrument, he thought fleetingly, slipping one hand down her thigh to the thin fabric of her panties. His fingers numbly teased the band, tracing along her taught tummy, all the while threatening to slip inside and caress her most intimate of places. Each time though, he would pull away just shy of sampling her wetness.

Yamato shifted instinctively as Mei crawled in to join him, turning slightly on his side and allowing her to settle into the crook of his body. Outside, the storm was collecting into a furious gale that lashed his windows with rain, rattling the glass in the pane. More flashes of lightning were answered by rumbles of thunder. All this was lost on them however, as the two dropped off to sleep again almost at once. Yamato couldn't help himself but cuddle into her back and drape a protective arm over her slender frame, hugging her to his chest. It was another automatic gesture, done in sleep. He bowed his head into the nap of her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair and hummed drowsily, relaxing almost at once.

His subconscious eased back into dreams, only they were much less troublesome and he slept through the night more peacefully than he had in years.

Morning sunlight crept into the room in a lazy arch until it's warmth was lapping at the foot of the bed, at their toes. The storm clouds had been driven away after blowing themselves out all evening. The glistening streets were the only evidence there had been a storm at all. Now the sky was a cloudless blue, the color of baby's breath in the early morning. The light filtering in from the open curtains roused Yamato from sleep but he made no motion to move. He willed himself to return to sleep, to whatever pleasant dreams he was having. He snuggled closer to Mei, turning his head to press his cheek into the nap of her neck. It never occurred to him to question her presence, too busy savoring it, appreciating the closeness. His arm constricted around her middle, fingers fanning out over her exposed abdomen and sliding up high to discover her bare breast. Momentarily perplexed by its appearance, his fingers flexed over the tender flex, giving it a light squeeze before massaging over the stiffness of her nipple and piercing.

Memories of what almost was the night before flooded his subconscious, forcing Yamato away. He was startled to find her beside him, having assumed her crawling into his bed was a cruel concoction of the medication, drowsiness and wishful thinking. Now, here she was, the literal girl from his dreams, pressed half naked against him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Yamato tumbled back into bed, stretching out onto his back with his pack of cigarettes clutched tightly between his fingers. The cardboard carton felt more like a lifeline in his hand, tugging him back to reality after spending so much of his evening in the lie of his bedroom. He flipped the box open and fished one of the sticks free along with the lighter from within, pinching it between his lips. Lighting it in the darkness of his room, it looked for a moment like a dazzling flower had blossomed in his hand, then was snuffed out. He shook the lighter like it was a match to put it out, an old habit. The pillows had been knocked to the floor in their moment of passion so he used the back of his hand to cushion his head against the mattress. He could still feel their shared warmth tingling against the chilly flesh of his back.

The grey haze collected over his sightless eyes, taking the monstrous shape of Kuwagamon via the power of his overactive imagination. Was it a coincidence that it had been the same Digimon creature they had encountered so many years ago? Maybe.... history repeats itself or so his teachers always liked to remind. He waved a hand to clear the air and something far worse materialized in the wake: the woman from last night. A pang of guilt punched a hole through his sternum. How could he have dismissed her like that, treated her so terribly? She had been terrorizing his conscience all day and he did not even know her name. Perhaps that was the biggest tragedy of all.

Yamato blinked, realizing that the filter was sizzling between his fingers and quickly stamped it out on the ash tray beside him. He quickly lit another, his nerves still in a frenzy despite the nicotine break. His free hand groped to his sex, still aching and swollen beneath the thin bedsheets. He half-heartedly gave it a tug, wanting to be rid of the bothersome erection more out of frustration than any further sexual desire. Masturbation could hardly compare when he had been so close to having her though again, he could not blame her from fleeing. His body was whispering sweet promises to her that the rest of him could not keep. The way his arms embraced her said they would always be there to catch her. His lips promised to know only hers. His fingers, so nimble and clever with her, swearing happiness and laughter forever after. Mei was protecting her heart; how could he possibly fault her for that?

He gave up trying to finish himself and tossed onto his side like a scolded child. He put his half-smoked cigarette out and stalked to the long windows lining his bedroom and peered out into the night. The first patters of rain were streaking down the glass soundlessly. Spectral flashes of lightning dazzled the sky but no noise of thunder followed. He pressed his forehead into the glass, admitting to himself that, despite knowing how terrible he was for Mei, he still desired her. It was completely selfish, Yamato knew, but it was the truth. He would bring the poor girl nothing but sorrow and misery and perhaps a lifetime of healing for a broken heart and he still willed her to share his bed.

God, what a damn bastard, he mused to the storm. Maybe that should be my new Crest...wonder what that will evolve Gabumon into? The thought made him laugh, a harsh, bitter sound. It certainly sounded more accurate that 'Friendship'. What kind of friend would have such selfish thoughts? God, he needed a drink but did not want to chance another venture into the living room to retrieve the bottle. Instead, he retreated into the bathroom, to his medicine cabinet, where his non-prescription prescriptions' were arranged into a neat row of orange bottles. They were all made out to him but Yamato had never once set foot into a doctors' office for a checkup. Just another 'perk' of being a rock n roll star with Yoshi Masahara for a manager. He unscrewed the cap on the valium and downed a capsule with a cupped handful of water.

He did not remember falling back into bed at all. instead, his memory was eclipsed with nightmarish images conjured up for a bad conscious and illegal drugs. Suddenly, he was at summer camp again, being pulled into the Digital World, only he had not regressed in age. Kuwagamon had just begun his assault, looking far more monstrous in his dreams that in reality.... when Mei called his name.

"Mei..." he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Was he still dreaming? It would certainly explain why she was chancing another visit to his bed. His tongue felt like heavy sandpaper in his mouth. Yamato coughed into his fist, struggling to keep his head above the water of chemically induced sleep and drowning. He repeated her worries back at her, sounding confused, trying to puzzle the words together like the pieces of a jigsaw. He could certainly relate about not wanting to be alone with nightmares. Her presence would be appreciated even if all of this was happening in his mind. He nodded, opening the sheet up to her. He was still naked beneath them, masked in shadow. He didn't own any pajamas, hadn't for years. All of his underwear had been taken as souvenirs by groupies ages ago. Now they were depleting his supply of socks.

Another flash of lightning cut through the night, momentarily turning it to day.

Happy When it Rains by Jesus and Mary Chain has been at the top of my playlist as of late. That along with pretty much anything by the Smiths

Yamato winced with every step. The cold tile floor of his apartment bit at the soles of his bare feet until he was practically dancing his way down the hallway. The pictures along the wall seemed to be watching him pass, a trick of the imagination giving him the distinct feeling of being quietly judged from the shadows. Elvis Presley, forever frozen in a vintage picture shaking hands with President Nixon, seemed to ask what had happened. You've never struck out before, Yamato-man. He could hear Elvis country swagger voice drifting from the frame while the ex-President of the United States grinned knowingly. The two figures drifted closer together in the gloom, as if they were about to share a private jest at Yamato's expense, Nixon already smiling in anticipation.

The living room opened up before him, cavernously wide in the dark, giving him a chill that had nothing to do with the cool air. He paused, searching the darkness until his eyes adjusted well enough to see the rhythmic breathing of Nyamon and Gabumon. The two were nestled together within the warm confines of the pillow and blanket fort, one indistinguishable from the other and tangle of sheets. It should have been a comforting sight. It certainly was one he envied. The entire evening had been building up to he and Mei in bed together, falling asleep in roughly the same manner as the digimon but something had gone terribly awry. They were off-script and studio executives were scurrying about the apartment set trying to get the scene back on track. A producer was speaking to the director alone in one corner, looking livid. The climax had been spoiled but who was to blame? Mei was the forerunner it seemed for rushing out of bed but what about Yamato himself? Certainly he bore some of the blame, perhaps even more than she. His lecherous ways had finally caught up with him, it seemed.

God when was the last time someone had turned him down for sex? Yamato honestly couldn't remember. Somewhere along the way the act had lost all intimacy and lovemaking evolved into fucking. That was it. Yamato no longer made love or even had sex, he fucked. Got fucked. Fucked up.
His eyes fell on the sofa, sensing Mei's presence rather than seeing her over the back of the furniture. He wanted to say something to her but paused, thinking the act selfish since it seemed born from his confusion rather than concern for her well-being. No, it was best to let her be, perhaps breach the subject again in the morning in the light of the day. Fully clothed.

The thought made his sex throb angrily up at him, doubling him over again. He was yet to lose his erection, would likely be stuck with it for a while as he doubted even masturbating would be enough to calm it down. He padded quietly over to the island and spied the small rectangle that was unmistakably a box of cigarettes and snatched them up. Automatically he fished one free and clamped it between his lips but did not light it right away. Instead he appraised Mei's huddled for, thinking that she looked so incredibly small and helpless, a wounded animal in the jaws of some mechanical contraption by the strings of her heart.

He hovered closer, suddenly overcome with the urge to stoop down and brush her hair aside, kiss her forehead but resisted and retreated back to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Yamato watch helplessly as Mei explained, unable to do anything but nod his head lamely while every molecule of his being was screaming for action. She had been ready, beckoning him forward with her a sirens call, in the way her body moved and reacted to his caress. His lips were still tingling with the sensation of kissing her mouth. He brought his hands up, massaged his fingers over his puffy mouth as if he half believed the embrace had occurred at all. His fingertips still smelled of her sweet nectar, of her wanton arousal and he quickly dropped his hand away. The scent had throttled his brain and set it racing again, matched only by his hammering heart. Behind the cage of his ribs the muscle was having violent spasms like a panicked bird.

His cock throbbed painfully, oversensitive to the slightest touch until he could no longer bear to keep it covered by a hand. It felt three sizes too large for his body, heavy before him and weighed down by his aching testicles that had turned to burning brass in his scrotum. The whole thing was either going to burst apart beneath him like an overexerted engine or flood the condoms reservoir tip with his seed. He was so pent up Yamato was positive the discharge was liable to shoot through the protective latex and make a mess of the bedspread.

And still, Yamato wanted more, wanted Mei, more than he had ever desired a woman before. His palms burned to feel her flesh again, to run along her narrow waist and knead her bosom together while he buried his face in the nest of her flesh between her legs. His cock throbbed again in wake over his overcharged imagination, so agonizing that he winced and doubled over slightly, gritting his teeth to suppress a moan. His hands hovered over the livewire of a penis, flexing helplessly around it but not daring to touch. If he risked it now there was no guarantee he would be able to stop from finishing in from of the poor girl or throwing himself at her.

He watched her go, lamenting her absence before she was out of the room and winced again in empathy as Mei slammed her knee into the bed post. He didn't make any more to help or even ask if she was okay. It was clear any aide would be vehemently denied so...Yamato let her go and sat listening on the edge of the bed until the sound of her bare feet flapping the floor faded into silence. Without Mei in it, the room suddenly felt lonely, colder too until Yamato was sure his breath would cloud in the air. Massaging his hands up and down his arms and blowing into his palms for warmth, he peeled the condom free from his genitals. The process was slow and painful, like removing a second layer of skin with a cheese grater. Each bar of his Jacob's Ladder was agony and he had to pause, threatening fresh eruption until it slipped free and landed at the bottom of his trashcan in a sticky ball.

His cock was glistening in the moonlight of the room from the spermicide. The mushroom-shaped head, now engorged to an angry purple hue, was sticky with pre-ejaculate. Yamato threw himself onto his back in bed, tugging the sheet up to his chest to stare up at the ceiling. Mei was right, he mused, not seeing the lightless bulbs and still blades of the ceiling fan. She couldn't be another of his conquests, just another mark in his bedpost to be forgotten later. There had been such a woman lying here no less than twenty-hour hours ago, only she had given into him. She had willing offered her body as sacrifice to the living God and where was she now?

Yamato saw himself in the middle of a packed venue with seats that seemed to stretch out into infinite before him only instead of cheering fans; it was occupied by every woman he had treated so poorly. Gods how many are there? Their faces drifted in and out of focus at him from the darkness. Some were frowning, others wearily shook their heads but mostly, they cried.

He reached across the bed to the nightstand for his pack of Lucky 7's, hoping the demons could be chased away by the light of a torch but his hand fell over empty hair. Puzzled he sat up and glanced around before remembering they had been left in the kitchen, on the island and groaned. With one vice going unsated the second demanded it, spurring him to roll to the side of the bed and climb free from the twisted sheets and padded to the door of the bedroom. He listened down the hallway, not bothering to dress, for any hint that Mei was still awake. When nothing came, he held a breath and crept down the hall in the tip of his toes, hoping to snatch his cigarettes and lighter from the counter and be back in the bedroom and escape notice

When Mei placed her hands on his chest, Yamato instinctively moved closer, tilting his head to one side and searching for another kiss. His fingers eased the ring of the condom down the meaty shaft of his member, mindful of the rise and fall of the barbells and not tear the thin elastic. The pads of his fingers came away oily and scented like strawberries with his length sheathed safely inside a protective layer. His hands went to her hips, perhaps slid down to her flower again while she laid back into the cushion of pillows and sheets. Her first time should be delicate, Yamato coached himself. Tender and warm, be patient with her body and let it get used to being penetrated slowly. Let her feel every inch of you slid inside, let her believe that you are hers and hers alone.

The play was in its final act now and the climax waited! He searched for her mouth with his, anticipating to feel her eagerness in the form of another passionate embrace until the hand pressing into his middle became more firm, halting him in place.

"What is it?" he asked his voice coming out in a whisper, made low under the weight of sexual desire. "You don't have to worry, I'll go slowly so you-." But he was cut off. He relented under the weight of her hands and settled back to half-sit on his thigh at the corner of the bed, a look of confusion taking shape in his handsome features. Mei was going off script, adlibbing dialogue, changing the direction of the whole scene without warning him first. Yamato had the whole scene planned out in his head and it should have been like watching a movie unfold, starring himself as directed by himself with writing credits for yours truly. There was even a John Williams score swelling in his ears that had been cut short. The music screeched to a halt like the needle on a record player grinding against the vinyl.

Somewhere the director should have called cut and the crew drift in to reset the scene for another take but none of that happened. He watched helplessly as Mei scooted further away from him, head clearing with the distance and hastily explain why they could not have sex, not this time or any other.

"Mei," he started, hating how lame and desperate his voice sounded. He even extended a hand out to her like a lifeline to drowning victim only who was really in danger of going under? He opened his mouth to protest, to reassure her that this was anything but another conquest for him but found him unable to lie. His voice caught in his throat and the sound of dishonestly died in his mouth, tasted foul and threatened to choke him. He swallowed the lump in his throat and let the hand fall away. His libido was screaming for action. His cock throbbed painfully between his thighs, worse now that it was being denied and he cupped a sympathetic hand over the shaft in order to quell the worst of it.

It didn't help. At all.

"I'm sorry..." I'm sorry that I can't be a better man for you, he meant but couldn't bring himself to really say that. I'm sorry that I  can't be the Yamato you deserve.

Yamato followed her gaze as Mei appraised his naked body in a slow up and down motion until her eyes inevitable found his manhood and its accompanying piercings. Everyone reacted differently to seeing the barbells adorning the thick shaft and he was curious to know what Mei would do when she at last beheld them. He had seen it all. Some slithered away across the bed with hands clasped over their mouths in horror as if he had produced the grotesque visage of an H. R. Giger creation rather than his erect penis. Others had come closer curiously and taken him between their hands and explored him. They would run their fingers up the bars with their fingers, climbing the ladder; massage their thumb over the swollen head before walking back down again. Their inquisitiveness never failed to arouse him further, until his cock was so engorged and aching it felt as if the piercings would pop loose and fly across the room like burst pistons on an engine.

After sex would inevitably bring the question, "Why did he get it?" Granted no woman had ever complained while it was inside of her as the rods provided extra stimulation for both of them even whilst sheathed inside the confines of a condom. He had gotten the piercing in America, on their first tour to the states many years ago. While playing poorly ventilated basement bars in Los Angeles, Yamato had slept with a woman sporting multiple piercings through her genitalia and the rest of the night that wasn't spent riding him was used to convince Yamato to get a Prince Albert. The list of benefits was constitution length and the girl had gladly gone down each and every one in between bounds of hard fucking in order to get his agreement. He declined of course, having no desire to stake a metal rod through his dick but in the weeks that followed his mind always drifted back to the idea.

Soon he was googling information about such piercings and had even gone into a few parlors after shows but always backed out at the last minute, opting for tattoos instead. On his night of the tour in New York, before flying back to Japan, he took the plunge. The parlor reminded him of a dentist's office it was so sterile and clean, a far cry from the dives he had gotten his first tattoos at in L.A. He was busy explaining what he wanted to the artist (a gorgeous red-head, tight body, firm tits, arms and legs covered in sleeves of ink) when he spied a picture hanging from the vanity mirror behind the chair. All around were samples of the woman's work: Batman standing atop a shadowy roof adorning a bare back, nipples piercings through a pair of perfect breasts that were linked together by a silver chain, the wide labia between a pair of spread legs where a golden hoop threaded through the engorged clitoris. But what caught Yamato's eye was the photograph, almost candid in nature of an erect member with a series of metal rods passing through the base. The placement was surgically precise, each bar spaced expertly apart, impressive given its placement. She had followed his gaze to the picture.

"See something you like?" she teased.

As nervous as he was, Yamato found the experience relatively painless, hurting far less than the carp tattoo on his chest and taking a fraction of the time. The downside was of course being 'put down' for a few weeks while they healed but the results were surprising. Sex became so much more pleasurable for him and his partner, even masturbation with his own hand gliding up and down the metal barbells proved a thrilling experience.

Yamato opened the nightstand drawer and sifted around inside, searching for a condom for them with some difficulty in the low light. All the boxes he produced were empty or filled with used, open packages. Aside from personal protection and half-empty bottles of warming lubricant, the draw was jammed with scraps of paper with song lyrics scratched out on them, empty ink pens, a handful of loose change, a vibrating cock ring with a dead battery inside and a pack of juicy fruit. Panicked he wrenched open the second drawer and continued searching before at last hearing the telltale rattle of a full pack. The box advertised a thin fit, 'Like wearing nothing at all!' Using his teeth, he tore open the glossy packet and set to loop the sticky ring over the wide head of his member