Thanks For Saving My Life, But I Won't Be Able To Stop Fapping Until You Kiss Me Again!
I was kissed by an angel.
Well, to be more precise, it wasn’t so much an angel as just a really pretty girl, and neither was it December 24th—it was technically Christmas already in the way that “tonight at 12am” actually means “tomorrow”.
Unlike a typical Christmas midnight, however, there was no blanket of snow covering the streets, and neither was I waiting to open presents under a big Christmas tree. It’s never cold enough to snow around these parts, and two of the three friends I had were busy making pocket money. The third had just rejected me.
In other words, this story has nothing to do with Christmas.
This is purely a love story.
And it starts with me trying to cross the street without looking just like a depressed, vaguely suicidal 16-year-old would, when suddenly:
I felt something—or someone—pulling at my collar. The next moment, I saw a flash of silver, and then my entire body was chilled by a powerful gust of air. I’d almost been turned into Christmas Bolognese by a speeding car.
“You should be more careful.”
I turned around and saw an angel.
This angel was dressed in a red elf costume, had more piercings in her ear than I could count in my shock, and dyed her long hair in a fashionista’s blonde. Black fishnet stockings ran the length of her toned legs, which were capped off by a pair of fur platform boots. She also had a pinned badge that read “Ayane!” next to cleavage which I could only assume was displayed on purpose.
Her dreamy eyes looked like they could teach me the meaning of love. Too bad I didn’t have the courage to look for more than a split second, because maybe then, I would’ve realised she was crying.
“Th-thanks,” I muttered.
“Don’t mention it.”
She lunged at me and gave me a mouth-to-mouth kiss.
Her tongue tasted like alcohol.
Her scent was overpowering.
Her eyes were closed, and she was lapping at me like she’d found an oasis in the desert.
I didn’t know what was going on.
I reached dumbly for whatever I could find on her body. She was soft and firm in all the right places.
She didn’t resist.
The ringing in my ears made it impossible to tell if she was moaning or not, but her arms were wrapped so tightly around my back it almost hurt.
Even through my hoodie, I could feel her nails digging into me.
Once she broke off the kiss, as if nothing happened at all, she crossed the same road I’d almost died on without so much as a single glance back. For what seemed like forever, I stood in stunned silence watching her silhouette slowly recede into the tranquil Christmas morning.
“What in the fuck.”
I masturbated seven times that night.
Winter break would never be the same after that. I’d searched “Ayane” on the net more times than I’d have liked to admit, sometimes even on less savoury sites, and found a random web novel which I binged in a day just because the female lead was named Ayane too. I searched through every café on that street which ran a Christmas cosplay promotion on the 24th. I googled “red elf cosplay” over and over hoping to get a lead. I even got off to porn with Ayane in its title despite the fact it looked nothing like the Christmas angel I saw, and suddenly developed a taste for celebrities with dyed blonde hair.
I knew, of course, that I would probably never see this person again. And though I also knew that my feelings weren’t entirely borne out of gratitude, I wanted to meet my Christmas angel again to thank her. Maybe I would become a billionaire and spread my messages through an ad campaign.
Ayane, if you are reading this, I want to see you again. Thank you.
Ten days of soul-searching for a Ayane without a last name later, and with the resumption of high school looming in the background, I knew my overly-dramatised dreams of a Christmas romance would have to end. I was a teenager experiencing a crush, but I was also realistic, and so I knew that my obsession had to stop.
You’re probably much older than me, anyway. I was just a five-minute-stand.
With that in mind, and a newfound resolve to put things behind me for a fresher start at the new year, I pulled on the drawstrings on my bag and stepped into my classroom vowing never to think of blonde girls again.
But it’s funny, isn’t it? One moment you say you’re done with something, and in the literal next moment, it comes rushing back at you with an even greater vengeance. Like a thought that’s constantly screaming and kicking at you in your mind. Wake up. Don’t forget. You must never forget.
You will never forget.
In the corner of class 1-H, I saw a girl with undyed hair that ended at her neck and pale skin that glistened in the morning’s golden rays. She must’ve been a transfer student. Her ear had more piercings than I could bother to count, and also…
Her eyes looked downcast.
Without thinking, I walked up to her desk, put my arm on her table, and the rest is history.
The girl who saved my life was now my classmate.