Storytelling

When we finish with our nightly screwing, Naruto and I sometimes have storytelling competitions before we go to sleep. Bedtime stories, you could say. Your Favorite Food. Your First Humiliation. Your Worst Birthday. One that he wins is Your First Time. He certainly has more to say than me, me whose first time was with Naruto himself. What could I tell him that he didn't already know?—Yeah, I kinda thought you were a virgin.—No need to rub it in.

And boy, does he tell it well.

You know how perverted Ero-Sennin is, ne, Sakura-chan? Then you shouldn't be surprised by what he did during my first year of training with him. And I'm not just talking about his "research."

It was my thirteenth birthday, see. Age of consent, right? He figures, how better to celebrate that little milestone than with a first fuck?

—No longer will your chinchin remain flaccid and unused, kid.

—What d'you mean unused? I use it for pissing, don't I?

—You know what I mean.

So he takes me to this inbaiya in Hana. Really weird name. Ophelia's Bouquet. All around us middle-aged women strip-teasing, dancing on poles, all while men including Ero-Sennin hoot and throw money at 'em like pimps.

Now I'm no prude, y'know? I've wanked to my share of porno mags, some courtesy of Kuroda, some courtesy of what I stole from Kakashi-sensei—and we're taking that to our graves, capiche? Anyway, the thing was, I was used to women on the pages, so when those gaishou started jiggling their smelly oppai in my face, I was scared shitless.

Ero-Sennin would have none of this. C'mon, cherry boy. Get yourself some pussy! Whatsa matter? Got no cojones? You a eunuch? But I was still guzzling sake. And then, Y'know who's gettin' some right now? Orochimaru, with Sasuke! A spray from my mouth like nothing you've ever seen.

What did you say?

You heard me. If that Uchiha's as desperate for power as we've heard he was, no way he'll be above sucking snake dick…or catching.

That cliché about old wounds, Sakura-chan. Truer words never been spoken, boy. Here I was, still reeling from the Valley of the End, and that perverted toad has the balls to plant those disgusting images in my head, as well as question my manhood. And on my birthday, too!

I had to get my cojones back somehow, and no way in hell would I get those dudes back staying a cherry boy while that snake perv was pitching the teme. So I took one big swig of my sake before seeking out Uekiya, the Gardener, asking her for the roughest gaishou in the joint. Even if she's a weed, or a Venus Flytrap, I said. Had to make the first memorable somehow. She pointed down the hall, and I found her. Ibarahime. The Thorn Princess.

And did she live up to her moniker. See, she had this thing about shaving her pubes, so it felt like I was fucking a thornbush, a cactus! But it was a small price to pay to prove that I was a man. After she dismounted me, she muttered, yep, a cherry boy, alright. Come see me again when your balls drop, baby. With that, she sent me away with a smack on the bottom.

I saw her again, on the birthday before I returned to Oinari, when Ero-Sennin shelled out for the Full Bouquet. Done deal? Done deal. And then she knew that I was no cherry boy.

One competition that I win is Your Favorite Irony.

This happened a long, long time ago, during our Genin days right after our teams were chosen. At the time, I was ecstatic. I was teamed up with the Uchiha Sasuke. But how to get him to notice me? Not with my looks. My body proportions were way below average, except for my forehead…

How can I—no way! There he was, looking at me with such warm eyes, like he was looking right into my heart. Now if he could just say those magic words, You sure have a large charming forehead. Makes me wanna kiss it. That's what it's for, I'd say. No. No way he'd say that—

You sure have a large charming forehead. Makes me wanna kiss it. Did I hear him right? My Inner Self was having a field day. —Heh-heh. That sounds like something Naruto would say. So much for that.

He sat next to me. Sakura, there's something I want to ask you. What do you think of Naruto? How to answer that?

I told him He's always getting in the way when I do something important and he enjoys seeing me struggle. Naruto doesn't understand anything about me. He's just annoying. All I want is…for you to acknowledge me, I told him. And I was absolutely serious about that. I would do anything…because I like you a lot.

We were leaning, closer and closer, our lips almost touching until he suddenly pulled away, like his stomach hurt. Sasuke-kun is so shy. He prolly isn't ready yet.

He came back minutes later. Are you ready now? I sure am! —Where's Naruto? he asked. Don't change the subject. Who cares about Naruto? All he does is fight with you. But what can you expect from someone who's an orphan? He can do whatever he wants. He's so lucky, all on his own, not having anyone tell him what to do.

On his own…The feeling of having a parent scold you is nowhere near what he feels.—What's wrong, Sasuke-kun?

You sicken me. That's what he said. That I sickened him. And years later, he would sicken me. A total 180 from before. That's the irony.

I turn to face him, only to see him chuckling, a sound like a fox's gekkering. What's funny? I ask him.

Here's my favorite irony, Sakura-chan. The Sasuke that you saw that day—not that one that was sickened by you—but the one that complemented your forehead…That was me.

You?

Yeah. I hoped to get closer to you, but then diarrhea hit and I had to bust outta there.

He chuckles awkwardly, scratching behind his head as I can do nothing but stare and stare. Then a sound gurgles through my throat, and then through my mouth. A laugh, a flow of water, and then a sound that makes my sides hurt and my belly ache and my eyes water. I punch his shoulder.—That can only happen to you, Naruto-baka.

He laughs too, rubbing the spot where I punched him.—But what I said was true, Sakura-chan. Then and now. You really do have a charming, kissable forehead, he says, pulling me to him and kissing the part of my body I once considered above-average.

Glossary

Chinchin: Japanese. "Penis".

Inbaiya: Japanese. "Cathouse", "brothel", or "whorehouse".

Gaishou: Japanese. "Whore", "prostitute", or "streetwalker".

Oppai: Japanese. "Tits". Rude and vulgar term, which is suitable for a whorehouse setting.