The Price of a Gold Pikachu
A whirlwind of thoughts spun through his mind as he tried to figure out the best course of action. I… didn't know about this, man… This could spiral out of control real fast... but... I really want that gold Pikachu card so badly. An internet girlfriend? She was just a name on a screen—delayed replies, probably juggling five other guys at once. No warmth, no presence—just pixels and wishful thinking. But my waifu pillow? She was here. Always. I could hold her, feel her, rest my head against her soft embrace. No ghosting, no buffering, no 'sorry, I was busy.' Just real, tangible love... I felt bad. He'd never know what love truly felt like—like the love between Chad and his waifu anime pillow.
The awkward silence hung in the room like a heavy cloud. Chad shifted from one leg to the other, narrowing his eyes as he spoke. "You seriously expect me to whip out my junk for you to snap pictures of?"
Bishop hurriedly shook his head. "No, man. I don't want you to whip out your junk. She... she specifically asked for fully nude photos, with my face and everything, to prove it's really me... I mean, it's really you, but, uh, it's my account... so, technically, it's still me..."
"Oh, great. That makes everything so much better," Chad groaned sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Seriously? Why the hell would I, in my right mind, agree to something like that? Do you even realise what you're asking me?"
Bishop nervously tapped his phone screen, his hand trembling slightly as he passed it to Chad. "Look, man," he said, his voice tight with desperation, "this is the only way. You've got to help me out here." On the screen, his internet girlfriend's message was clear:
"OMG! You are SO HOT, BigLoad4UExpress! Your pictures make me absolutely crazy! Every time I look at them, I feel myself getting SO WET, and it's driving me insane! I've never been this turned on in my life. You're the only one who can get me THIS worked up! Please, if you send me some fully nude photos with your face, I'll know you're REAL and not some fake. I need proof! I can't keep masturbating to your pictures if I'm not sure it's really you. I'll send you pics of me completely naked, touching myself, rubbing myself ALL DAY LONG to your photos, thinking about you... I can't stop! You're all I think about. I've never felt this way before. P.S. I think I'm falling for you."
Reading that, Chad's thoughts shifted in a new direction. He understood the value of fan service to fans—how crucial it was for shows to deliver that sweet, tantalising glimpse of an anime girl in a revealing position or in no clothing. And how utterly frustrating it was when shows teased that moment, only to cut away just as things were about to get interesting. It was a letdown, one that left you feeling robbed. He personally preferred when shows gave you what you wanted, when they didn't pull back, so you could truly immerse yourself in the experience, fully enjoying it in the most intimate way—one-handed way.
If his simple nude pictures could help someone—help them pleasure themselves for years to come—he'd be happy to contribute to her "wank bank," as the term went. After all, it was a give-and-take world. Everyone had their part to play in the exchange. He wasn't much of an artist, so he couldn't contribute with nude fan art of anime girls—drawing wasn't his thing—but at least he could offer something: his own nude photos. A simple exchange, really. His photos would please the girl, and in return, Bishop would get the nude pictures he could jerk off to. It worked for everyone involved.
But then a thought flickered in his mind. What if the girl wanted something more? What if she wanted to meet Bishop in person? That would be a whole different problem. He'd be stuck in an even stickier situation than he was now—way stickier than when he was just jerking off to her pictures. But hey, maybe that was something he'd learn the 'hard' way.
"Alright, fine. You can take a few candid naked shots of me, but don't make it weird, okay? And seriously, don't get naked with me... I'll be naked, and you'll remain dressed... and no, this isn't some CMNM nonsense, got it? I'm doing this to get that gold prize you promised me."
Bishop blurted, his words tumbling over each other, "Woooa!! I like girls, man. I mean, girls... not, like, 'girl-man'... girl-men... you know, 100% feminine girls, the real deal!" He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his face reddening as he fumbled with his words. "Wait... you're actually gonna do this for me?! I mean, like, seriously? Wow... I didn't think you'd really go through with it... thank you so much! I... I really didn't expect this!"
Chad scanned the room, his eyes lingering on the chaos he'd barely registered before. Now, he took in every detail—the clutter that filled every corner, the way it all seemed to press in around him. Tables and shelves sagged under the weight of so much anime and sci-fi junk, a labyrinth of half-finished collectibles, posters, and random trinkets.
But amidst the clutter, something caught his eye: several framed newspaper clippings, some of the edges yellowed and curling with age, their pages torn haphazardly from the folds of old newspapers. The bizarre headlines screamed for attention, each one more absurd than the last:
"Toilet King Strikes Again,"
"Girl's Thong Snatched at Convention,"
"Guinness World Record for Furthest Cum Shot Distance Ever,"
"Pages of Anime and Manga at the Anime Arcadia Found to Be Stuck Together."
All framed neatly, as if they were prized trophies. It was odd, sure, but hardly sinister—nothing like a hidden corpse or urine bottles tucked away in the closet… just a normal bedroom. A normal bedroom that, in a few minutes, he was about to have his nude photos taken by a smelly, gangly guy who was undeniably bizarre, but his strangeness could be blamed on someone's horniness for boobs, butt, and bush... the 'Triple Whopper' Bishop wished McDonald's would serve.