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This page, Launch's Souvenir, is property of KidVegeta. |
The sting of the cashier’s slap left a lasting mark, yet did little to dissuade his fervor. Roshi led Krillin to the third lingerie store of the day, Silk Seduction. His blood was running hot. He’d promised Launch a present. With Ƶ30,000 left of his prize money (Goku’s fifty-seven full-course meals the night before had drained the majority of his winnings), he couldn’t be as extravagant as he’d wished. A cute set of lingerie remained well within his budget. Launch deserved a reward for her hard work. He’d make sure to pick out the sexiest pair of panties. Someday, should luck smile upon him, he’d snatch a peek at her in them.
The thought alone nearly made him bust a nosebleed. He had rolled up tubes of tissue and stuck them up his nostrils as a precaution. Preventative measures would be required in this treacherous lair.
“Master, how much longer are you going to shop?” Krillin whined. “We have to get to the airport. We’re going to miss our flight.”
He stroked his goatee. “Settle down, Krillin. Let an old man have his fun. Besides, I promised Launch I’d get her a souvenir. We’re not leaving until I’ve found it.”
The mingling scents of a hundred perfumes met them inside. Roshi moved with urgency until he came across the area where bras and panties were for sale. He was home. Oho, he was where he was meant to be. There were dozens and dozens of bras of various sizes, colors, shapes, and textures. Pink, black, white, and red dominated. He was drawn to the more risqué designs. Alas, those were the most expensive. Some hung from the walls, others were stuffed in bags (he objected to the notion, preferring those on display), and mannequins wore a prized few. He stopped to watch an employee change out a mannequin’s bra and panties, holding a fresh tissue to his nose. The minutes flew by. Krillin tapped on his arm, begging him to hurry.
“Settle down. Don’t spoil my good time.”
The mannequin’s unclothing made him quiver. His imagination ran wild; his tissues stained crimson.
When the show was over, Roshi wiped his beard and browsed the panties aisle for underwear befitting Launch’s distinct style of femininity. Satin panties, lace panties, panties pink and yellow and purple, panties with flowers, Hello Kitty panties, extravagant panties that could be untied from the front—the options were overwhelming. His heart pounded. His fingers twisted around expensive fabric. Krillin’s mumbling hardly registered.
He got his grubby hands all over those panties, feeling them, stretching them, struggling to not wear a pair over his head upside down. The fact that they were new and unworn helped him maintain composure. After fifteen minutes or so, he came upon a black-and-pink pair that was tied together on the front with see-through, flowery mesh sporting on both sides. Not the kind a self-respecting woman would walk around in at home. He liked it. A lot. The pinnacle of his fantasies. She couldn’t hide her bush in that. He wondered if she waxed. Launch wasn’t likely to wear it around the house, especially if she sneezed. He’d be eating lead salad for lunch if she caught herself in that.
Trying to remain tactful, Roshi moved along, though his heart burned for the rocks left unturned. On the back wall, a slew of panties hung in plastic bags with bright red lettering reading ‘EDIBLE’ on their packages. He required a new tissue roll. His breathing quickened, and his face grew hot. Going against his better judgment, he snagged a chocolate-flavored pair. For good measure, it came with a matching bra. Launch would love it. She’d appreciate their beauty, their taste. He imagined her wearing it while she cooked, the roaring heat of the stove melting the gooey texture and contouring it against her skin.
“Can we go now, Master? Please, we’re going to miss our flight.”
“Impatience is wasted on the youth,” he said. “Alright, Krillin. Don’t worry. I’ve found the perfect gift.”
He paid at the register, his eyes lingering on the cashier’s chest. She was a blonde-haired buxom lady of rather chestly proportions, the kind he’d love to reach out and squeeze, or, if he was to behave with a more gentlemanly air, stuff his face in between and shake about. His palm curled into a claw. Took every fiber of his being to hold back. Couldn’t waste another tissue in this economy.
She handed him the bag, saying, “Thank you for shopping with us. We hope you have a lovely rest of your day.”
“You know what would make it even lovelier? How about you and I take a long walk down the beach? You must be tired because you’ve been running all through my mind.”
“Sir, please, that’s highly inappropriate.”
He held up the bag. “Let’s sneak off to somewhere more private where you could try these on. Picturing you in them has been my dream. Oh, ohoho!”
Shaking her head, she handed him a business card that was striped orange, white, and pink. Her name, ‘Manjiru’, was written in a cursive, purple font in the center. “I’m a card-carrying member. Don’t get the wrong idea, sir.”
“Eh, what’s that supposed to mean? C’mon baby, how about we go for a walk down the beach, just you and me?” He glanced at Krillin, who stood sheepishly by his side. “We could ditch the boy.”
“I heard that.”
She frowned, whistling between her fingers. How she splayed them with perfect dexterity betrayed an ephemeral elegance that enhanced her beauty. “Koucha, get over here. There’s another.”
A lumbering tiger man came around the corner wearing a bulletproof vest, his security badge shining on his belt. Sensing the end was near, Roshi lunged at Manjiru, trying to get in a squeeze or two. However, the man caught his wrist, parried his advance, and dragged him away. Krillin sidled up behind, his head hung in embarrassment.
“No touching. That’s the rule. That’s it for you. You’re banned,” Koucha said, throwing him out the door.
He landed square on his chin. Hovercars zoomed by. It was a bright and cloudless day. The smell of the ocean was in his lungs. The city thrived while he sulked. The good times, the perfume and dim lighting, were far behind, memories that he’d be lucky to retain into next week. Roshi clutched his bag, regrouping with Krillin as he got to his feet. His muscles were tense. Rubbing his jaw, he sighed, wishing to return home and retreat to the television. He knew which exercise tape to play.
“Master, can we go? We’re going to be late.”
“Yeah, yeah, Krillin, I hear you. Come along.”
Always thirsting, never quenched. His existence held perilously in a sad state. The bruises Goku had inflicted upon him yesterday throbbed with rekindled vigor.
Downtown South City was bustling with pedestrians and tourists. Many were sightseeing now that the tournament had ended. Roshi and Krillin were swallowed up in the crowd as they made their way to the airport on foot. Not taking a cab would save what precious little prize money he had left. With the airport in the distance, scenic as the face of a postcard, they came upon a narrow path diverting from the busy street, leading to the right, down to the shoreline, trees and overgrown bushes walling it in. Naturally, they ventured down. Airplanes were a curse upon this world. He’d have to be wheeled to his seat in a straitjacket. A sign reading ‘ATTENTION: BEYOND THIS POINT YOU MAY ENCOUNTER NUDE BATHERS’ stopped him in his tracks. As a tourist, what else could he do but live and experience South City for everything it had to offer?
“Master, please, we’re going to miss our flight if you—”
“Quiet, Krillin. I won’t be long. Just a peek and we’re out of there. I know my limits.”
“But Master—”
“After all I’ve gone through to train you boys, this is the thanks I get? Maybe I won’t take you back to my island.”
“Oh Master, don’t say that. I’m sorry. Forget it.”
“That’s what I thought.”
A trail of sweat ran down his back. Suits weren’t meant for the beach. The sky was cloudless, the shore empty as far as the eye could see, save for a trio of seagulls arguing over a french fry. Where were the hotties? Damn it, he’d earned his reward. He was the World Champion. A faint wind brought salt to his nostrils. His nose twitched.
Around the bend, they came across a group of older men in their fifties or sixties drinking lemonade under umbrellas, their bare, flabby bodies coated in layers of wispy white hair. Wearing naught but their skinsuits (meatbags were an inelegant design), he wasn’t keen to analyze their particulars. They whistled them over, and while Roshi wasn’t enthused to conversate, perhaps there were women amongst their group lurking in the shadows. Hope had been kindled. Krillin groaned.
“Ah, ya, hello there,” said a rosy-faced man. “A pleasure to meet you. Welcome, ya. My name’s Pipupi, and this is my good friend Crisp.”
Crisp nodded. He had short black hair, dark eyes, and a tan complexion, hiding his chest scars by crossing his arms. “Afternoon.”
“Come, join us,” Pipupi said. “We’re about to play volleyball, ya. Drinks are over there in the tent if you’re thirsty.”
Oh, he was thirsty, alright. Positively fiending. Not for volleyball. Not for these hog-swinging fellows. “Any pretty ladies in your group?” Roshi asked.
“We’re a men’s team,” Crisp said.
Pipupi concurred. “It’s a guy’s day out, ya. We have room for two more. Our only rule is no clothes. Take ‘em off, ya. Feel free. Unencumbered. Trust me, ya, it’s a great feeling to be free. Too hot to wear stuffy clothing in this weather, ya.”
“No way, I’m not doing that,” Krillin said. “This is weird. Master, can we go?”
“Thanks for the offer, but we’re passing through,” Roshi said, clasping his hand on Krillin’s shoulder. “Have fun, gentlemen.”
“Try our lemonade, ya,” Pipupi said, holding his glass to the sky like it were his drawn sword. “It’s ice cold.”
“Thanks, we’re fine. Enjoy your game.”
Crisp’s arms remained folded. Squinting, he made a face as if he considered himself better than them for letting it all hang out. He was content to let him believe that. Arrogance left unacknowledged died a bitter death, a cold death, a little death. They walked off, Roshi swallowing to prevent himself from gagging.
“Master, we’re going to be late. We can’t miss our flight.”
“Quiet. Let’s go a little farther. There have to be hot babes out here. After everything I’ve been through, I deserve it. The beach should be a goldmine.”
They came upon several men lying on blankets or play-wrestling in the sand, and passing them was a greater relief than reaching patches of shade. He appreciated whoever had planted those palm trees. The fruits of their labor would not be forgotten in the next fifteen minutes. Further down the shoreline, they found another group of people. His blood warmed. He noticed the slender, curved frame of a woman, assuredly, from behind, her butt thick enough to be an ergonomic pillow. A turtle could dream. Hootin’ and hollerin’, he broke out into a sprint, leaving Krillin in the dust.
Spread towels, backpacks, and umbrellas marked the outpost. The place was rife with the smell of sunscreen. The group, seven strong, looked over, the woman turning to face him as he arrived in a huff, spraying sand every which way (some of their crevices would need a thorough washing down before they returned home). When she did, he beheld a perhaps sixty-eight-year-old woman with a lasagna paunch for a belly, deflated, saggy breasts, like a pair of lazy eyes that would make any man shrivel up, a wiry pubic forest, messy as a lumberjack’s beard, masking any sign of what lay beneath, and a time-worn face.
His disappointment was immeasurable, and his trip was ruined. No need for a tissue. His blood was quite cool. Krillin was right. They should never have come here. He regretted the young, spunky women who had chosen not to take the path he had. Luck was the cruelest mistress.
Seagulls circled over Kame House in the cloudless cerulean sky. Humidity was an ever-stifling presence. Turtle raised a flipper from the shore, welcoming them back. Launch was humming while wiping down the counter. A pot of tonjiru was boiling on the stove. The aroma of ginger made his mouth water. He hardly thought about Krillin. In familiarity, he found comfort.
“Oh, Roshi, Krillin, you’re back. Welcome home. Where’s Goku?”
“He went to find his grandpa’s Dragon Ball. It’s a long story,” Krillin explained. “Anyway, we had a great time at the tournament.”
“I’m glad to hear it. How’d you do?”
“I battled all the way to the semi-finals, and Goku reached the finals. We both lost to Jackie Chun. He’s a real martial arts master. He was unbeatable. Regardless, I’m proud of how well I did, considering it was my first attempt. I’m going to train a lot harder so I can get stronger than Jackie and Goku. My goal’s to win the next tournament.”
“That’s the spirit, Krillin,” he said. “You and Goku did well. Boys your age don’t usually make it through the preliminary rounds. You should hold your head high for winning a knockout match. Stay focused. Don’t lose your drive.”
“I won’t, Master.”
“Why don’t we celebrate with lunch?” Launch said, tilting her head to the side and smiling.
He’d like to celebrate, but food was the last thing on his mind. “Before I forget, here’s a little something I got for you at the tournament. A souvenir of sorts. I expect you’ll find it to your liking.”
“Aw, Master, can’t it wait? I’m starving. Do you have to—”
“Quiet, Krillin. Launch deserves a present for all she’s done.”
With a blank look, she tore open the plastic bag, revealing what looked like a mangled wad of beef jerky. He froze, feeling a cold tingle shudder down his back. The bra and panties had melted together into a horrid, intertwined monstrosity. That had almost certainly happened when they had taken that walk down the beach.
“Oh my. Chocolate’s my favorite. Thank you, Roshi. That was very thoughtful.”
With a smile and half a laugh, she took a bite, leaving the rest in the package. How his blood froze, how he cursed himself silently for letting a quick fix destroy his long-term plan. Alas, the feeble, false temptation of the exercise tapes called to him. He deserved a reward, craved that sweet release. He sniffled, rolling a wad of unused tissue paper in his pocket between his thumb and forefinger. Hollow victories were better than nothing.
| Life Is Not Just an Interval Between Kung Fu Matches
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| 性欲 | Straight Edge Baller • Gone Piggin' • Launch's Souvenir | ||||||
| 惑溺 | Lost in the Juice • Time to Leave • Hail Satan | ||||||
| 風味 | Daddy's Going Down • Spicing it Up • The Snow Crab Bisque Incident | ||||||
| 必滅 | A Tasteful Approach • That Smarts • Did It My Way | ||||||
| 報復 | The Temple of the Tien-Shin Style Dojo • Last One Out • Punching Down | ||||||
| 熱愛 | The Church of Mr. Satan • I Only Have Eyes For You | ||||||