1 - Sakura Ogami - Bikini Car Wash

Yes, this is a real claim for auto insurance. I told you, I have an account in good standing. I'm a paying customer! What, you're going to make me run through the whole story again? With more detail? Fine. It's like I told you before:

Sakura Ogami, the Ultimate Martial Artist of Hope's Peak Academy, destroyed my car.

No, I haven't been playing too much "Street Fighter!" She didn't demolish it with a hundred-palm slap or something, she was- Okay, look. It can't be you haven't heard of the Ultimate One-Day-Only Hope's Peak Graduate Bikini Car Wash Fundraiser? It was all over the news! I was one of the hundreds of guys waiting in city-wide bumper-to-bumper traffic for the opportunity to pay my life's savings to have one of those Ultimates suds up my ride. Yeah, yeah, I'm almost thirty and they're all eighteen-to-twenty, does that affect my coverage in any way? No? Then let me keep going. And don't cut me off when I say any little thing that has you clutching your pearls, 'cause this is that kinda story and I haven't got all day.

So, obviously, when I got in line I was picturing, like... y'know, that pretty blonde pianist rubbing both a sponge and her tits and cleavage all over my windshield, something like that. Or that pop-star, y'know, wringing one out over her head, then tossing her hair like you see 'em do in those videos. You get what I'm saying, right? The only worry I had in my mind was if I was gonna make it through without stopping for gas and losing my place in line, and what kind of face my car wash angel was gonna make when I saw her work.

So, I finally pull up. You wouldn't believe how long it took, 'cause like, there are a lot of guys like me in Japan, and not a lot of Ultimate Graduates. I mean, people were buying cars to be in this line, but we all knew it was gonna be worth it. I saw the guy next to me on my left got Sayaka Maizono, of course. That blue-haired cutie in a see-through tee shirt and a powder blue number covered in frills, washing some jack-off's car when she could be standing on stage moving CDs by the million... Felt like a dream. It was hard to tear my eyes away, let me tell ya, but I had to. I had to know if the guy to my right got Kaede Akamatsu, which'd be just my luck.

I turn my head, look out the driver's side to the right, and what do I see? A mountain. Not a mountain off in the distance, like, a mountain of tan abs like I've never seen, right next to my car. For a moment, I think I'm getting carjacked. Like some shirtless, buff weightlifter dude is mad he didn't get in line early, so he's decided to just rough me up, throw me outta my car, and take my car along with my car wash.

Next thing I hear is some crazy noise like somebody jumped on my roof with metal boots. The whole car is shaking. I look at this guy, preparing to give him whatever he asks for, and I realize that weight I felt was his hands grabbing onto my car. This huge dude lowers himself, and all of the craziness hits me at once.

First off, this dude is no dude. When the... I guess you'd say boobs? But I wanna say pecs. When the pecs enter my field of vision, I immediately realize the fella outside my car is actually an incredibly buff woman, probably the literal strongest woman on the planet. I can tell this mostly because she's wearing a gold-colored bikini top. Perfect shine against the tan skin, if you can picture it. It just visually "pops," is what I'm saying, so much that you hardly notice the scary level of scars all over her arms. The next crazy part is that this woman's got like... just the neck of a sailor suit on. The blue collar, I mean. So, y'know, put two and two together and you realize this is somebody's idea of a sexy swimsuit for her, and I gotta figure she's on board with it, because I don't know how you could get a woman like this into this costume if she didn't want it without also getting your blood all over her.

Finally, she's peering into my window, crouching down to do it. I'm in my low-rider, you know, and this woman is over six feet tall. Now, my brain is putting it together. With the intense blue eyes locked on me, framed by that crazy long white hair and that scar across her face, I realized that, somehow, I was about to get a car wash from the "Ogre" I'd read about online.

I'll never forget that face as long as I live, not 'cause it was intense. You take one look at a picture of her on TV, you already get that, right? No, I remember it because it wasn't just tan, it was flushed. Not like heat-flushed, either. Like if you looked past the set, chiseled jaw and the unblinking **** glare, you'd see an eighteen-year-old woman who was as nervous about what someone had talked her into as I was terrified. Or, uh, stunned. Baffled. I remember the carefully chosen words I spoke to her:

"You're gonna wash my car?"

"Yes," she told me. "I shall wash it in the manner you expect, and you shall provide a tip appropriate for your appreciation of my service." That same even, rocky tone you hear in interviews. If I was right and she had nerves, then they were nerves of steel.

"But why you?" I remember asking. I regretted it as soon as the words were outta my mouth. She was gonna kill me for sure.

"It is a random selection. You could have been served by any of the others present. Instead, it seems your lot is to be served by me. Is there a problem?"

"No problem ma'am," I remember squeaking back at her. "You... wash cars much?"

"... I have barely seen a car. I was raised in the mountains and I travel solely by foot. I have been told by a friend, however, that waxing is an effective training technique. I suspect they were quoting a martial arts movie and put little stock in it at the time. However, I confess I have never attempted such a method. I intend to apply myself before writing it off."

I nodded at her. I was feeling kinda the opposite of reassured. I was also kinda wondering, like, is it possible for the most famous martial artist in the world not to have watched The Karate Kid? Different worlds, I guess.

So, speaking of different worlds, I was in one. You're gonna have to believe me when I say that I was in a world where I could watch Sakura Ogami walk to the front of my car and get this, imagine it: she's wearing not a school skirt but, like, half of one, like a tiny costume piece, over a bottom that'd be tiny even if it wasn't wrapped around five women worth of muscle. She's standing there with her arms crossed like a statue, deep concentration, and I realize she's trying to decide where to start.

I'm looking at her like a deer in the headlights. Like... does she want me to suggest something? I feel like if I tell her even a quarter of what I had in mind when I waited in line for this experience, she's gonna compact my car with me in it.

Finally, after what feels thirty minutes, she walks over to the bucket. She crouches down to pick up the sponge. Now, she doesn't bend over, so it's not really how my fantasy car-wash scenario ought to be playing out, but still... y'know, you see some things sometimes that give you a new appreciation of the human body, right? Like Michelangelo's David or whatever. Looking at Sakura from back view in a tiny bikini doing a squat is just like that. She's packed with muscles you've never seen before, like I would have to pick up one of those old science books to describe what I was looking at. And you can see almost all of it, 'cause that golden bikini is high-rise on the legs. It's an incredibly tight ass, and, y'know, it's impossible to see something like that and not think what it'd be like to go a round with her. Not sparring, of course, I try not to think about my own ****. I mean in bed! What does a woman like that fuck like, you know? It'd be like a bull ride, I bet-

Hey, what'd I say? You were the one that asked for details! I'm trying to paint a picture, here. Yeah, get your supervisor on the phone, I want him to hear this, too.

So anyway, she peeks back and she catches me staring, and I see my life flash before my eyes. And you know what she says? Nothing. She says nothing, just shuts her eyes and carries that sponge to the front of the car. The strongest woman in the world, swallowing her pride for some shmuck's money. I'm talking a serious, high-grade power fantasy here! By the time she got back to the front of my car, I was into it. I wanted to see how she was gonna attack. I saw her look over at what Sayaka was doing, and I was licking my lips. Sayaka Maizono is a trained entertainer: she'd know for sure what a guy wanted when it came to a performance. I was about to see something amazing.

Well, yeah. So we're finally getting to the part you care about.

Sakura decided to cut right to the chase. She didn't start polishing the grill in front of her; she climbed onto the hood. As soon as her hands placed onto it, I realized what was about to happen: just her fingertips alone were already denting into the metal. Some part of me knew that Sakura might not be a woman of the world, but she wasn't stupid. A martial artist has control of how much **** they put in, you'd think, right? But she's so laser-set on trying to do a good job at this and so jittery about putting on a show that she's not paying any intention. I wonder what it looked like in her head...

Anyway, I wasn't in her head, I was in my real life in my real car, as short lived as both of those things seemed to be. After her hands clawed their way up, next came her knees. Thick, thick legs. Picture a tree falling on your vehicle and you're basically right there. It occurred to me that she always has those leg-wraps on. Here, I'm seeing those calves in all their scarred-up glory, totally bare. And here's six foot, over two-hundred pounds of woman, doing her best to slink up my car. The whole thing is lurching down in the front and lifting up in the back. I hear loud pops, I see black smoke.

So, I need to be clear on this point. Obviously, I know I'm not leaving this car wash in a functioning car, but I gotta be clear that this is like an act of God. If a hurricane decides it wants my car, what am I gonna say? "Nope, sorry?" And if you had a front row seat to it, you think you'd be able to look away?

Sakura, bless her heart, is really putting her back into it. She seems to understand the principle of a sexy car wash, at least: the boobs go on the glass, preferably at eye-level. They follow the trail of the soap suds so the whole body gets wet. But Sakura doesn't have soft sweater puppies or itty-bitty bugbites like some of those other girls at her school. She's not harmless. She's all angles, and watching her wash my front windshield is like watching an MMA fight where the loser's taking everything hard. Even as I try to appreciate the way she's trying on a pout, trying some clumsy rhythm, really putting those surprisingly feminine eyelashes of hers to work, I can't ignore that the windshield in front of me looks like I'm getting a car wash from Wolverine. It's a disaster.

She sees my face, and she thinks... I have no idea. I have no clue what kind of face I'm making, whether it's impressed or terrified or whatever, but I can guess that she decides she doesn't like looking at it, cause she climbs onto the car. I hear her moving up there like a monster in a movie. I see a human-shaped dent get deeper and deeper as she crosses the middle. Then I'm seeing her in my rear view mirror. The whole car's flopped down now on account of all the tires being busted, and she's doing a neat split on top of my trunk. I notice her legs and her whole lower body are wet, so she must've soaped up outta sight. She's throwing her hair back and trying a come-hither look, I guess? I can only tell 'cause of the context and the fact that she keeps pursing her lips.

She gets the bright idea to get on her knees and press her butt up on the rear windshield. The whole thing cracks from the center of the first impact, and then she keeps beating it in different points. There's no way any country's auto engineering is winning against those glutes. By the time she's done, the thing's a fighter standing on its last legs, and when she stops paying it attention, it shatters to pieces. All of the glass does, actually, all at once. No idea how she pulled that off. So now there's no degrees of separation between me and the show. Like a TV program come to life.

Unfortunately, that's also about where the show seems set to end: I can tell Sakura's starting to wake up from the trance and realize there's very little intact car left to clean. She comes back around to my window. I don't know if it's cause she's in a rush and flustered or she's realized the vehicle's a lost cause, but she straight-up puts a hand on the roof and rips so that she can look down at me in the driver's seat without kneeling. She shuts her eyes and she bows with a deep, stormy look on her face. "I apologize. I am inexperienced, but I can tell I became... carried away in my performance. Needless to say, I cannot ask you to pay-"

"Sure you can," I tell her. If I'm going home without a car, I'm going home with memories. So, I tell her, "I've got a hand vac in the back. Seats could use some cleaning, if you wanna earn a tip."

I see Sakura's eyes shoot open. She's on the same page with me, but she's not in a position to say no now that she's totaled my ride, unless she wants to leave empty-handed. Well, that's probably not true, but I think it's like a code of honor thing. That was the feeling I had.

She grabbed the hand-vac. I was a little surprised she knew how to use the gizmo, but she said she keeps a neat room. Go figure. Anyway, I was less interested in the cleaning and more in the dirty stuff, if you catch my drift. I wanted to get my money's worth. Or maybe I had a **** wish? Either way, I knew the experience I wanted, and I got it. Sakura Ogami horizontal across my lap, doing her best to spread out her pressure and avoid putting me in the hospital, thoroughly vacuuming my passenger side with that barely-there skirt doing nothing to keep her lower body hidden while my eyes went where they want. I wanted to use my hands, too, and maybe something else, but, y'know. I'm not crazy.

But I was feeling a little crazy anyway, so when I was done with that, I told Sakura to get the back seats, too. I told her I thought she could do it from the front seat, to think of it as a challenge.

Sakura was a trooper. She must have realized what I had in mind, but she played along. So, she stood up in the driver seat, feet planted on either side of me, making use of the new sunroof she'd given me a moment ago, and she leaned into the backseat.

There's not really a polite way to say this part. When I'd set this up in my head, I had pictured getting a face full of those abs that had been in my head ever since Sakura first popped into view. Well, that's not how things played out. Believe me, I don't think this was intentional, but as Sakura pressed forward and tried to do the work, I was more like belly button height. Or a little lower. What I'm saying is that while Sakura gamely tried to clean my now completely-useless back seats, I was getting a face-full of her front. The more she worked, the more it slipped. Before I knew it, I was having to move my mouth around to avoid a mouth full of white pubes, praying to God that I'd somehow make it out of that situation with my neck intact.

That didn't last too long. Sakura might've been off her game with some dulled senses and some crazy impulses, but I think she could tell I wasn't fighting the developing situation and was, in fact, leaning into it in a somewhat ungentlemanly way. When she backed off and fixed up her bottom, she didn't say anything at all. All of the apology was out of her. Her face was beet-red, and I saw veins popping out on her forehead. I figured I was about to get one-inch punched into the car still waiting behind me, the one trying to find some way to reverse or enter another line. But instead of an attack, she suddenly shouts at me, blowing me back with a full-volume blast:

"I HAVE A MAN I LIKE!"

Party's over. She holds out her hand, I give her the cash, which was, by the way, a mountain of savings. She gets outta my lap, I get outta my car. I start walking, giving one last glance back to that beast of a woman standing there with her arms crossed, trying to disappear into meditation I guess. Was it worth it? I gotta say so. After all, I think I was the first and last customer of Sakura's car wash experience.

Well, it was worth it as long as I don't have to pay for the damage! Ha ha...

You gotta be kidding me. Are you serious? I told you this was an act of God! How am I supposed to protest and put a stop to that if she decides she wants to tear it up as part of the bit?! Car insurance these days, yeesh. Oh, ah, I just decided my neck's killing me after all. Ouch ouch ouch! Got another call to make, hopefully with someone a little more reasonable. Hey, and thanks for making me tell the whole story twice, assholes!