By Wisemon


This story was the winner of the Digiartist’s Domain Summer 2006 Lemon Contest as decided by a panel of four fellow Digimon fan fiction writers.


Digimon is the property of Toei Animation.  What is an A-Side?  It’s not a series; an A-Side is a single.  This is my second single, the first being “You Don’t Love Me Anymore.”  Just like “You Don’t Love Me Anymore,” this A-Side will also correspond plot-wise with my series.  At the same time, just like “You Don’t Love Me Anymore,” just like a single lifted from an album, this story will be able to stand on its own.

I’ve grown a lot as a writer since I started back in 2003.  In truth, I’m more of a poet than a lemon writer, and I’ve written hundreds of poems, many of which will bring me international acclaim right after I die.  Despite my propensity for producing rhythmic and thought-provoking poetry, I struggle to encapsulate the full weight of what I’m trying to say in the form.  Ironically, through this fiction, I have found an excellent way of conveying my conceptions of reality.  This is precisely what I hope to achieve by writing this piece.  This shall be the doppelganger of the story of Junpei and Izumi, the hideous distortion of the ideal—the thing I’ve come to accept as reality.

I suppose I should give you warnings about adult language, themes, and situations, but I won’t bother.  Life doesn’t give you warnings.



Jyou Kido sat on a bench; he was waiting for the bus.  He wasn’t wearing his glasses, nor was he wearing contacts.  He still carried his glasses; they were stored securely in their hard case in the left holster pocket of his khaki cargo pants.  He still wore his glasses when he needed them, but he didn’t need them all that often, just the few hours that he spent in medical school classes every weekday.  He would’ve needed them to watch television, if he still watched television.  For everything else in his daily life, nearsightedness necessitated no correction.  For all he’d seen, it was just as well to see blurry.


Jyou anxiously tapped the briefcase that sat on his lap.  He had missed the bus that he had wanted by thirty seconds, so it would be another hour until the next one came.  “That’s the last time I stop to smell the roses.”


A woman sat down on the bench next to Jyou.  She wore the uniform of a local restaurant, complete with a nametag.  “You literally stopped to smell roses?”


“Yep, I passed a flower stand a few blocks from here, and I figured I could get in a few sniffs and still catch my bus.  Boy, was I ever wrong, but live and learn.”


The woman eyed Jyou suspiciously.  He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place him.  “You know, most people don’t bother to smell flowers nowadays.  They just look at them, remark on how pretty they are, buy them, and give them away.  Somebody puts them in a vase with water, or throws them on a grave—and that’s the end of it.”


“You seem to know a lot about flowers.”


“My mother owns a flower shop, and I have a degree in horticulture.”  The woman couldn’t help staring at Jyou’s briefcase.  It was the cheapest briefcase she’d ever seen.  The exterior was vinyl, a bran flake brown, with no combination lock, just a single clasp.


“So you must work in a greenhouse?”  Jyou wasn’t ready to move past verbal acknowledgment, and hence, he hadn’t noticed the woman’s uniform.


“No, I work as a waitress at a coffee place.  The money’s not bad.  I’ve found that the faster you get people their refills, the more they give you in tips.  I wouldn’t be doing any better in a greenhouse.  At least the restaurant is air-conditioned.”  The woman didn’t like talking about herself, so she changed the subject.  “What’s in the briefcase?”


“A stethoscope, scalpels, tourniquets, syringes, and a bunch of other tools of the trade.  I’m a med student.  My school sends me to the hospital for on-the-job training.  Technically, I’m supposed to have residency first, but they need all the doctors, or all the people impersonating doctors, that they can get.”


“Remind me never to go to your hospital.”


“I’ll have you know that I am an excellent doctor—I will be an excellent doctor.”  Jyou looked at the woman for the first time.  He noticed her name badge, and he tried to make out the name on the badge, but without his glasses, it was difficult.


“Please stop staring at my breasts.”


Jyou was flustered.  “I wasn’t…I mean, I was looking at your chest area, but only because I was trying to read the name on the nametag…I usually wear glasses…well, not usually, but I’m supposed to wear glasses according to my optometrist…though he also said that my natural vision would likely deteriorate by wearing–”


“–Jyou, that’s enough.  You can shut up now.”


“Oh, thank you.  Wait, how did you know my name?”


“You’re the only guy I’ve ever met who can manage to stammer and ramble at the same time.”  The woman knew that it was her turn to leave the comfort of anonymity.  “My nametag says ‘Sora.’  You remember me, don’t you?”


“Of course, Sora, I remember you.  It’s just that…it’s been a while since we last spoke.  You’ve changed a lot…that’s why I didn’t recognize you…not that you look a lot older.”  Jyou heard himself derailing, so he changed tracks.  “I’m sorry I never called you or emailed you in the past several years.  I haven’t really kept in contact with any of you guys.  I mean, there was a thing with Mimi, but I don’t count that as renewing a friendship.  In general, I’m kind of out of the loop.  Is there a loop?”


“It’s a pathetic loop.  I only hear something about once a year, and it’s usually indirect.  I know that Taichi and Koushiro are working together for the government.  Yamato and Mimi are in the music business.  Nobody talks to Ken, nobody cares about Cody, and the rest of them are in college.”


“Is that all you know?”


“That’s pretty much all of it.  Friends drift away.  That’s just the way it goes.  The two of us can still have our own miniature reunion, at least until my lunch break is over.  If you don’t mind, I’d like to know some more about what you’ve been up to.  Specifically, I’d like to know some more about this thing with Mimi.  Better yet, why don’t you tell me what happened between you and Mimi while the rest of us fought Puppetmon?  I’ve heard Mimi’s side of the story, but I’d like to hear yours.”


Jyou recalled the battle with MetalEtemon, the cruel aftermath, and the crueler post-aftermath.  “I didn’t think there was a story there—not one that anyone would want to hear.”


“Not the way Mimi tells it.”


“You tell me Mimi’s side of the story, and then I’ll tell you what really happened,” Jyou proposed.


“You don’t trust Mimi’s telling?  She has the crest of sincerity, you know?”


“That means about as much to her as Yamato’s crest of friendship meant to him, but you can rely on me to tell the truth.”


With nothing to lose, Sora accepted Jyou’s offer.  “Here’s how Mimi tells it…”



Zudomon and SaberLeomon were in the heat of battle with MetalEtemon.  Zudomon threw his hammer, and he cracked MetalEtemon’s supposedly invulnerable armor, but that wasn’t enough to put down the shiny primate.


“You wrecked my beautiful luster,” MetalEtemon complained, “but the King doesn’t die so easily.  You’re all going to the Heartbreak Hotel,” MetalEtemon stared down Mimi, “starting with you, little missy.”  MetalEtemon held up his index finger, signaling an unnamed attack.


A dark lightning bolt came down toward Mimi, but SaberLeomon intercepted it.  SaberLeomon was immediately digitized.  He didn’t revert to Leomon, and he had no parting words to Jyou, Mimi, and Ogremon.


“I don’t wanna be a lion, ‘cause lions ain’t the kind you love enough—and because they always die,” MetalEtemon mused.  “So who wants to be the next to leave the building?  How about you?”  MetalEtemon smiled menacingly at Jyou.


Mimi could see what MetalEtemon intended.  Jyou stood absentmindedly, susceptible to sudden annihilation.  “Run, Jyou, run!” she advised urgently.


“Monkey Kick!”  MetalEtemon came at Jyou with a flying kick, but Jyou, taking Mimi’s advice, ran away.  MetalEtemon landed gracefully.  “Now don’t that just beat all, but just you wait, I’ll chew you up like a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich.”


Mimi picked up Zudomon’s hammer.  She spun around in a circle, loading the hammer with centripetal force.  “Hey, MetalEtemon, I’ve got something for you.”


“A package for me?”  MetalEtemon turned to face Mimi.  Then he saw the hammer coming at him.  “No, I don’t want that package!  Return to sender!”  But it was too late.  Claw end first, the hammer struck the cracked section of MetalEtemon’s chest.  Then he saw himself beginning to digitize.  “You can kill the King, but rock and roll will never die!”  Then MetalEtemon disappeared.


Mimi accepted the challenge.  “I will make it my life’s ambition to kill rock and roll.”


Zudomon reverted to Gomamon, and Palmon checked to make sure that her fellow Digimon was uninjured.


Mimi ran to Jyou, and she hugged him fiercely.  “Oh, Jyou, I was so worried about you.  I thought for sure that you wouldn’t move out of the way, and that MetalEtemon would kick your head off.”


“Nope, I still have my head.”  That wasn’t all that Jyou had.  “Mimi, I’m glad that we’re both okay, but could you please stop hugging me?  It’s making me a little uncomfortable.”


Mimi could feel Jyou’s discomfort.  It knocked against her skin through her dress.  She released Jyou and took a few steps back.  She couldn’t stop herself from gazing downward.  Jyou, you have a huge erection!”


Jyou blushed profusely.  “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to get one…not that I didn’t appreciate your hug…you give good hugs.”


“That’s not all I give.”  Mimi grasped Jyou’s bulge through his pants.  “Would you like me to take care of this for you?”


“…Hoo boy…I don’t know what to say here.  This is the one thing that I wasn’t prepared for.”


“You don’t have to say anything.”  Mimi dropped to her knees.  She unbuttoned and unzipped Jyou’s pants.  She pulled down the front of his briefs, and she pulled out her target—Jyou’s erect seven inch penis.  She took off her gloves and wrapped a delicate bare hand around Jyou’s teenage excitement.  She looked up at Jyou’s face, right through his glasses, and she jabbed her tongue at the head of his cock.


Jyou struggled to maintain verticality, and he did, but just barely.  “Mimi, could I please lie down?  I think my knees are about to give out.”


Mimi sighed.  “You shouldn’t have to ask permission.”


Jyou lay down on the field (everything hadn’t turned gray) outside of Digitamamon’s restaurant.  Gomamon and Palmon looked on in undivided fascination.


Mimi wrapped the shaft again, and she licked all around the throbbing head.  Just for kicks, she petted Jyou’s testicles.  Then, sensing Jyou’s orgasm, she sucked on the head.  Jyou came in four strong streams inside her mouth, followed by several lesser ones.  She lifted her head, turned it, and spat out Jyou’s semen.


Jyou was almost offended.  “I’m not that bad, am I?”


“No, but swallowing is a bad habit to get into.”  Mimi stood up.  She lifted her dress, and she pulled down her panties.  “Sucking you off made me a little horny, so now you’re going to eat me out.”


Jyou just stared at Mimi’s vagina.  It was everything he imagined.  Little wisps of oaken hair canopying a wondrous cavern.  He was awestruck, and more importantly, he was erect once again.  “…Uh-huh.”


Mimi noted Jyou’s resurrection, and she took it as a compliment.  So, she straddled Jyou in the 69 position, rather than in her originally intended position, and she plopped herself down.  “Just lick until you find the part that sticks out,” Mimi advised.  “It should be towards the top.”


Mmphhhh,” Jyou acknowledged as best he could while orally restrained.  He licked across Mimi’s slit, searching for her clitoris.


Meanwhile, Mimi fondled Jyou back to his full hardness.  Then she planted kisses over the length of his shaft.  She grabbed the shaft, circled the head with her tongue, and built Jyou toward another orgasm.  Then she felt it.  Jyou had his lips around her button.  She removed her mouth to give the orders.  “Right there, you suck on that!  Oh, and put some fingers in while you do it.”


Jyou did just as directed.  He sucked on Mimi’s clit, and he put his index and middle fingers in the hole as he did it.


Suddenly caught in a moment, Mimi sucked on Jyou’s cock head again.  She sucked hard, and she pumped Jyou’s shaft with her hand as she sucked.  Thirty seconds later, Jyou detonated in her mouth again, but she didn’t care as much this time.  Five seconds after Jyou’s orgasm, she began to leak in large puddles all over Jyou’s face.  She moaned in satisfaction around the flesh in her mouth.  This went on for another thirty seconds, and then her orgasm subsided, and she remembered to spit out Jyou’s ejaculate.  Mimi stood up, and she looked down at the quasi-deflowered boy on the ground.  “You’ll never have a better time in your life.  Wasn’t that amazing?”


Jyou swallowed some of Mimi’s orgasmic juice, and he wiped off the rest.  “Yep, it was amazing, but I’m really wishing that I’d taken off my glasses.”  Jyou took off his glasses and examined them.  “The lenses are okay, but I think the frames are bent.”  Jyou wiped Mimi’s sweat and juice off of his lenses, and he put his glasses back on.  He saw Mimi standing over him still, giving him an eyeful of her gleaming glory.  Somewhat desensitized, the sight made him semi-erect this time.


Mimi noted the emerging hard-on.  Jyou, get on your knees.  There’s something I want to try.”


“Mimi, I don’t think I can do this again.  I’m already really dehydrated.  It’s probably not a good idea to–mmphhhh.”  Jyou was cut off by Mimi’s vaginal lips.  His hair was grabbed and his face was smeared with leftovers as he was pulled to his knees.


“I’m the one with the experience.  I’m in control here.”  Mimi dropped flat on her stomach.  Her head was tilted completely upward; she leered at Jyou’s semi-erection, slithered towards it, and swallowed it whole.


Instantly, Jyou achieved his full hardness again.  “Wow, now that’s a pretty neat trick.”  He looked at Mimi’s cheeks, swollen conspicuously with his sexual organ.  “Are you sure you can do this?  The first rule of medicine is to do no harm, and it looks like I might be choking you right now.”


With a vague hand gesture, Mimi assuaged Jyou’s concerns.  Her sucking movements were almost nonexistent.  Mostly, she focused on maintaining her esophageal enclosure around Jyou’s cock.  Five minutes later, this was enough.


To be on the safe side, Jyou tapped Mimi when he was ready.  He was slowly regurgitated, until finally, he was completely free.  Jyou stood up, and he began to rub himself off the rest of the way.


“I thought you were done?”


“You’ve done more than enough.”


“It’s important to me that I be able to say that I brought you to three orgasms.”  Mimi’s tone was adamant, and Jyou relinquished himself.  Mimi got to her knees, and she began to flick Jyou’s head with her tongue.


“Sorry, I can’t hold it; this is going to make a mess.”  Jyou began to shoot off on Mimi’s face, and as he anticipated, it was a bit messy.  His gushing head was immediately sealed by Mimi’s mouth, and the remainder of his last load went down her throat.


Mimi continued to suck for another minute, and then she released Jyou for the last time.  “You actually taste pretty good.  You must eat a lot of vegetables.”


“Yep, I eat a few servings of vegetables on a daily basis.”  Jyou realized a peculiarity.  “That’s why you swallowed this time?”


“That’s part of it.”  Mimi stood up and wiped off her face.  “And I know that I have nothing to fear from you.”


Jyou took the subtle emasculation as a compliment.  “I’m nothing if not reliable.”



“And that’s Mimi’s story,” Sora concluded.  “I’ll admit that parts of it are kind of farfetched, but that’s what she told me in one of our girl talk sessions, and as her friend, I’m inclined to believe her.”


“Farfetched?  More like impossible.  Do you really think that Mimi could pick up Zudomon’s hammer?”


“I’ve never tried it myself, but it does look pretty heavy.”


“And even on a good day, I couldn’t possibly have three orgasms within an hour.”


“Maybe you just haven’t met the right woman.”  Despite the nature of her theory, Sora’s tone was non-suggestive.


“I’ve never ‘met’ any women, not in that way.  I’m a twenty-three year old virgin.  I’m completely and totally a virgin.  Mimi’s ridiculously raunchy tale may say otherwise, but I assure you that I’ve never even been kissed.”


“You weren’t kissed in Mimi’s story either,” Sora recalled.  “But why are you telling me this?  You must know that you’re giving me way too much information.”


“I’m trying to prove my credibility.  Only a real twenty-three year old virgin would claim to be a twenty-three year old virgin.”


“Fine, you have credibility.  I’ll take that into consideration when I hear the story from your perspective.  Now go ahead and tell it.”


“Like I said, there’s not much to tell.  You can disregard a good chunk of what she said about the battle with MetalEtemon, and I’ll start from there.  There was a hug afterward…”



Mimi wouldn’t stop crying.  She was saved by SaberLeomon, and her savior was subsequently removed.  She made no distinction between digitalization and death.  This was a passing: social conventions demanded a fit of sorrow.  She sat on the barren ground, not too far from the location of the casualty, and she cried out of necessity.


As a future doctor, Jyou couldn’t stand and watch as someone expressed pain, and it seemed to him that Mimi was expressing pain of some sort.  He had exhausted his words of comfort.  Leomon will come back at PrimaryVillage”—check.  “The best way to honor his sacrifice is to push forward”—check.  “If it weren’t for death, decomposers would starve”—check.  There was nothing left for Jyou to say.  “Maybe I should hug her,” Jyou considered to himself.  Then he reconsidered.  “But I don’t want it to seem like I’m taking advantage of her vulnerability, especially not at a time like this.  I know; I’ll put my arms around her, but I won’t press my body.  That way, she will know that my only intentions are to comfort her.”  Jyou opened his arms.  “Would you like a hug?”


Mimi stood slowly.  Suddenly, her arms were around Jyou’s lower back, and her face was buried in his shoulder.  Her tears were absorbed by Jyou’s vest and shirt.


Obviously, this sort of contact was not what Jyou intended, but the hug wasn’t for his sake, so he tried not to think about it.  He put one arm on the back of Mimi’s head, and he wrapped the other around the back of her neck, securing the sobbing skull.  “There, there…it’s not so bad.  Leomon will be okay, you’ll be okay, and I’ll be…”  As much as he concentrated on trying to console Mimi, Jyou’s reproductive organ had other priorities.  He felt it stiffening quickly, and he knew that he only had seconds to disengage before Mimi felt it as well.  “…And I’ll be behind the restaurant if you need me.”  Jyou pried himself off of Mimi, and he backed away.


It was too late; Mimi had already felt the emergence knocking against her dress.  She couldn’t stop herself from gazing downward.  Jyou, you have a huge erection!”


Jyou blushed profusely.  “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to get one…not that I don’t find you attractive, but this is hardly the time for my…display of stimulation.”


Mimi’s face lightened, and all traces of grief vanished.  “I really don’t mind.  In fact, if you like, I can take care of that for you.”


There it was; in one lewd and generous offer, Mimi’s true nature was revealed.  She was not sincerely saddened by Leomon’s passing.  She cried because it was the thing to do—just popular culture.  She could turn it off as easily as she could turn it on.  She would not continue her charade of distress when a hedonistic opportunity presented itself.  This angered Jyou.  Despite Mimi’s generosity, the tone of his reply was tinged with bitterness:

“No thanks, I can take care of myself.”


Mimi was confused.  “I thought you said that you found me attractive?  Don’t you want me to touch you?  I know you want to touch me.”


“Is it just that simple for you?”  Jyou’s cranial heat began to fog his glasses, so he removed them.  “Mimi, tell me something.  When this is all over, once all of the Dark Masters are beaten and we return to Earth, can you and I ever become boyfriend and girlfriend in the real world?  If our relationship goes well, will we get married someday?”


“I don’t want to think that far into the future.”


“You’ve already thought about it.  Now quit lying to me; otherwise, your crest of sincerity won’t glow, and Palmon won’t be able to Digivolve.”


“Now that’s just playing dirty.”  Mimi had to tell the cruel truth.  “In the real world, as you call it, you and I don’t date.  We’re not even supposed to know each other.  You must know that you’re way out of my league.  I’m the pretty popular girl who gets everything handed to her, and you’re the dork who has to work for everything the rest of his life.  That’s just the way it goes.”  Despite her harsh predictions, Mimi noticed that Jyou’s bulge refused to wane.  “But while we’re in this world, we can fool around.  I’ve got nothing better to do, and you’ve got nothing to lose.”


Jyou imagined the heights of pleasure that Mimi could offer his teenage senses.  He imagined satisfying his libido in a manner exponentially superior.  What would be the harm?  He wouldn’t get another opportunity like this for a very long time—and therein lay the problem.  One-time opportunities could not appeal completely to someone with Jyou’s sense of reliability.  He wanted to be in for the long haul.  Sex wasn’t enough; he wanted love, partnership, trust, and everything that came with the total security package.  The lease for the constituent would be paid in broken principles.  Jyou couldn’t afford it.  “I have my dignity.”  Jyou turned away and walked toward the grayed-out eatery, unzipping his pants along the way.


Mimi could not allow responses that even remotely resembled rejection.  That sort of thing was not supposed to happen to a girl like her.  “What if I agreed to go all the way with you?” she inquired desperately.


Jyou stopped in his tracks.  The offer was almost irresistible, if only Jyou’s line of reasoning weren’t completely immovable.  “On occasion, I’ll regret my decision, but I can only know the path that I choose.”  Jyou continued his self-relieving march.  Though his conscience and long-term instincts were pleased with his decision, a nagging question loitered in the background of his thoughts.  “What if there’s nothing at the end of that path?”



“And that’s what really happened,” Jyou concluded.


Sora didn’t understand.  “Why would Mimi lie to me?  If she offered to go all the way with you, why would she stop just short of that in her story?”


“Because it’s her story.  An offer of intercourse was a compromise of her fantasy.  She wished to be some sort of fellatio goddess, so that’s what she claimed to be.  Mimi creates a world for herself where she is in complete control of everything and everyone around her.  That’s what insecure people always do.  She’s prone to these delusions of power.”


“Now you’re speaking in the present,” Sora noted.  “You said that there was ‘a thing’ with Mimi recently.  Care to elaborate on that?”


“That depends; how much time do you have left in your lunch break?  I guarantee that anything I tell you isn’t worth losing your job over.”


Sora checked her watch.  “I’ve got another twenty minutes.  Will that be enough time?”


“That will be just right.  Any more than that would pressure me to mull over details that neither of us care about.”



Approximately six months earlier, Jyou’s situation wasn’t any different.  He attended medical school, and he lived in a very modest apartment.  He attempted to curb the tide of student debt as best he could with cheapskate innovations, but ultimately, he knew that he would be flooded.  On a cold Thursday evening, he received a surprising email:




I know it’s been a while.  I hope your email address still works.  If it doesn’t, Mailer Daemon will tell me (I think he’s one of the Digimon the younger DigiDestined fought).

I wanted to say that I’m doing well.  I became a professional singer, and I got signed by a major record label.  I’ve put out an album with a hit single: “Heart Cascade.”  You’ve probably heard it.  It’s #3 on America’s Billboard Top 40.  My label has me touring all over the world to promote the album, and I’ll be in Japan next week.  I would really like it if you could come to my concert.  I’ll leave your name with security so you can come backstage afterward.  We’ll have some time to catch up with each other.  It’s been too long.





Mimi’s email left Jyou with so many questions.  Indeed, he had heard of Mimi’s recording success, as had many others, and in the world of popular music, success bred success.  “How does she expect me to get tickets to a sold-out show?  Why does she sign off with X’s and O’s instead of ‘Sincerely?’  Of all the DigiDestined, of all her old friends in Japan, why does she want to catch up with me?”


A week later, despite his reservations, Jyou went to Mimi’s concert.  More accurately, he went to the arena where the concert was held, but he didn’t actually get into the concert.  He still attempted Mimi’s backstage rendezvous.  “My name is Jyou Kido,” Jyou told the backstage security guard.


“You?  You’re Mimi’s friend?”  The beefy security guard looked Jyou up and down.  He saw a stark contrast between the conservative medical student and Mimi’s typical legion of raving pink-haired groupies—her Mimites.  The guard shrugged.  “You’re on the list, so you’re in.  There’s just one rule: No soliciting.  I had to throw out some encyclopedia saleswomen last week.  They told me their stack of books had autographs of all the famous pop stars, and they wanted to add Mimi, so I figured it was alright to let them in.  That mistake almost cost me my job.”


“Don’t worry; I’m Mimi’s friend.  I won’t try to sell her anything.”  Jyou was allowed into Mimi’s backstage area.  He searched for her.  He found a line of wannabes.  They all wanted autographs.  Jyou waited in that line, ridiculously out of place.  When it was his turn, he got to see Mimi for the first time in years.  She still had pink hair.  She looked older, possibly somewhat diminished in beauty, though Jyou might have been reaching this conclusion based solely on the significant amount of makeup she was wearing, a factor that prevented his ability to make a definite judgment.  She wore a long pink silken bathrobe.  Jyou could not tell what was under it—presumably, whatever she wore during her performance.


Mimi signed her name on a fresh 8” x 10” glossy, and then she asked for a name to complete the dedication.  “Who should I make this out to?”


“Mimi, it’s me: Jyou.”


Mimi looked up from her stack of photographs.  “Oh, Jyou, I’m so glad you could make it!  What did you think of the concert?”


“Actually, I didn’t get to see the concert.  It was sold-out.  I just waited outside until it was over.  I felt like the Jukebox Hero, except I didn’t hear any guitar, just a bunch of keyboarding and synthesized drums.”


Mimi didn’t get the “Jukebox Hero” reference, nor did she care.  “It’s a lot cheaper to have one guy on a synthesizer than to pay a whole band.  That’s how my producer explained it to me.  This way, I can afford to have backup dancers on my tour.”


“Why do you need backup dancers?”


“They’re part of the show, the spectacle, the…”  Mimi recalled some terminology from her Clear Channel advertisements.  “…unrelenting glamour of a Mimi concert.  You really have to see a show to appreciate it.”


Jyou wasn’t terribly interested in shelling out money for ‘unrelenting glamour,’ but as Mimi’s friend, he had an obligation to feign.  “I guess I’ll have to wait for your next world tour.”


“Maybe not.”  Mimi called over her security guard.  Bluto, would you please escort the rest of the line of fans out of here?  I want to talk with Jyou in private.”


“But they haven’t gotten autographs yet,” Jyou realized.


Jyou, you’re just so adorable.  You don’t know how these adolescent girls operate.  I give them my autographed picture, but they rarely ever keep it.  It’s usually sold to the highest bidder on eBay.  I really should stop signing so many; I’m devaluing my signature.”


Jyou watched as the security guard reluctantly forced Mimi’s fans from the backstage area.  Some of the fans were angry, some apathetic, some pouting.  Most of all, Jyou noticed a ten-year-old girl in a pink sunhat.  It was clear that she was crying, despite some efforts to restrain herself, not that her idol cared one way or the other.


When all of the fans had left, as well as the security guard, Mimi presented her proposition.  Jyou, how would you like to come with me back to Los Angeles?”


“That’s your next tour stop?”


“Yes, but it’s also where I live.”


“I thought you were living in New York.”


“I was for a while, but the record company is in Southern California, and so is my publicist, and it’s just so much more convenient.  My accountant is still in New York, but there’s no need to meet with him in person.  Also, the weather’s a lot warmer where I am now.  The only drawbacks are the occasional droughts, earthquakes, and infernos.  Sometimes, it seems like somebody wants Los Angeles off of the map, but I try not to think about it.”


“Mimi, I’m in medical school.  I can’t just drop everything to go with you to America.”


“Are you afraid that your English speaking skills aren’t good enough?”


“That’s not it.  Actually, I speak English quite well.”


“Then what’s the problem?  Jyou, do you have any idea how many people would kill for the chance that you’re getting?  You get to go on tour with me!  You get to talk with me after the shows.  You get to dine at fancy restaurants with me (the record company picks up the bill).  Stick around long enough, and you can join me on Total Request Live.”


“That all sounds well and good, but I have responsibilities here.  I don’t mean to seem selfish, but in the long run, I don’t see how going on tour with you benefits my future.”


Mimi adjusted her persuasion tactic.  Jyou, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking recently.  Since we parted ways, I’ve had a bunch of boyfriends, mostly wannabe athletes and actors.  They were all nice in their own way, but none of them could see me as anything more than a very attractive girl.  I tried to remember if anyone had ever seen me for who I really am, and you were the only person I could think of.  I want you to be with me…more than just as a friend.  I want you to be a part of my future, because now I see how important you were to my past.”


Jyou was almost speechless.  “Mimi…this is so…”


“You accept?”


Something about the situation seemed terribly amiss, but as an idealist, Jyou had to attempt the storybook relationship between the boy and girl who knew each other as friends from childhood.  “I’ll pack tonight.”


Jyou went with Mimi to California, and he saw her performance at the StaplesCenter.  He sat in the front row, a seat that allowed him to see the “unrelenting glamour” with perfect clarity.  One middle-aged man on a variety of keyboards provided all of the background music.  He wore a pink three-piece suit and shades.  Though he played without errors, he seemed like he wanted to perform at any other concert but the one he was at.  Mimi’s backup dancers consisted of five shirtless, muscular, well coordinated, and obviously homosexual men of varying ethnicity.  Mimi stood front and center with her pink hair, lip gloss, rouge, and a microphone hooked to her outfit.  Her outfit was nearly nonexistent, just a frilly pink bra, pink thong, and furry pink boots.



Jyou broke from his story momentarily.  “That’s why I don’t wear my glasses anymore.”



After the concert, Jyou and Mimi met in Mimi’s dressing room.  They sat across from each other in their respective makeup chairs (or fancy stools, as Jyou saw them).  This time, Mimi did not wear her robe.  “I appreciate that you feel so comfortable around me (and an arena of thousands), but that outfit is kind of distracting.  How come you’re not wearing your robe?”


“It’s a lot warmer in L.A.  Of course, Mimi had an ulterior motive.  She glanced down at Jyou’s crotch area.  Sure enough, a raging erection pressed against the inside of his left pant leg.  It looked quite uncomfortable.  “I’ve got him,” Mimi said to herself.


Jyou found that his “mind over matter” mantra had its limitations, but no erectile awkwardness would keep him from raising his concerns.  Mimi, that concert of yours…”


“Wasn’t it spectacular?  I told you that it would be.”


“That’s not the word I would use.  Mimi, when you dress so provocatively, how do you know if people are listening to your singing?”


“They buy my album.  They must be listening.”


“They buy your album based on one song that they’ve heard repeated over and over again on the radio and on television.  That’s also why they attend your concerts.  That doesn’t mean that they understand what you’re trying to say, not that your lyrics have much in the way of substance.”  Rather than continuing to criticize, Jyou attempted to find a remedy.  “If you let me help you, maybe we can come up with some more meaningful songs.  As an undergraduate, I did pretty well in my writing classes…not that I’m blessed with any natural talent, but when I…stumble for the right word on the keyboard, it’s not as noticeable as when you talk to me in person.  So, I’ve done a lot of writing in the past few years, and I’d be glad to help you with your writing.”


Mimi laughed.  “Don’t be silly; I don’t write my own songs.  The record company tells me what to sing, and I sing it.  But if you’re so desperate to give the public a song, I’ll let you perform one at my next concert.”


“You’ll let me do what?  Mimi, I’m a horrible singer.  If I attempt to sing anything, I’ll just embarrass myself.  I’ll never be able to show my face in this country again.”


“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do fine.  You just need a little self-confidence.  Besides, the next venue is a lot smaller.  We’re going to the HeritageParkCommunity Center in Irvine.  It’s billed as a ‘cozy show.’  They’re a nice change of pace sometimes, but I usually prefer the arenas.”  Mimi reached behind her back and unfastened her bra.


Jyou’s panic was suddenly exacerbated.  “What are you doing?!”


“This is my dressing room.  I’m changing my clothes.”  Mimi removed her bra.


Jyou turned his head just in time.  “You’re not supposed to do that when I’m in the room with you.”


“Why not?  They’re just breasts.  It’s not like you haven’t seen breasts before.”


“Not in person,” Jyou mumbled to himself.  Then Jyou reconsidered his objection.  Perhaps Mimi had a point.  Was there anything wrong with seeing Mimi’s nude form?  If they were supposed to be boyfriend and girlfriend, it was bound to happen eventually.  “But it’s too soon,” Jyou told himself.  “This is all happening too fast.  There’s something very wrong here…or maybe I’m just being paranoid.”


Mimi’s cell phone rang.  She reached into her underwear and pulled out the shiny carcinogen.  “Hello, this is Mimi, the fabulous pop star…Cin, hi, I wasn’t expecting you to call until later.  We have much to discuss.”  Mimi remembered Jyou’s presence in her company.  She put her hand completely over her phone (her hand was small, but her phone was smaller).  Jyou, could you excuse me for a few minutes?  I have to talk business in private with Cindy, my publicist.  I’ll let you know when you can come back in.”


Jyou left Mimi’s dressing room.  He carefully avoided looking at her topless form on his way out.  He couldn’t help but wonder why it was the telephone conversation, and not the nudity, that necessitated his exit.  Outside her door, the supposed paranoia struck again.  “I just know she’s talking about me.  Why else would I have to leave the room?”  Jyou clenched his fist.  “I don’t have to take this.  It’s my life, and I’m not going to mess it up by accepting the ignorance of my situation.”  Jyou put his ear to Mimi’s door.  He heard plenty.


“…Jyou, the guy I told you about, he’s perfect, hasn’t changed a bit; I knew he wouldn’t…So, we let the paparazzi catch me with my new boyfriend, and I finally start selling some albums to the fanboy demographic?…Cin, I agree; it’s a great plan, but how long am I going to have to be seen with this loser?…No, that’s not too long.  Hell, I could string him along for twice as long if I had to…I know; he should feel privileged…The next stop is Irvine…I hate the suburbs too.  The shopping is far too reasonably priced…The usual set, whatever the concert producer tells me to do.  I’m also going to let Jyou sing a song…Because he’ll probably sound just like William Hung…No, the world is cruel; I just try to keep up with it.”


Mimi wasn’t done talking, but Jyou was done listening.  He removed his ear from the door.  In a sense, he was relieved.  It was good to know that his instincts had not failed him.  The supposed paranoia was completely accurate.  It really was too good to be true.  In another sense, he was incensed, angrier than he’d ever been in his life, but also feeling more like himself than he’d ever felt.  “I don’t regret coming here.  I had to know who I am, I had to know who I’m not, and I had to know how I’m perceived.”  Jyou looked at his palms.  He knew they had the power to heal.  “Now I have to find out what I can do.  Across the world, millions of little girls want to grow up to be just like Mimi.  I can’t let this international disaster continue.  I get one song, so I’d better make it count.”


Mimi opened the door to her dressing room.  She peeped her head out (she was still topless).  Jyou, I’m done on the phone.  Would you like to come in?”


Jyou couldn’t see any goodies, but he averted his eyes anyway.  “I think I’ll pass.  I need some time to decide what I’m going to sing.  Then I’ll have to practice.  I have a tendency to stammer, but with enough practice, I can be articulate.”


Mimi was suspicious, but of what, she wasn’t sure.  She just knew that Jyou sounded much too solemn for such a thrilling opportunity.  Jyou, it’s just a song.  True, it only takes one song to make you a celebrity, but you’re taking this too seriously.  Why don’t you come back inside my dressing room?  I’ll help you to relieve some stress.”  Mimi’s tone was excessively suggestive.


This time around, Jyou was much more inclined to accept Mimi’s offer.  Mimi had tried to use him, so he could rationalize using her.  He knew that it wouldn’t be her first time getting used.  Most likely, all of her teenage years were characterized by someone using her as a tool for something.  In her present role, she was a marketing tool—the worst kind of prostitute.  Surely, Jyou could have had sex with her, but he didn’t want to catch her social disease.  “Mimi, do you remember when you told Ogremon that you thought honor codes were romantic?  Well, because I have an honor code, I won’t be joining you tonight.  It’s somewhere between irony and a catch-22.”


The next night, Mimi performed at the HeritageParkCommunity Center in Irvine, California.  Her attire was slightly more conservative; she wore a pink leotard.  She closed with her big hit, but she didn’t think it would be her last song.  An encore was planned for after Jyou’s performance.


“I want you to pour down on me like pink lemonade.

I want your heart cascade.

I want it all over my face.

Give me your heart cascade.”


The crowd applauded as a reflex.  There were dispersed whistles from the more emphatic Mimites, but none of the adulation was empathetic.  Mimi took repeated bows, perhaps more to display her hypnotic cleavage than to express gratitude.  “Thank you.  Thank you.  And now, my new boyfriend, Jyou, would like to sing a song for you.  If you’re nice to him, I might just come back to give you a few more songs.”  Mimi walked backstage.  She passed Jyou along the way.  She noticed that he wasn’t wearing his glasses.  “That’s a good look for you,” she whispered.


“Seeing the expressions on their faces might throw me off,” Jyou explained.


“You’ll do fine.  Knock ‘em dead.”  Mimi continued her walk into the darkness of the backstage.


“I’ll do just the opposite,” Jyou said under his breath.  He stepped to the microphone.  He looked out on the audience.  It was a sea of pink-haired adolescent girls, the same as at every concert.  “I can save them all,” Jyou told himself.  Though the microphone was secure in its stand, he put his hands on it.  It was warm and comforting; it was power.  Then he let it go.  He began to address the audience in a steady voice:

“My name is Jyou Kido.  I’m a foreigner.  As such, I did some research on the place I’m visiting.  I found out some interesting things about this town.  I learned that Irvine is the original hometown of members of The Offspring and Rage Against the Machine, among other bands with counterculture messages.”


From backstage, Mimi overheard Jyou’s preamble.  “What the hell is he talking about?”


Jyou continued.  “I’m not much of a singer, but I do have other vocal abilities, so I sifted through the songs I’ve heard for one with more of a focus on passion than finesse.  Then I found one with the perfect message.  I don’t want to spoil it with synthesizers.”  Jyou nodded to the middle-aged man at the keyboards.  The weary man gratefully walked off the stage.  “I have no intention of dancing, so I don’t need backup dancers.”  Jyou nodded to the flamboyant shirtless men, and they joined the keyboardist offstage.  “Only my words shall be necessary.  This is a song by a band you’ve probably never heard of.  The name of the band is Split Fifty.  The name of the song is “Pop Culture Isn’t Worth the Money It’s Printed On.”  As if he’d waited his whole life for an audience and a microphone, Jyou’s voice was suddenly infused with transcendent passion.


“Rip me down and take the sweat from my back!

Listen to me.

The candy train is leaving town.

The wax museum’s melting down!


I don’t care what you’ve been doing.

I don’t care what you’ve been saying.

Everything is burning underground.


You want an answer, say?

You know why I feel this way.

Everything is wrong.


You want an answer, say?

You know why I feel this way.

Everything is wrong.


Just like the air you breathe,

It means more to me.

That’s something you can’t see.


And if you herd those sheep,

What does it mean?

This art is out of reach.


Selling lies and buying out the streets!

Now you’re choking.

Just for you money grows on trees.

I’m burning down your house of greed!


I don’t care what you’ve been doing.

I don’t care what you’ve been saying.

Everything is burning underground.


You want an answer, say?

You know why I feel this way.

Everything is wrong.


You want an answer, say?

You know why I feel this way.

Everything is wrong.


Just like the air you breathe,

It means more to me.

That’s something you can’t see.


And if you herd those sheep,

What does it mean?

This art is out of reach.


You’re stealing what you can

From an honest man.

You’re stealing what you can

From an honest man.

You’re stealing what you can

From an honest man.

You’re stealing what you can

From an honest man.


Just like the air you breathe,

It means more to me.

That’s something you can’t see.


And if you go to sleep,

What does it mean?

Your life is out of reeeeach!




And if you herd those sheep,

What does it mean?

This art is out of reeeeach!”


Jyou’s voice returned to its usual mildness.  “Thank you for listening.”


The audience sat stunned and silent for ten seconds.  Then, in a tide of pink, they all stood and applauded.  Unlike for Mimi’s performance, this time, there were individual reactions:


“Did you just hear what I just heard?”


“That kid is amazing.”


“I’m blown away.”


“Does anybody remember why we came to this concert?”


“I thought we were here to see Mimi.”


“Why should we listen to shallow words backed by synthesized music?”


“Because that’s what’s popular.”


“Then let’s change what’s popular.”


The tide turned.  Every Mimite in the building walked out on their former idol.  In their haste to initiate the revolution, they forgot to approach Jyou with formal compliments, but he knew their sentiments.


Like the flushing of a toilet, Mimi heard her fans exiting.  She rushed back to the stage.  “Wait!  Wait!  Wait!  I’ll perform more songs!  I’ll bring you onto the stage to sing with me!  I’ll strip completely naked!”  But it was too late.  They had all left the building.  Even Mimi’s keyboardist and backup dancers had left; they knew well enough when a pop career was finished.  Only Mimi and Jyou remained, on the stage, looking out at the hundreds of empty seats.


Jyou shook his head.  “I can’t see much without my glasses, but I think one of them was wearing a ‘Shit Happens’ t-shirt.  You don’t see too many of those nowadays.”


Mimi sat on the floor of the stage.  She didn’t care that her thinly veiled buttocks were touching the heavily treaded surface, though she would’ve cared five minutes beforehand.  Then she began to cry.  She held nothing back; she just cried her head off for five minutes.  Then she turned to Jyou.  Makeup was smeared all over her face, and her voice was smeared with outrage.  “Why are you still here?!  I hope you’re not expecting me to pay for your flight home.”


“Nope, I can take care of myself.  I just want to make sure that you’ll be okay.”


“I’ll be fine.  This is just an isolated incident in a know-nothing college town.  I still have gigs lined up for the next three months, and thousands of people will show up to them.”


“Who are you trying to convince?”


Mimi wasn’t ready to accept her fate, but she was a little closer to seeing it as a possibility.  “If you knew that would happen, why did you do it?  I thought you were my friend.”


“Friends don’t let friends become manipulative prima donnas.  When you were stronger, you rejected the address of ‘Princess Mimi,’ but now, ten years later, you feel more entitled than ever.”


“How dare you call me manipulative?!  I was just trying to be nice to you.”


“Do I look retarded to you?”  Jyou knew the question was stupid, so he didn’t give Mimi a chance to answer it.  “You’re still lying to me, and that’s the other reason why I had to depose you.  All of the sincerity that you used to harbor has been mutated into subhuman disingenuousness.”


Mimi looked at Jyou quizzically.  “Huh?”


“Sorry, I probably studied the vocabulary list for my graduate examination a little too hard.  In a nutshell, I did what I did because I was your friend.”


“We’re no longer friends.  Jyou Kido, with every pink hair on my head, I hate you.”  For what it was worth, Mimi’s voice sounded completely sincere.


“Of course, you say that now, but someday, if there’s any good left in you, you’ll thank me.”  Jyou jumped off of the stage and walked out of the building.  The public exit just seemed more appropriate.



“I didn’t have enough money to get home, so I fought in Iraq, worked on a shrimp boat, and won a Ping-Pong tournament.  Flying overseas is so expensive.”  Jyou recalled that the moral of his story was related to sincerity.  “Actually, I just begged my way onto an underbooked flight.”


“Did Mimi ever ‘thank’ you?” Sora asked with obvious skepticism.


“Nope, she hasn’t contacted me at all since then.  She’s probably still getting used to the idea of pop music being dead.  I don’t mean to brag, but I take partial credit for killing it.”


Jyou, you can’t kill pop music.  You can only redefine it.”


“Then I take partial credit for redefining pop music.”


“But you didn’t redefine it.  Madonna is still topping the charts, and American Idol is still the highest rated show on American television.”


“Sorry, I didn’t know.  Like I said, I’m out of the loop.”  Jyou smiled; it was an all-encompassing excuse.  He tried to come up with something else to say.  He tapped his briefcase for an idea, and then he delivered his penultimate words of wisdom.  Sora, life is like a briefcase full of medical equipment.  It’s cold, and it stings, and it’s so much easier to just die.  We all live for our purposes.  I think my purpose is to help others find better purposes.”


Sora stood up.  “It was nice talking with you, but I have to get back to work.”


“Maybe next time, you’ll tell me what you’ve been up to.  What happened with you and Yamato—or was it Taichi?”


“I’ve really got to go.”  Sora walked back to her restaurant.


Jyou forced himself to laugh.  “I bet I don’t talk to her again either.  If there were to be a next time, she’ll make sure to choose another bench to avoid it.  That’s just the way it goes.”  Seconds later, deep in retrospection, Jyou became unfathomably sad.  He looked down for a while.  “I followed my own path, Jim, just like you said.  I’ve been walking in circles.”  Crying was pointless.  He looked forward.  “I’ve waited for this bus my whole life; I can wait a little longer.”



Author’s Notes:


This came out a lot better than I thought it would.  Part of that comes from planning.  This is a story that I’ve wanted to write since before I started writing my Alternate Ending Series.  I just never got around to it.  I’m glad that I waited until I was more talented as a writer; that’s supposed to be a microcosm of a moral.  I feel like I had to compromise my artistic vision somewhat by inserting the sex scene, but I had to get you to read this somehow.

If you’re an astute reader, you noticed all of the hidden meanings, foreshadowing, allusions, and other assorted devices.  You’d pretty much have to be superhumanly astute.  If you don’t fall into this category, you might want to read the story again.  As an example: Epic heroes go to hell and back again, just like Junpei, Izumi, and Tomoki in the Alternate Ending Series.  Did you notice the references to hell in this story?  Did you notice to where they were applied?  You can worry about it later.


Musical Inspirations:


Jyou’s main theme: “I’ll Be Waiting” by The Offspring

Jyou and Mimi’s stage: “Vultures” by The Offspring

Jyou’s message: “Pop Culture Isn’t Worth the Money It’s Printed On” by Split Fifty

Jyou’s “Load” theme: “The Outlaw Torn” by Metallica

Mimi’s main theme: “Oops!... I Did It Again” by Max Martin and Rami

Sora’s main theme: “She Takes It So Well” by Hot Water Music




“Sometimes Selling Out Is Giving Up” by Rise Against

“Hell Looks a Lot Like L.A.” by Less Than Jake

Vietnow” by Rage Against the Machine

“30 Day Wonder” by Good Riddance

“Joining You” by Alanis Morissette

“Jukebox Hero” by Foreigner


Literature Inspirations:


In an issue of the short-lived Beckett Digimon Collector, producer Terri-Lei O’Malley said that, toward the end of the first season, there would be a juicy conversation between Sora and Mimi.  In this conversation, Sora would say that she liked (liked-liked) Taichi, and Mimi would say that she liked Jyou.  As we all know, this conversation never happened.


Cinematic Inspirations:


Forest Gump


Personal Inspirations:


By the time this comes out, I will be a twenty-three year old virgin, “completely and totally.”  Much like Jyou, I’ve had my opportunities, and much like Jyou, I knew they wouldn’t get me anywhere that I couldn’t go alone.


I’m nearsighted, and I used to wear my glasses all the time.  Nowadays, I only wear them for driving and other activities that require perfect vision.  For everything else, I prefer the slight blurriness of my natural vision.


I often manage to stammer and ramble simultaneously.


My most memorable experiences in college involved stepping up to an open microphone in front of an audience ranging between twenty and fifty of my peers.  I introduced myself rather nervously, and then I read my poetry confidently and eloquently (for the most part; it depended on what my intended tone was).  Unlike the typical poets, my poetry had mass appeal for its catchy rhythms and sardonically humorous messages.  I have received some tremendous ovations.


My most vocally intense reading is my closer, a poem called “The Last Angry Feminist.”  It has elements of “Pop Culture Isn’t Worth the Money It’s Printed On” and Rage Against the Machine’s “Freedom.”  You’d have to hear it in person.  The best comment I ever got was from a girl who said, “Now I’m going to burn my bra.”


I’m out of touch with popular culture, and I rarely watch television nowadays.


Like Jyou, I’m a doctor’s son.  We help people.


Your supposed paranoia is completely accurate.  This story had many similarities to my other A-Side, “You Don’t Love Me Anymore.”  Once again, I shall close with a poem.  This time around, I have the luxury of a vast poem library from which I can choose a piece that I feel adequately accompanies this story.  Please enjoy the following:


1000 x 0


I’ve had it thrown in my face.

I’ve gotten jealous.

I’ve cursed myself a thousand times for all the times I’m late.


And everyday, I pay a fine

For parking by the stopping signs.

With engine fried, and tires flat,

While passersby just point and laugh.


Couldn’t play the minor leagues,

Impairment in proficiency.

I’m batting zero

And saving swings for dignity.


I’ve had it served on a plate.

I’ve still refused it.

I’ve asked myself a thousand times, “Just why have I abstained?”


And everyday, I chop the greens

For salads dressed in old routines.

With fools’ regrets, I turn down foods

That others would just plow right through.


Expect no empathy,

When either team’s depravity.

I’m batting zero

And choking up on certainty.


I’ve had it but not awake.

I’ve heard the buzzer.

I’ve told myself a thousand times the seizing is today.


And everyday, I cannot hold

The slipping dreams, the bars of soap.

With nothing grabbed, for nothing tried,

I clean my doubts with bars of pride.


When turning twenty-three,

Will numbers be the same for me?

I’m batting zero

And maybe it’s my destiny.



©2006 by Benjamin Wiseman


Sora’s estimate of twenty minutes assumed that you would read approximately one page per minute.  Email any other comments and criticisms to:






Nate Hunter:


I suppose this is a unique take on the typical Wisemon. Referencing beyond the song, he goes to the degree of the movie. Or perhaps he goes further by simply following the lyrics in a way... Instead of judging in my straightforward, I think I'll do a running commentary of this one instead of the section reviews before.


I like the opening. Sitting on the bench... running into Sora, and catching up a bit. The flashback method reminds me of my own Takeru's Future Life, where I interposed two lemon scenes with each other, one past and one present... but at the same time this is different, as the present is waiting for the bus, and not having sex. We see a bit of Wisemon's take on where these two are before Sora begins telling what she's heard...


The fight looks good, but it seems a bit out of contest to the series. Still, this is fine as it's only the event through one point of view. What one remembers another may forget and all that. What happens next is the start of some fun. It's all rather tasteful, not completely unlike some of my more recent writing, and it addresses a problem in Japan of children having sex younger and younger -- not unlike America or Britain, but perhaps happening more quickly there.


The lightness of detail combined with the knowledge of what's happening flows in Wisemon's style to paint a tasteful image that is more erotic than arousing, and more tasteful than pornographic. We see an image from Mimi's mind that she's honorable and controlling, we see her as intelligent in a way the show doesn't ever quite give us, intelligent of things she ought not yet to know.


Then we go back to reality. This is Mimi's image and dream of what happened, and it's what she believes happened then. Admittedly farfetched if not impossible, and they discuss it.


And here we move into the dark territory of self-identification. An author may not intend to over-identify with a main character but still do it, or they may realize they're doing it all along. Whichever is the case here, Wisemon is doing it to what can become a dangerous extent. The 23 year-old virgin may be written as Jyou, but it could as easily be me, or Wisemon.


The man who has never "met" any women could be any upstanding young man, but the first assumption given Wisemon's past work is that it's reflecting himself upon the character. Yes it's said for credibility, but when the author is known to be such a person, it weakens the story...


And now our Gump tells his own version of the story. Now one thing I enjoy when I watch Gump is that this is a plain, simple, down to earth story -- yes it may be a bit farfetched to think of it, but at no point is it laden with detail, nor are the exploits or Mr. Gump given to be fantastical, like some people who would try to have you believe they fought Nazis and the Japanese in WW2.


Will Mr. Kido match up with this? So he begins by letting us know to disregard the fantastic elements of what Mimi had told Sora. Saber Leomon died. That is true. Mimi didn't retaliate, though -- she cried. And Jyou offered consolation and companionship. Simple and down to earth, we even see that Jyou thought over the potential implications.


We see a simple story, with soft metaphors in place of explicit information, and with the same sort of down to earth storytelling that we see in Forest Gump. We see the anger that this girl is not what he thought she was, we see him confront her. We even see that she would never do this normally, and he knows it. She offered him sex, but with my honor, even I couldn't do it. I see the same code of honor in Wisemon, and this is again, a reflection of himself onto Jyou. Perhaps indeed it would have happened, but perhaps, also, Mimi was the one out of character in the offer. Whichever may be true, we have a reliable response from a Wisemon story -- masturbation > uncommitted sex.


And that, we learn, is what happened. There was no fellatio, no cunnilingus, and nothing else between them after the fight. I like how the scene plays out and how Wisemon's understanding is reflected to Jyou, even as much as it hurt my experience. And then we move on to the incident.


Mimi wanted to see Jyou, which is interesting in its own way. Given what we've seen, and that it's considered an incident, we know it can't be good for either party involved. Jyou may have lacked foresight, but everybody needs a healthy amount of paranoia, and it saves him from being used. Wisemon reflects his knowledge of pop music sales into the story, as well as his taste for lesser known punk, grunge, and others of the heavy alternative side of music. I thank you for pointing me towards a new song, Wisemon.


All in all, I enjoyed this story. It was flawed but by far the most unique of the three entries I received. Unfortunately, if the scores can't back that up, he can't be the winner, but I can't see too much trouble in that. This is a top-notch piece of work, and even imperfect, it reminds me of why my generation is both the best and the worst of generations. One 23-year old virgin to another, top-notch Ben.




Plot: 37 - 92.5%

Characterization: 35 - 87.5%

Semantics: 39 - 97.5%

Lemon: 29 - 72.5%

Overall Writing: 38 - 95%


Total Score: 89% - B+


A pretty good story, especially out of the three we got, and a worthy winner. Recommended reading if you want to see some good writing in place.


Herr Mullen:


The style here is Wisemon; that cynical, musicly heavy satire of popular culture that I do so enjoy. The opening paragraph doesn't ask the obvious questions, though it is a good establishment of Who, Where, Why, and such, but it does ask "What made him change so much?" This is the subtle question that makes you read onward. Jyou's stop to smell the roses is a fantastic touch: he's almost died so many times I daresay he's come to appreciate their natural fragrence. This immediate hint at change is another hook. Sora is inspired. I should give her a nice role more often, really... "Please stop staring at my breasts." That's the pitfall all youthful gentlemen seem to meet. Jyou's decision to forego his glasses mark further changes. I have to give Wisemon huge credit for his character development. The story remains true to life, especially to Jyou's. I think quite a few of us know these character explorations of our youth, and the tragedy of parting friends. I've got to hook up with some people, now, actually; this is a Wisemon Effect. He can make me long for my youth and the people of those times. This bus-station scene is at contrast with his inspiration: we smart guys have it just as bad as the stupid ones, don't we?


The lemon scene I daresay is deliberately sparce on sensation, as it never happened. I still get the impression of Jyou being calm and controled, dispite his third orgasm. This is probably down to Mimi not really knowing Jyou. I want so desperately to give the "Lemon" rating a high score on the basis of the thought that's gone into it, but I can't on the basis that, although deliberatly so, it is poor, and I can't give a high score for being poor, can I? Such a shame.


I cannot express the joy I feel at these characterisations.


Jyou has a huge capasity for compassion, but he also has that social awkwardness that makes him list reasons not to be sad. He seems almost fatherly when he asks if Mimi needs a hug. I'd say I detect a peice of childhood seeping in, but that would be pretentious, so ignore this sentence and I'll pretend I never wrote it. Mimi's huge knowledge of sex (for her age) highlights a problem that Japan has been dealing with in recent years. The children there are having sex younger and younger. They are facing a collapse of traditional Japanese morality. The effects of that problem on the indivdual are displayed here perfectly by Wisemon. I find myself stepping closer to Jyou when I read his doubts. At such a stage of his life, when he has been pushed so far to his future, and he has to make life changing decisions, these doubts will seap in.


I do like the joke about Mailer Deamon. In my early days of email, I had no idea what the thing was.


Mimi's hearlessness toward her fans reflect quite a few things I've heard: I was once told a story about a footballer, who was staying in the same hotel as the one who relayed this to me. She saw a famous footballer, who I can't remember the name of (I don't follow football) and these two children were begging him to give them autographs. He took the paper off the girl gruffly, scribbled as fast as he could, shoved it back into her arms and left hurriedly, leaving the little boy he ignored on the verge of tears. The same feelings I felt at this story of anger and irratation rose again when I read this episode.


Jyou's interjection made me laugh.


There are references dotted all the way through this story. Jyou's mind over matter thing, and the fact that, actually, he didn't have a bad voice, it was just the wordyness of the lyrics he chose in the Princess Karioke episode. I can see Wisemon slip inside Jyou when he says Jyou scored highly at writing. I'm going to be harsh, as I know he'd hate me to be leanient, and say that though he shows relation to the character, he has taken Jyou out of character and put himself in his place.


I love the audience dialogue. The audience as a persona is a fantastic device. There was an extra large space between two paragraphs that made me think, briefly, that Jyou was talking to Sora again.


Jyou's question "...Or was it Taichi?" points out Sora's flaw. She is not just someone to be talked to. She has a persona, and she has some real qualities to her. Without that ending, the entire thang would have suffered for Sora's absence of character.


Plot; 8/10

Character; 9/10

Semantics; 10/10

Lemon; 6/10

writing; 9/10




I actually didn't watch that movie, but I found something shiny about the plot, I don't care if it was taken from a real-life movie, I really thought it was purely original. The storyline flowed properly adapted to what the characters suposedly talked about. I understood the way Mimi acted perfectly, as I had my own view in how she would actually had acted when she was older than in the series, she was no more than a spoiled child afterall. And that's roughly why I put 10/10 to Wise's plot.


Knight of the New Moon:


"Gump" I believe was a strong piece of work. Jyou and Sora were kept in character, and Mimi was kept well into her season one character. I can't say honestly that I felt the whole thing was in character for her however, but it wasn't the worst I had ever seen OOCness.


The style was strong, and sent Jyou's feelings effectively to the readers. His nervousness and everything seemed in character for him in that situation. Not sure about him not wearing his glasses, as I think he would be the kind that would never go against doctor's orders.