Contributor: E Young
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Jason has watched enough anime to know where this is going.
He was staying with his e-friend Susumu—alias CharClone008—in Chicago for a bit so that he could attend a con. Even though Susumu constantly scolded him for having no job and no money, somehow he'd still managed to drive all the way from Virginia to spend tens of dollars along with all the other sweaty fanboys. He tried to get Susumu to go with him, but he passed. He even tried to pay him a little rent money since he'd be there for a few days, but all Susumu wanted in return was a cute little souvenir.
Susumu worked nights at a bar downtown and slept most of the day, leaving Jason alone to eat chips and watch old mecha tapes and DVDs. It was a pretty good life, mostly what he did at home anyway except Susumu didn't leave the A/C on twenty-four/seven like he did. Susumu had two rooms, and one was dedicated to his growing collection of ancient military artifacts, so Jason was relegated to the futon.
“Look at you, you even say 'futon' right,” Jason had teased. “You're so Japanese, Susu-kun.”
“Half,” Susumu snipped. “Please quit adding honorifics to my name. You're not even doing it right.”
Jason just smiled stupidly.
It was a comfortable life, for at least a day and a half, until Jason caught Susumu with the needleman.
It happened one afternoon, when Jason assumed Susumu was asleep. He was taking a piss in the bathroom when he heard the rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk. At first, he thought it was just Susumu tossing and turning, but as he washed his hands it happened again. Perverted curiosity got the better of him, and soon he was outside Susumu's door, nudging it open for a peek.
Inside, Susumu sat on his dresser, naked. In front of him was the needleman—Jason had called it that because the thing looked like a giant needle with pointed arms and legs. He only assumed it was male because what other gender would a needle-thing be? When it moved backwards or forwards, it made the thunk-thunk-thunk sound.
Wordlessly, Susumu hopped off the dresser and turned around, perched his foot on the dresser, exposing his dick to Jason. The needleman came up behind him and ran the broadside of its arm along Susumu's ass crack and then his cock, working it in a circle until its steel melded with Susumu's flesh.
“Ah—ah!”
Jason watched the needleman pump its arm and listened to the sounds his friend was making. The needleman had molded and reshaped his genitals like a child's clay set, sliding in and out of his newly-formed hole almost cartoonishly. Susumu shuddered and presumably came even though Jason didn't see any evidence. Jason quietly pulled the door closed and went back downstairs.
Later that night, Susumu decided to make Jason dinner before he left for work.
“Con is Friday,” he said idly, mashing the chopped potatoes.
“Where did the needleman come from?”
Susumu stopped but didn't face him. “What's a needleman?”
“That thing you were fucking this morning.”
“Whaaat? You know I sleep all day.”
“Whatever man, stop lying.”
“I'm telling you, there's no such thing. You watch too much anime shit.”
Jason had bristled, but Susumu was done cooking and talking. Soon he went off to work. He went back to his futon fortress and glanced at the staircase. Not even a peep. Maybe it was a dream.
But just in case it wasn't, Jason was outside Susumu's door the next morning, this time with his dick in his hand. He nudged the door open a little and watched while Susumu paced around, naked. He could hear the needleman thunk-thunk-thunk-ing around but couldn't see him.
“Try not to be so loud this time,” Susumu said, perching on the dresser again. “That one downstairs has ears like a bat.”
The needleman apparently said something back, but Jason didn't understand it. He only saw it plunge its sharp arms into Susumu's chest and in his crotch again, like plugs in sockets. The needleman worked Susumu while Jason worked himself in the hallway; when he was done, he excused himself to the bathroom. There was a squishy schlicking noise coming from the bedroom.
Naturally, Susumu denied the needleman until he was blue in the face.
“What do the girls call it? Gaslighting. Yeah, you're trying to gaslight me. Make me think I'm just imaginin' stuff when I'm not.”
“I don't think you should go to the con. You're sick.” For good measure, Susumu took Jason's temperature with his hand. They both knew he didn't mean physically sick.
Jason pushed Susumu away. “I'm not the sick one. I'm going out tomorrow.”
“I just don't think it's a good idea.”
Susumu was nervous. Jason had him on the ropes.
“Why?”
“You're not well.”
“Shut the fuck up, I'm fine. Thanks for lunch.”
Susumu left for work a few hours later. When he was gone there was no thunk-thunk-thunk or schlick-schlick. Jason sneaked up the stairs to Susumu's room and threw the door open. He turned the lights on and the room flooded with the soft fluorescent bulb's light.
There was the dresser, a platform bed, a small closet, and nothing else. He looked in the closet, under the bed, the cotton sheets. No needlemen. But he wasn't fooled. He went back to his futon and waited. He pretended to sleep when Susumu came in, and still waited. He waited until his eyes were angry, red, dry. Sure enough, the same time every morning, he heard the rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk upstairs. Horny kids.
He bolted up the stairs as fast as his pudgy out-of-shape body would carry him and he threw the bedroom door open.
“Go-got you,” he said numbly.
Susumu was in the process of growing. His legs pinched off at the knee into a slender needle point, his back unnaturally stiff, and the middle of his face was becoming soft and translucent.
“Itsssh hard to shhhtop onsssh you get into it,” he hissed with sagging lips. The other needleman stood behind him. Jason got the feeling it was watching intently.
“Care to join?” Susumu the needle asked, and Jason realized he wasn't speaking with his useless mouth anymore, but with his mind. He offered a pointed, fleshy arm.
Jason has seen enough anime to know where this was going. If he didn't accept, he couldn't leave. If he did accept, he would have to transform and never look back. At least he had no one to hide it from. And there was nothing to look back to anyway. Susumu's arm plunged into his chest and together the two of them writhed and stretched into fleshless, sexless beings of sharp, glorious steel.
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E Young is a southern writer with no twang, a slight TV addiction, and a bunch of gender complications.
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- -
Jason has watched enough anime to know where this is going.
He was staying with his e-friend Susumu—alias CharClone008—in Chicago for a bit so that he could attend a con. Even though Susumu constantly scolded him for having no job and no money, somehow he'd still managed to drive all the way from Virginia to spend tens of dollars along with all the other sweaty fanboys. He tried to get Susumu to go with him, but he passed. He even tried to pay him a little rent money since he'd be there for a few days, but all Susumu wanted in return was a cute little souvenir.
Susumu worked nights at a bar downtown and slept most of the day, leaving Jason alone to eat chips and watch old mecha tapes and DVDs. It was a pretty good life, mostly what he did at home anyway except Susumu didn't leave the A/C on twenty-four/seven like he did. Susumu had two rooms, and one was dedicated to his growing collection of ancient military artifacts, so Jason was relegated to the futon.
“Look at you, you even say 'futon' right,” Jason had teased. “You're so Japanese, Susu-kun.”
“Half,” Susumu snipped. “Please quit adding honorifics to my name. You're not even doing it right.”
Jason just smiled stupidly.
It was a comfortable life, for at least a day and a half, until Jason caught Susumu with the needleman.
It happened one afternoon, when Jason assumed Susumu was asleep. He was taking a piss in the bathroom when he heard the rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk. At first, he thought it was just Susumu tossing and turning, but as he washed his hands it happened again. Perverted curiosity got the better of him, and soon he was outside Susumu's door, nudging it open for a peek.
Inside, Susumu sat on his dresser, naked. In front of him was the needleman—Jason had called it that because the thing looked like a giant needle with pointed arms and legs. He only assumed it was male because what other gender would a needle-thing be? When it moved backwards or forwards, it made the thunk-thunk-thunk sound.
Wordlessly, Susumu hopped off the dresser and turned around, perched his foot on the dresser, exposing his dick to Jason. The needleman came up behind him and ran the broadside of its arm along Susumu's ass crack and then his cock, working it in a circle until its steel melded with Susumu's flesh.
“Ah—ah!”
Jason watched the needleman pump its arm and listened to the sounds his friend was making. The needleman had molded and reshaped his genitals like a child's clay set, sliding in and out of his newly-formed hole almost cartoonishly. Susumu shuddered and presumably came even though Jason didn't see any evidence. Jason quietly pulled the door closed and went back downstairs.
Later that night, Susumu decided to make Jason dinner before he left for work.
“Con is Friday,” he said idly, mashing the chopped potatoes.
“Where did the needleman come from?”
Susumu stopped but didn't face him. “What's a needleman?”
“That thing you were fucking this morning.”
“Whaaat? You know I sleep all day.”
“Whatever man, stop lying.”
“I'm telling you, there's no such thing. You watch too much anime shit.”
Jason had bristled, but Susumu was done cooking and talking. Soon he went off to work. He went back to his futon fortress and glanced at the staircase. Not even a peep. Maybe it was a dream.
But just in case it wasn't, Jason was outside Susumu's door the next morning, this time with his dick in his hand. He nudged the door open a little and watched while Susumu paced around, naked. He could hear the needleman thunk-thunk-thunk-ing around but couldn't see him.
“Try not to be so loud this time,” Susumu said, perching on the dresser again. “That one downstairs has ears like a bat.”
The needleman apparently said something back, but Jason didn't understand it. He only saw it plunge its sharp arms into Susumu's chest and in his crotch again, like plugs in sockets. The needleman worked Susumu while Jason worked himself in the hallway; when he was done, he excused himself to the bathroom. There was a squishy schlicking noise coming from the bedroom.
Naturally, Susumu denied the needleman until he was blue in the face.
“What do the girls call it? Gaslighting. Yeah, you're trying to gaslight me. Make me think I'm just imaginin' stuff when I'm not.”
“I don't think you should go to the con. You're sick.” For good measure, Susumu took Jason's temperature with his hand. They both knew he didn't mean physically sick.
Jason pushed Susumu away. “I'm not the sick one. I'm going out tomorrow.”
“I just don't think it's a good idea.”
Susumu was nervous. Jason had him on the ropes.
“Why?”
“You're not well.”
“Shut the fuck up, I'm fine. Thanks for lunch.”
Susumu left for work a few hours later. When he was gone there was no thunk-thunk-thunk or schlick-schlick. Jason sneaked up the stairs to Susumu's room and threw the door open. He turned the lights on and the room flooded with the soft fluorescent bulb's light.
There was the dresser, a platform bed, a small closet, and nothing else. He looked in the closet, under the bed, the cotton sheets. No needlemen. But he wasn't fooled. He went back to his futon and waited. He pretended to sleep when Susumu came in, and still waited. He waited until his eyes were angry, red, dry. Sure enough, the same time every morning, he heard the rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk upstairs. Horny kids.
He bolted up the stairs as fast as his pudgy out-of-shape body would carry him and he threw the bedroom door open.
“Go-got you,” he said numbly.
Susumu was in the process of growing. His legs pinched off at the knee into a slender needle point, his back unnaturally stiff, and the middle of his face was becoming soft and translucent.
“Itsssh hard to shhhtop onsssh you get into it,” he hissed with sagging lips. The other needleman stood behind him. Jason got the feeling it was watching intently.
“Care to join?” Susumu the needle asked, and Jason realized he wasn't speaking with his useless mouth anymore, but with his mind. He offered a pointed, fleshy arm.
Jason has seen enough anime to know where this was going. If he didn't accept, he couldn't leave. If he did accept, he would have to transform and never look back. At least he had no one to hide it from. And there was nothing to look back to anyway. Susumu's arm plunged into his chest and together the two of them writhed and stretched into fleshless, sexless beings of sharp, glorious steel.
- - -
E Young is a southern writer with no twang, a slight TV addiction, and a bunch of gender complications.
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