Cosplay [M22/F22] [con][sex] (1/3)

1. *The Abyss*

*Ding!*

“Thank you reallybigdick69!”

One token. One miserable token, but by now the reaction was
effectively Pavlovian: an acknowledgement, a fake smile, and a glance
at the total on the screen. She was still two thousand seven
hundred and fifty three tokens away from the goal, a countdown towards
her pretend orgasm.

“I’m so wet, I’m so close,” she droned, trying to muster some
excitement, perfunctorily rubbing her large clit.

Her laptop screen flickered, becoming a rainbow-like mosaic of squares
tinted in hues of red, green, blue, and yellow. The desktop was still
visible, but extremely fuzzy, making the chat unreadable. She gave it
a light kick with her foot, causing it to flicker again a couple of
times before returning to its normal state.

*Ding!*

“Thank you icum4unow!”

Two thousand seven hundred and fifty two tokens to go. It was a slow
night, lately they all were.

“I’m so wet, I’m so close,” she repeated. She wondered how much
pizza was left in the fridge, did she have one or two slices for
breakfast?

Again the screen flickered. This time the squares began to quickly
take turns changing colours, akin to some sort of schizophrenic Simon
messing up the display.

“I’m so fucking wet!” she shouted, kicking the laptop with barely
restrained violence. The computer, perhaps cowered in its own way,
found it to fix its video output.

Minutes went by, a mere eight people in the room. The girl, her right
arm tired, switched to masturbating with her left hand. The laptop had
been acting up for a few weeks now, but she didn’t have the money to
replace it. After some initial success she had spent all her earnings
on food, rent, cosplay accessories, and BTS merchandise, not
necessarily in that order.

“Make me come, baby, I’m so close,” she continued, now thinking
about Jungkook, which certainly helped. She was admittedly on the
fence about the lip ring at first, perhaps remnants of her own
conservative Korean upbringing, but it had grown on her, and truth
be told no self-respecting ARMY member would hold a grudge against
Jungkook. That boy could do no wrong.

*Ding!*

“Thank you cockinurpussy69!” she said, a sliver of sarcasm
creeping into her voice in response to the single token.

“I’m so wet, I’m so… huh?”

This time the screen simply went blank. No flicker, no colourful
mosaic, just the pit of a black mirror staring back at her. She gave
it a couple of bumps with her heel to no avail. She leaned forwards,
repeatedly pressing the on/off button, eagerly hoping for the little
green power LED to light up, but it was no use. It was dead, Jim.

She looked up, soon becoming lost in her reflection against the deep
blackness of the dead monitor: her dirty soles, chipped toenails, the
dampness of her wiry bush, still-vibrating pink Lush sticking out of
her cunt, a hint of incipient cellulite where her buttocks met her
thighs, the large wet spot staining the bedsheet, the unflattering
rolls on her tummy that formed when she sat that way, her unremarkable
boobs which were already starting to lose their battle against
gravity, the split tips of her dishevelled, excessively-dyed hair, the
badly-concealed pimples on her chin, the hastily-applied rouge which
could barely disguise her cracked lips. The reflection cut off just
below her nose, needlessly preserving her “no-face” anonymity as the
abyss gazed back into her, making the realization all the more
profound.

How had it come to this?

2. *Rei*

If life were like the movies it’d be easy to pinpoint the moment when
destiny crystallizes: something dramatic happens and everyone freezes
in awe for a few moments while the camera pans around them and the
soundtrack begins to crescendo in Dolby Atmos surround sound.

In reality the path one takes almost always congeals slowly, like
Jell-O. If pressed to choose, however, she would probably recall when
she first started watching Sailor Moon as a tween. She was enthralled
by the Sailor Senshi, their pretty uniforms, their amazing attacks,
their gorgeous transformations. The rebellious Sailor Mars, of course,
was the best, with her waist-length, raven-black hair swirling around
her seifuku while her long legs twirled atop her red high heels as she
incinerated youma left and right.

Her parents, especially her mother, wasted no time in expressing their
disapproval of this newfound entertainment. For one, it was a
distraction from her studies, which she might have agreed with except
for the fact that, Sailor Moon or not, she would have been a terrible
student regardless. A second, more insidious motivation, was their
strong dislike for Japanese culture in general.

Seung-hee, despite her rather selfish nature, did empathize on some
level. Her mom’s oldest aunt had been a comfort girl near the end of
the Second World War, her tales of woe leaving a deep impression on
her mother as a child. It was a justified hatred, no doubt, which made
it all the more difficult to argue that her growing love of manga and
anime had nothing to do with those misfortunes from decades ago, in a
country she had briefly visited only twice in her life.

The rift only widened as the years went by, the chasm becoming
insurmountable when she decided to cosplay at Anime North for the
first time. The word “whore” had been thrown at her, and the venomous
retort of her mother being “an ajumma hag” had hit a nerve. Seung-hee
stormed out of the house, screams at her back, and headed to the
Toronto Congress Centre wearing her sailor outfit under a coat. She
was so furious and distraught that she forgot to put on her sneakers
for the commute, and not being used to pumps she kept stumbling every
other step, tripping on the cheap, second-hand red heels she had
purchased at Value Village.

She felt extremely self-conscious on the subway, but by the time she
transferred to the #52A bus she found herself surrounded by a
colourful cast of characters which put her somewhat at ease. She got
off at the City View Drive stop, amazed at the sheer number of
cosplayers loitering outside the TCC.

As she walked around she finally found the courage to take off her
coat, a mix of feelings swelling within her: the awkwardness of
wearing her primitive Sailor Mars costume, but also excitement about
finally playing her favourite character. There was furthermore an
element of embarrassment as she clutched her coat over the tight white
leotard in an attempt to conceal her chest (squishing the oversized,
cheap bow she had found on Alibaba), not to mention the short red
skirt which barely covered her thighs. At the same time she watched as
other cosplayers, mainly the attractive girls, were being swarmed by
photographers seeking to take a few pictures, and couldn’t help but to
feel a twinge of jealousy at their confidence and ensuing popularity.

She had no money to buy a day pass to actually enter the con, but was
content to simply gawk at the amazing, colourful costumers who
surrounded her. She recognized most of them, a fact which she secretly
boasted to herself as it would have undoubtedly scandalized her mother.
After a couple of hours, however, the elation wore off, her feet hurt,
and a new, depressing realization dawned on her.

She saw a One Piece clique, an Attack on Titan clique, a Naruto
clique, a Death Note clique, even a Sailor Moon clique which she did
not even dare approach. They all seemed to know each other, taking
photos, chatting amongst themselves and having fun. And then there was
her, ignored by everyone, feeling an outsider in her cheap, ugly
costume.

Amidst this revelation she suddenly stumbled, nearly falling on her
face. Her left heel had broken and was now dangling from her shoe,
held only by a thin strip of red plastic film. She hobbled until she
reached a secluded parking block on which to sit. She inspected the
ruined pump, cheap glue flaking off the bottom. After an emotional
rollercoaster of a day the prospect of having to return home barefoot
finally became too much: she buried her face in her arms and began to
cry.

She lost track of time and had no idea how long she had spent on that
hard, concrete beam, sobbing, when she suddenly hear a voice nearby.

“I have some superglue, that should help…”

She lifted her gaze. The young man, seemingly around her age, was
squatting next to her, holding a small tube in his hand, a bulky Nikon
hanging from a strap around his shoulder.

“I also have some tissues,” he added, offering a bundle.

“Thank you,” she replied, in a small voice, trying to conceal what
was certainly a mess of running mascara.

“May I?”

She hesitated for a moment, but didn’t really have a choice. She
handed over the ruined footwear.

“You’re well equipped,” she noted, somewhat regaining her composure.

“Wardrobe malfunctions are par for the course at these events,” he
explained, as he squeezed a few drops of adhesive on the seat of the
heel, “it’s best to be prepared.”

“Are you OK?” he asked, as he pressed the pieces together.

“It’s been… a horrible day,” she answered, more candidly than she
expected. “I hate crying.”

“It’s OK to cry sometimes,” he gently replied.

“I think it’ll be fine, though we should wait a few minutes to make
sure it dries properly,” he added, inspecting the joint.

“Are you a photographer?” she asked, pointing at his camera.

“Well, I try to be… and you’re Sailor Mars, right?”

“I look horrible,” she replied, looking down, clutching the damp
tissues in her hand.

He remained silent for a few moments.

“Do you remember the last episode of season one, when Rei dies
fighting those youma girls?”

She lifted her gaze, nodding slightly.

“I was a little kid when I watched it, and I actually cried when
she passed away, but of course I never told anyone. Well, until now I
suppose.”

“I realize it may not be a flattering thing to say, but you look
like Rei in that episode, and in a way it makes it all the more real,
you know? Because of the dozens of cookie-cutter Sailor Mars
cosplayers I’ve seen today I am sure you’ll be the only one I
remember.”

Seung-hee’s eyes swelled with tears.

“I think the heel will hold, should get you back home at least,” he
said, handing her the pump. He stood there for a moment as she put it
on, making sure it would support her weight. She took a few steps and
gave him a thumbs-up.

“Well then… um…” he seemed prepared to leave, but hesitated for
a few moments, unsure of himself. He took a deep breath, finally
gathering courage.

“Do you mind if I take a photo of your cosplay? I won’t show it to
anyone, it would mean a lot to me. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be
weird, I just…”

“What should I do?” she interrupted.

“Oh, well, um, can you turn this way? And, um, hold your hands
together just below the bow, facing slightly towards your right,
and…” he began to explain, as he fumbled with his camera, twisting
dials and pressing buttons.

Seung-hee tried her best to follow his directions. She couldn’t quite
understand what he was aiming for, it didn’t seem like any of the
typical poses Sailor Mars would do. On the other hand he seemed to be
quite confident in terms of the look he was going for, so she simply
decided to trust him and let him mould her to his mind’s eye.

“That’s amazing, I love the determined but guarded look… just
lift your chin up a bit… perfect… hold that for a second…”

*Click!*

“You look so wonderful,” he gushed, approaching her to show the
result on the camera’s small LCD screen.

Seung-hee looked at her photo, expectations in check. Truth be told,
she wished she could have liked it as much as he did. She appeared
tired, and her make-up was messed up, her uniform looking wrinkled and
cheap. He, on the other hand, seemed to be genuinely over the moon,
explaining how he loved the mix of strength and vulnerability, the
realistic look of a battle-weary Sailor Mars facing the prospect of
her very last battle. She gave him a bittersweet smile, flattered
nonetheless by his overflowing enthusiasm over such terrible model.

“Thank you so much,” he said, “I really appreciate it!”

“No problem,” she replied, as she began to turn away, her mood
becoming sombre at the inevitable journey home.

“Uh, for sure, take care, OK?”

They exchanged byes and she left as he pretended to tie his shoelace,
an excuse to stay and watch just a bit longer to see her disappear
into the crowd. Only moments later did he realize he could have asked
her for an email to send her the photo, or maybe a cosplay handle he
could google. It was, of course, too late by then, as she was already
gone, leaving him with a photo and the memory of an unlikely
encounter.

3. *Forever 21*

Things went downhill after that first con. Seung-hee didn’t give up
cosplaying, but instead took it as a challenge. This would have been
commendable as an effort to improve, if not for the fact that she also
weaponized it as a way to antagonize her mother. She purchased a
hot-glue gun, learned how to sew, and began to tailor her own
costumes, always making a point of including at least one provocative
character in her roster.

Her parents’ one hope was that once she started university she would
take her studies seriously, and grow out of this ruinous
anime/manga/cosplay phase. There she would meet a nice Korean man, a
med student preferably, who would finally set her straight. Three
grandchildren would suffice to atone for all that she had put them
through. Was that really too much to ask?

Instead Seung-hee dropped out after just four months into her
communications major, and added K-pop to her repertoire of obsessions
(a late bloomer, in her view). By then the screaming matches at her
house had become a daily occurrence, her mother constantly berating her
while her father had all but given up, settling for the silent
treatment.

Her addictions were all expensive, however, and her parents had
decided to start charging her rent. She began working retail at
Forever 21, which barely kept her afloat and unable to purchase the
wig she needed to complete her Princess Zelda cosplay, or the BORN
PINK deluxe boxset she desperately wanted.

Seung-hee was of course no stranger to the ways of the world, but the
decision to open an Onlyfans account had not been an easy one. She had
little compunction about wearing Yoko Littner’s two-piece since she
could always tell herself the character required it. Not so wearing
skimpy lingerie (at best) as the newly-born “sexy_kpop_hime”.

She thus decided to start by dipping her toes into it, literally. Her
first photoset was a series of feet pictures she took in the
bathtub. She painted her nails as carefully as she could, a bright
turquoise, locked the bathroom door, and snapped a dozen photos with
her cellphone as she waded her toes through the water (she pretended
to be taking a bath, lest her parents become suspicious). She uploaded
the images to her Onlyfans account and waited eagerly in anticipation.
By the fifth day she had managed, perhaps unsurprisingly, zero
subscribers.

Her four-month stunt as a communications major had not been completely
in vain, however, as it was clear to her this was simply an
advertising issue. The answer, as every aspiring sex worker knows, was
to plaster her pictures using salacious captions on every single
subreddit she could think of. The first was the hardest, she spent a
good ten minutes gathering the courage needed to submit to
/r/Rate_my_feet. Hours later, by the time she reached /r/asianfeet2,
she hardly gave it a second thought.

The response was, at least initially, overwhelming. She had been on
reddit for six years by then (using her original account), and had
received perhaps a dozen messages during that time. Within twenty-four
hours sexy_kpop_hime had over two hundred. By the end of the week she
celebrated three subscribers on Onlyfans.

The foot fetish thing only got her so far. Soon the amount of messages
per post came down to a few dozen, the number of subscribers
stubbornly refusing to reach double digits. Progressively the photos
started to turn more suggestive, the amount of leg shown increasing,
the choice of bottoms now becoming part of the process.

It was, of course, an untenable situation, which came crashing down in
perhaps a predictable manner. Her mother, who was barely capable of
using the TV remote control, found a way to snoop through the browser
history of the tablet they used around the house. Seung-hee was
careful, but her mom came across the one time she forgot to use
incognito mode, revealing her reddit profile in all its lewd glory.
The consequences were swift and severe: she would have to move out of
the house by the end of the week and not one minute later. Her
protestations about actually being a tenant were quickly rebutted by
having her rent money thrown at her face.

Seung-hee was on the verge of homelessness, but for once she got a
lucky break, as one of her co-workers needed a roommate to help pay
the rent for her unit. It was a small, windowless den, but it had a
door and was cheap, a godsend for Seung-hee. She moved into the tiny
room on the day of the deadline. Her parents had left the house and
warned her she better not be there when they got back.

She never saw them again.

4. *Cuts*

She nervously pressed the razor blade against her wrist, fingers
trembling as the sharp edge touched her skin, metal against flesh.

Seung-hee’s newfound freedom turned out to be a mixed bag. She was now
at liberty to create whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, and so
her first nudes were online by the end of the week. This had been a
challenge, in large part due to her profound insecurity regarding her
oversized clitoris which was always visible, at least to some extent,
between her legs. What could have been selling point was instead a
source of shame, one she constantly tried to conceal under a dense,
heavy bush. Showing her face remained the last bastion of modesty, the
one line she could not bring herself to cross. Regardless, she found
modest success, and was able to afford some nice fabrics and extra
wardrobe for her cosplay, plus EXO’s “Don’t Mess UP My Tempo”
CD+Booklet bundle, among other things.

On the other hand, her roommate was a bit of a pill, though that
wasn’t the worst of it. Her boyfriend was constantly over, and while
hearing them fuck almost every night was pretty hot, the kinkiness
would quickly be forgotten in the morning once she saw he had again
raided the fridge without regard as to whom the food belonged to. Her
mom’s cooking was the one thing she missed from her previous life.

Being a sex worker was also, to her surprise, quite a lot of work.
She purchased a ringlight and upgraded her smartphone to take better
photos, but she wasn’t particularly creative with her concepts, and
making the sets soon became a chore. Her interactions with men online,
while somewhat bearable (save for the many irredeemable assholes),
became an endless stream of crude compliments, fake flirting, teasing,
promoting, and negotiating. Soon she had trouble compartmentalizing,
keeping Seung-hee separate from sexy_kpop_hime, and found herself
becoming increasingly jaded and cynical in her everyday life due to
the constant objectification.

Perhaps incongruously, Seung-hee’s new online persona resulted in her
toning down the sexuality of her costumes. The absence of her mother
had no doubt played a role, but even more so she felt that cosplay was
a refuge of sorts, the one thing she could do simply for the sake of
making something awesome and cool, something she felt proud of,
something she did for herself and no one else, something which wasn’t
for sale. From the start, she knew she’d never cosplay for money.

Her resolve, however, was put to the test when she lost her job after
Forever 21 closed, and the pandemic hit the world like a freight
train. She immediately decided to diversify and began to cam, but so
did hundreds of thousands of young women, and competition became truly
fierce. She held her own through the worst, still keeping cosplay to
herself, but she loathed the long hours, the act of pretending to like
the men she had to cater to, her constant fixation on comparing
herself with other prettier, more popular creators. To top it off the
money was starting to dry up, she had never been that successful to
begin with, and by now she was old news. Maintaining her anonymity had
also been a burden, one which made her constantly second-guess
herself. The laptop breaking had been the straw that broke the camel’s
back, her pathetic reflection stark proof that at twenty-two years of
age Seung-hee was alone, a loser, and utterly disposable.

She had seen the scars on so many girls, girls much more successful
than her, thin pale lines criss-crossing their arms and legs. Surely
it had to help in some way, help her cope, help her feel like she had
at least a modicum of control over something. She could sense the
steel against the skin, but was afraid it would hurt, and she dreaded
the sight of blood which had terrified her since she was a little
girl. She now felt even worse, a coward, and wondered if pressing down
just a little bit harder, cutting a little bit deeper, might actually
solve all her problems forever.

“There is no greater luck or good fortune than to be reborn with
every heartbeat.”

Seung-hee slowly eased, lifting the blade. Why would she remember
that? Where did she hear it?

She looked around the small den, sitting naked on the floor, her legs
crossed in front of her. She saw the costume hanging from the
dress form next to her mattress on the floor. Seung-hee had spent weeks
putting together the 1993 OVA Belldandy costume for Fan Expo,
repeatedly watching the old animation to get every detail just
right. Though it had been made years before she was even born, she had
fallen in love with the characters when she saw an anime music video
called “The Last Dance”, and had soon marathoned all the episodes. She
knew few, if any, would recognize her, but it didn’t matter. She
would, for a few hours in a couple of weeks, become Belldandy, Norn of
the Present, Goddess First Class Type 2, Unlimited.

Seung-hee put the razor blade aside. She had yet to style the wig, and
her necklace required at least two more pendants. She was naked
already, might as well do another fitting just to make sure. Her Amano
Ai costume needed a lot of work, she had fortunately purchased the
necessary fabric and the wig, but just the sewing would take her a few
days. And the boots, she had found a cheap pair on Amazon which were
perfect, but she would still need to get them shipped and then paint
them. As her mind raced down the list of to-dos her prior misfortunes
suddenly seemed more mundane, and for the first time in weeks
Seung-hee felt excited, with something to look forwards to.

There was, indeed, no better fortune than to be reborn with every
heartbeat or, in her case, with every costume.

5. *Belldandy*

“Oh, hey, can I get a photo?”

Seung-hee joined her hands in a prayer-like pose, getting on her
tip-toes to help arch her back, and turned towards the lens, offering
a sweet smile, just like the real Belldandy would have under such
circumstances. She could tell the teenager didn’t really know what he
was doing, though clearly he believed that not using his cellphone
would impress the girls. He offered no guidance whatsoever, holding
the camera one-handed, the built-in flash likely giving her pupils a
spooky, bright red glow.

“Is that from Fortnite?”

Seung-hee sighed, but appreciated the attention nonetheless. She tried
to explain her character to the kid, but he had almost instantly lost
interest in lieu of a provocative Harley Quinn walking by.

Overall things were going well, it was a lovely day and the grounds
around the Metro Toronto Convention Centre were much nicer and more
expansive than most other locations. Now that restrictions had been
eased a pent-up cosplay community had come out in full force, and for
the first time in years Seung-hee felt comfortable at a con. She was
delighted her cosplay drew attention and praise, and why wouldn’t it?

Belldandy’s costume, at its essence, consists of a long white dress
and a cape, but the devil is in the details. Toeless anklet socks in
white cover her feet, two red rings with golden ornaments hanging just
above the ankles. The choice of fabric for the dress is rather
flexible, some leaning towards an airy, billowing skirt, though her
personal preference was for a heavier, stiffer material with large
folds. The deep blue cape is what really identifies the character,
cinched at the chest by a large medallion which opens up as an
inverted “V” towards the bottom. The trim consists of a serrated
pattern of golden triangles, both along the front and along the outer
edges of the shoulder pads under which the puffy white sleeves of the
dress reach down just above the elbows. Fingerless gloves match
the hue of the cape in blue, as do the triangular markings on her
forehead and cheeks. Additional accessories are the golden chains
which hang loosely around the waist, one or more lined with large
rings, a couple of bracelets on the wrists, and a multi-pendant
necklace, all also in gold. Long blonde hair, or a suitable wig,
complete the look.

Thus dressed she made her way to Roundhouse Park, where old railway
trains could add an interesting element to the photos (mostly
“stopped” by Superman cosplayers). She didn’t know anybody, of course,
she had long ago given up on making friends, but it didn’t bother
her. She was happy with taking the odd photo here and there, or to
chat with people who were actually interested in her character.

As she walked across the park she felt her heavy necklace fall off.
The small clamp that locked it had broken, which was certainly a
problem as it was one of the focal points of the costume. She sat in
the shade of one of the train cars, trying to figure out how to fix
it.

“Hey Belldandy, I have a small pair of pliers, maybe I…”

The moment she looked up the young photographer froze.

“Sailor Mars?”

She was amazed. He did remember.

“Not today,” she replied with a smile, “but you do know your
vintage anime, I’ll give you that. Prepared as usual, huh?”

“It’s so awesome to see you again! You look amazing!”

He was, if anything, just as enthusiastic as before, if not more. It
made Seung-hee’s smile widen.

“So are you going to lend me those pliers or are you just happy to
see me?”

He clicked them a couple of times making a goofy crab-like gesture
before handing them over. Seung-hee wondered if this was some sort of
Benjamin Button scenario whereupon she had gotten older while he had
regressed.

“You hardly see anyone cosplaying Oh My Goddess these days, you’re
one of the best I’ve ever seen, the golden trim of the dress is great,
it must have been quite a bit of sewing.”

Seung-hee was impressed he could even tell.

“So how’s the shooting? Lots of sexy girls I imagine,” she said,
half-jokingly, working on the necklace but keen on his answer.

“Well, you know, yeah, for sure, but everyone’s doing MMOs these
days, and just buying cheap stuff online, your craftsmanship is
becoming a lost art form, especially when it comes to the classics.”

He was so earnest she wondered if he was making fun of her, but he
seemed genuinely wistful when he said it.

“Done!” she exclaimed, clasping the jewellery around her neck and
handing back the pliers. “How’s it look?”

“Wow, you really nailed it, I love the matte finish.”

“So, where do you want me?”

He looked at her, puzzled.

“For our shoot, silly, that’s what the thing around your neck is
for, right?”

“Right, of course!” he excitedly replied.

“OK, you remember in the first OVA when Keiichi and Belldandy are
riding on a motorcycle and then…”

Seung-hee had probably watched that episode a dozen times for the
costume, but at that moment she couldn’t remember, for the life of
her, a single thing about it.

6. *Stupid*

“Onlyfans to what?”

The shoot so far had been going well, and turned out to be a lot of
fun. He was very thoughtful when taking pictures, carefully choosing
spots with interesting backgrounds, or things she could interact
with. He made suggestions about poses but didn’t micromanage, and
allowed her to try and experiment with different ideas and moods. She
fed off his enthusiasm as he gushed over every other shot, which was
either “amazing”, “wonderful”, or “incredible”. Though she lacked his
overwhelming optimism in the results she was nonetheless flattered by
the earnest praise, one which was not offered expecting something in
return. After spending over an hour at Roundhouse Park he suggested a
new location nearby, close to the lake. They chatted as they walked
side-by-side.

“Seung-hee? Like Oh My Girl’s Seung-hee? You do look like her a
bit.”

She was taken aback.

“Get out of here, you’re a Miracle?” she asked, in disbelief.

“I used to be, but ‘Windy Day’ is still the finest K-pop album
ever, and ‘Liar Liar’ the best music video, it’s a hill I’m willing to
die on.”

Seung-hee was tempted to kill him on that hill, a true Blink could do
no less, but she was still reeling from the revelation.

“Well, everyone is entitled to their opinion, even if it’s wrong,
but why ‘used to be’?”

“Not a fan of their newest stuff… also, it’s expensive! The
packaging and the extras are great, for sure, but how can you justify
it?”

“I mean, you have a point, during the pandemic I got on Onlyfans
to…”

She bit her tongue.

“Onlyfans to what?”

Seung-hee had no idea why she had brought it up. A Goddess First Class
Type 2 (Unlimited, no less) should be able to turn back time, or erase
memories, or teleport to the moon, or anything other than having to
talk about making porn.

“Stupid,” she thought to herself, “stupid, stupid, stu…”

“Are you OK?” he asked, with a hint of concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she snapped, more defensively than she
intended.

“I’m so sorry,” he replied, flustered, “it’s none of my business, I
apologize.”

They took a few steps in silence. Seung-hee sighed.

“Sorry… it’s been tough… my parents, my roommate, Onlyfans… I
didn’t mean to snap at you, I just… want to forget for a day, you
know?”

He nodded, giving her a small smile.

“Hey, look!” he pointed ahead. “That’s the location I was telling
you about! See the park over there? It’s the Music Garden, and there’s
this great little grove with a cool rock and a fountain where
Belldandy can…”

He never brought it up again. Another hour passed and Seung-hee didn’t
want the shoot to ever end.

7. *Ai*

He carefully pushed the large 34″ Sony FD Trinitron along the counter,
all its 90kg, closer to the window. He struggled to position it just
right, thinking about the time when those beasts had ruled the TV
world. He checked his wristwatch for the third time in the last
fifteen minutes, feeling giddy about his upcoming shoot. He recalled
the conversation from the day prior, still unable to believe his luck.

> “Ai?”
>
> “Yes.”
>
> “Amano Ai?”
>
> “Yes.
>
> “Video Girl Ai Amano Ai?”
>
> Again, Seung-hee had to wonder if she was being made fun of.
>
> “I don’t believe it! I’ve never seen an Ai cosplayer! I love that
> anime! That is amazing! I love Ai! Which is like saying I love love,
> get it? I would absolutely love to do a photoshoot! I can’t believe
> that I’d ever get the chance to…”
>
> Nope, he was being his earnest self. Truth be told, Seung-hee felt
> exactly the same way, though her outwards reaction was limited to an
> amused grin.
>
> “Oh my god! I just remembered! The hotel I’m at still has one of
> those large CRT televisions, it would be perfect for…”
>
> He suddenly stopped himself mid-sentence.
>
> “… for…”
>
> “For?” Seung-hee asked, inquisitively lifting an eyebrow.
>
> “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I got carried away… I didn’t want
> to put you on the spot, outside in the park is fine, we can…”
>
> “Let’s say tomorrow 11am? What’s your address?” Seung-hee asked,
> already feeling the butterflies in her stomach.

*Knock, knock*

He approached the door, taking a deep breath as he grabbed the knob.

“Hi Seung-hee! I was just moving…” his voice trailed off.

Amano Ai (天野 あい) is a character created by Masakazu Katsura in
1989 for the manga “Video Girl Ai” which ran for three years, and was
adapted into an animation in 1991. It’s not an easy character to
cosplay, the wardrobe is unique and rather intricate. It features, as
its base, a pair of spandex leggings in white, and a black turtle-neck
pullover. The latter is mostly concealed, save for the neck, as it’s
covered by a hip-length, yellow kimono-like top with a Japanese-style
torso and western sleeves. It is cinched by a pink obi-like cloth belt
which extends from the back down to the ankles, each tip ending in a
tassel. The obi holds a turquoise obi-age, and is all tied together
by an obi-jime which is knotted at the front. Covering the shoulders
is a short, white top with a geometric black trim and two pink bows to
the sides, near the edges of the sleeves. A couple of yellow, nearly
knee-length boots (each wrapped in a stiff legwarmer) completes the
wardrobe. The final touch is Ai’s unique hairstyle, a large bob with
swirls on each side, the only thing which Seung-hee was missing.

“Hey Youta, how’s it hanging?” she asked, in character.

“You look beautiful… I mean, your Ai is beautiful… your
cosplay, not your eye… but your eyes are pretty too,” he stammered.

Seung-hee laughed, walking past him, carry-on in tow.

“Wow, you were right about the TV, it’s perfect!”

“I know, right?” he said, closing the door. “The entire room is so
old-fashioned, the bed even has bedposts. I guess that’s why it’s
cheap.”

“Anyway, I was thinking we could do a few shots of you pretending
to fall out of the screen, and then just using it as a prop to lean
against, a more editorial look of sorts, what do you think?”

“Sounds like a plan. You think I could sit on the TV?” she
wondered.

“I was thinking about that, but I’m not sure if it’ll handle the
weight, I’d be worried about stressing the cathode tube.”

“OK, gotcha, we’ll figure it out, let me put on my wig and freshen
my make-up, I’ll be out in a jiffy,” Seung-hee explained, heading into
the bathroom, luggage rolling behind her.

“Take your time,” he said, reaching for his camera on the
nightstand.

A few minutes later Seung-hee opened the door, wig on, transformation
complete.

“So, where should we start?”

Their first thought was to re-enact the moment Ai emerged from the TV
screen, but this proved too challenging. No matter what angles or
poses they tried it looked fake, or ended up being closer to a scene
from “The Ring”. After a few unsuccessful attempts they decided to
focus instead on the moments after Ai had leapt from the screen unto
the bed, unconscious. This worked much better, and Seung-hee enjoyed
trying to imitate the tricky pose of Ai being nearly upside down
against the wall.

After about an hour they were starting to run out of things to try,
having used the TV extensively as a prop. The room didn’t offer much
in terms of a backdrop, but Seung-hee had a suggestion.

“Why don’t we do a few POV shots? Like, you’re Youta and I’m on top
of you and you’re extending your hand towards me?”

“OK, sure, we can try that,” he said, unsure of the idea.

“Trust me,” Seung-hee said, a peculiar smirk on her face. “Lay down
on the bed.”

He lay flat on his back, with Seung-hee quickly straddling his waist.

“Here, hold my hand while I look down at the camera,” she said,
leaning forward as their fingers intertwined. He felt her buttocks
press against his groin, performing a circular motion every time she
repositioned herself in between shots. Soon, his penis started to
respond. She, in turn, seemed oblivious to his incipient erection.

“Put your hand on my chest, it’s OK,” she said, placing his palm
against a breast. He didn’t recall seeing that panel in the manga.

“Seung-hee, you’re too close, I can’t lock focus…”

In response Seung-hee gently pushed the camera aside and pressed her
lips against his.

[Part 2](https://redd.it/102g3de)

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/102g2fm/cosplay_m22f22_consex_13