Carlos and Neil Do Oku-con

The catgirl flushed, taking his meaning immediately. She'd heard (from... somewhere?) about this kind of exchange, but of course she would never. It betrayed all her feminist principles! Except obviously she supported the rights of sex workers, and legalizing prostitution and stuff. There was no reason for it to be so socially taboo as long as the woman was consenting and safe, right...? And seriously, good Utena merch was so rare, could she really let it pass...?

The dealer was already getting hard as he watched shame, materialism, and self-justification war across her face. These earnest young bitches always acted so innocent and holy, but in the end they were never too good to take a load in their face.

"I think I've got some out-of-production Utena artbooks here too, if you're interested," he added casually.

The catgirl came to the conclusion that her feminist principles demanded that she reclaim the term "whore" from the patriarchy, and wear it with pride.

Still casting his eyes around, Carlos caught sight of the catgirl scooching suspiciously behind the dealer table, and grabbed Neil's shoulder, pointing it out in time for Neil to see her drop down under the table, and the dealer adjust his seated stance for better pelvic prominence. (Had they been closer, they might even have been able to hear a faint rhythmic bell chiming sound. Some of the other patrons nearby clearly did hear, making distasteful expressions at the shamelessness of the slut; but nobody reacted much further. This sort of thing happened all the time, after all.)

Neil just nodded sagely. "Told ya, man."

"Dude, I can't believe they're really doing that! There are, like, kids around and stuff."

"Aww, kids don't notice any of that shit, they've only got eyes for their fucking Lucarios or whatever." Neil had recently featured in a popular Youtube video, in which the uploader beat him on Pokémon Showdown using a Bidoof against his team of legendaries and he had gotten very salty indeed. As a result, he had suddenly decided that Pokémon was for babies.

Carlos, for his part, accepted Neil's explanation, and the underage con attendees suddenly became nigh-oblivious to the sexual energy that was thickening by the minute. (They also became, on average, considerably more into Pokémon.)

They proceeded to the doujinshi booth that Neil wanted to visit. By the time they were finished browsing the pornographic fancomics (while loudly discussing which ones they'd already pirated for free online, to the great annoyance of the merchant), many vendors had traded away goods for surreptitious oral ministrations from cute women who had discovered themselves to be surprisingly cheap cocksucking whores. Or in some cases, pussy-eating whores.

---------

Eventually, the pair meandered out of the dealers' room and wandered aimlessly for a bit. Unusually, one non-female-presenting cosplayer did draw Carlos's attention ("Woah! Dude! Look at that Nu Gundam! That's crazy! Like, how did they even make that!?"), but other than that the convention was temporarily uneventful.

"Hey," said Carlos, squinting at the convention program guide while they were catching their breath leaning against a wall. "What time is it?"

"Uh, like 2:00? Check your own phone, dumbass."

"I think I'm gonna go check out a panel."

"Dude, you don't even know what a panel is."

"Sure I do! It's like..." Carlos paused; he'd been about to say 'a thing that happens at cons,' but had a sudden premonition of the ruthless mockery that would ensue.

"It's just a bunch of people cramming into a room to listen to someone blab about shit," Neil continued. "As if I'm paying good money for my ticket to just watch people jack themselves off about how smart they are."

"Nah," Carlos insisted. "This one sounds cool."

"Suit yourself, dude. I think there's a Smash tournament starting in the game room soon, I'm gonna head over there. Come find me when you get bored."

Thus, while Neil was watching the cream of the local Super Smash Brothers community duke it out (and informing his unfortunate neighbor that these guys sucked and he could definitely play better than any of them), Carlos managed to successfully direct himself to Panel Room B, home to the "Female Sexualization in Japanese Media" discussion. Carlos was psyched - he was a big fan of sexy females.

He was even more delighted when he got to the room and saw it filled with chicks, scattered around. (Many of whom were hot, and dressed like sluts, thanks to the influence he'd already exerted). He'd had no idea that girls were into this kind of stuff. Of course, he did vaguely know that there were female anime fans online who were into some kinky shit; he'd just never thought he'd see them in the flesh.

Seating himself behind a Morrigan, he passed the time carefully examining the way her skin-tight costume clung to her butt until the panel speaker, a professional-looking, confident postgrad type with a dark ponytail, stepped in front of the microphone.

"Thank you all for coming," she said, smiling with genuine pleasure at the assembled crowd. Turnout had been better than she'd hoped.

Backing up, a compatriot at a computer started up a clipshow that was projected onto the white screen on the back wall. A clip show came up, showing a lengthy montage of huge, animated bouncing tits, panty shots, tiny impractical outfits, a surprisingly-large number of blushing girls being groped by other girls in hot springs, and even (a provocative choice by the presenter, but one that she thought was worth it to provoke discussion) female adventurers from Goblin Slayer being dragged to the ground and assaulted by swarms of vicious greenskins, the actual penetration just off-camera enough to allow people to deny that it was flat-out pornography.

The crowd murmured as the presenter stepped back up to the mike.

"As you can see," she began, "anime is full of pandering to the male gaze, with female characters often presented as objects of lust or subjects of sexual menace. This sexiness..." she paused; she was getting confused, surely she'd meant to say 'sexualization.' Or 'sexuality'?...Just plain 'sex'? What was she saying, again?

She decided to pivot. "Would anyone like to share any reactions they had to that video?"

A petite redhead shyly raised her hand, and said something quietly enough that the panel assistant had to temporarily abandon the computer to run a second mike over.

"I mean," the redhead began again, still quietly but clearly determined to contribute to the discussion, "like, watching anime and seeing female characters used like that makes me think that that's how men are thinking about me, like I'm mostly important for my body."

Carlos nodded to himself while the speaker prompted sympathetically, "And how does that make you feel?"

The young woman's small freckled face blushed in embarrassment at being in the center of attention; a reaction that Carlos's unfortunately-primed brain interpreted as arousal. Which was how she found herself responding, "Um, it makes me feel sexy, I guess? Thinking about how men who I might not even notice are seeing me, and thinking about me naked, or getting fucked, or dressed as a sexy maid and getting down to..."

"I see," the speaker interrupted hurriedly, afraid that the conversation was getting away from her. "And, uh, does anyone else feel the same way?"

One by one, hands raised around the room, as feminists around the room discovered to their surprise that, in fact, they were quite aroused by the idea that men thought of them first and foremost as sex objects.

The presenter decided to move on to the next stage of the panel, even though she was finding her own thoughts turning to her day job as a bank teller, and how many of her peers and customers would devour her with her eyes if she wore a white shirt as insanely figure-hugging as some of the anime eyecandy she'd just used as examples. Assuming they didn't just corner her in the breakroom and use her with as little shame as a goblin...

"Well!" she pivoted, with an effort, ignoring the moistening between her sharply-dressed thighs. "Regardless of our, um, personal enjoyment of these depictions... I think many would agree that images like in the video, which we often see in mainstream anime and video games, are an unrealistic representation of women. Does anyone have any thoughts about what effect this might have on young women, or indeed viewers of any gender?"

A show of hands led to the usual types of responses: shame, body image issues of all sorts, harsh judgments of those whose bodies existed even slightly outside the established beauty norms, etc. Carlos started to zone out.

Meanwhile, the presenter was starting to feel in control of the flow of the panel once again. Smiling, she prompted: "And what might we be able to do to change this pattern of unrealistic female imagery?"

Snapping back to attention, Carlos's eyes brightened, and he shot his hand into the air eagerly. It was one of those rare moments when he absolutely knew the answer and could share it with the class. At an encouraging gesture from the speaker, he rose to his feet.

"Boob jobs!" Carlos exclaimed triumphantly. Several women in the room grimaced at his asinine suggestion, but nobody was rude enough to interrupt, so he continued. "Anime chicks' boobs are, like, usually way bigger than real ones. So if more flat-chested girls got boob jobs, life would be more like anime. I mean, there's also all that loli shit, but fuck that."

Everyone in the room nodded, enjoying a quiet bonding moment of shared disdain for loli shit.

Mindful that there was no such thing as a bad idea, the presenter tried to shut down this guy's idea gently. "I don't think that's realistic. Breast enhancement surgery is expensive, and hardly an accessible option to most women."

"Oh." Carlos furrowed his brow, but soon brightened. He waved his hand again for attention, even as he spoke. "Clothes, then! Women could dress more like anime characters! Like, no way would you ever see an anime character dressed like you, you know?"

Despite herself, the presenter frowned and looked down over her outfit - an open tan blazer on top of a v-necked black shirt, all over long, belted trousers.

"Okay," she hazarded. "Just by way of illustration, what would be different about my outfit if I was an anime character?"

"Your top would be way tighter, for a start," one of the audience suggested. A few others laughed in agreement.

"And you'd definitely have a tube skirt, not pants," someone else suggested, getting into the spirit of things.

"Maybe, like, unbuckle the belt and let it hang loosely? Like as a weird little visual quirk?"

"Wait," Carlos interrupted. "I can't picture all that. Can you, like, actually wear it?"

The presenter almost protested, but the energy in the room was infectious. Cosplayers, ever-prepared for last-minute costume fixes, produced items from their handbags: lipstick, needles and thread for tacking the back of her shirt to bring it in, a spare pair of high heels that someone had happend to be carrying, and so forth.

When they were done, the presenter's tanned tits were half-revealed, threatening to burst out of her tight, low-buttoned blouse or to break the basting stitch in the back if she so much as breathed heavily. Her new skirt made it hard to walk but showed off her shapely, well-exercised calves, and a quick makeup job made both her eyes and lips pop from a distance. She also had glasses, some kind of bright floral barrettes in her hair, and a scabbarded katana hanging from her side.

She did indeed look more like a character of some kind, though whether it was an anime character or a faux-schoolgirl/secretary from a low-budget porno was open to debate. When someone raised that point, Carlos countered that JAVs were ALSO a type of Japanese Media, so the panel should cover them too. This argument was accepted without further pushback.

"Uh, excuse me?" someone suddenly called out from the entrance to the room. Everyone turned back to see a pale, purple-haired woman with a gold lip ring, leaning in and waving impatiently. "I need to set up for the 'Yuri Manga from a Queer Perspective' planel?"

"We have the space for another half-hour," protested the disheveled panelist, drawing herself up in a futile attempt to look authoritative despite the compelling counterargument provided by her outfit. If you could call it that.

"Well, I don't know who screwed up there, but I've got a bunch of lesbian anime fans coming in here in five minutes, so you've gotta clear out. Unless you have a better idea?"

Carlos's face lit up.

---------

None of the attendees were able to describe afterward how, exactly, the event had turned into a joint panel that featured the disheveled feminism panelist and punkish lesbian panelist making out hot-and-heavy in front of their combined audiences, while the assistant at the computer streamed lesbian hentai action onto the wall behind them.

To be honest, neither could Carlos, but it had made sense at the time, and he walked away with a grin on his face... though it also kind of sucked to get all turned on by that kind of stuff and not be able to jerk off. (Not even in his most naive fantasies could he imagine that it was acceptable to masturbate in public in a room full of women. His momma had raised him right.)

As he retraced his steps to look for Neil, Carlos caught a glimpse of a large red orb at the end of a silver rod, sticking out above the heads of the passerby. Following it downwards, his eye fell again on the Sailor Pluto his friend had pointed out earlier - specifically her backside as she walked away, her full, tight ass swaying alluringly under her long green wig and black pleated skirt (shorter than he remembered - was that a glimpse of white panties against her deep brown asscheeks?). She had the kind of body that would probably turn rotund in middle age if not before, but for the moment was just aggressively thicc.

Remembering what Neil had said about Sailor Scouts being cock-thirsty sluts at heart, he briefly contemplated following her, but it's not like he'd even know how to approach her. She was, like, hot. He spared her one last regretful glance as she turned into the narrow side hall that led to the bathrooms.

Carlos wasn't the only one who had her eye on the dark-skinned woman, however; a group of athletic-looking guys wearing silvery plates on their black headbands exchanged looks and decisive chin-pointing, then trailed behind her, heading for the bathrooms as a pack in a way not normally associated with young men.

Thus, when the Sailor Pluto emerged from the ladies' bathroom, carefully angling her key-staff around the white-tiled corner, she was suddenly accosted by a burly ninja who pulled her down the other end of the forked restroom entryway.

She barely had time to let out a "hey!" before she found herself manhandled into the back of the mens' restroom, near the end of the line of urinals, cornered by half-a-dozen men in Hidden Leaf headbands. That was also the last clear vocalization she made, as rough hands forced a generous strip of duct tape over her mouth. She barely got a good glimpse of her assailants, but as a whole they looked college-age, muscular, and had pretty crappy cosplay skills. One of them was wearing orange, which presumably made him Naruto; the others, who knew.

By the time her brain processed all this and caught up to her, the Sailor Pluto cosplayer's Garnet Rod prop had been yanked away, and her hands had been cuffed together around the sturdy pipe connecting the top of the urinal to some plumbing fixture that she couldn't name, but which she was now getting a close-up view of.

"Mmmmph!" she protested, over the background noise of guys high-fiving and congratulating each other on their well-executed teamwork.

One of the guys was already pulling down her panties and roughly fingering her close-shaven pussy. "Nice, I don't think she's gotten fucked yet today. She's already fucking wet, though - I'll bet she gets off on teasing guys, the bitch." He slapped her ass, the flesh ripping across her generous booty in response.

The Pluto cosplayer rolled her eyes. What assholes. They were right, though, she did get off on rape-baiting. Why else would she have chosen to walk around in this schoolgirl-esque uniform with an obscenely short (albeit manga-accurate) skirt? And soon, her eyes were rolling back in her head for another reason, as a girthy dick unceremoniously forced its way into her eager hole. She moaned into the duct tape unthinkingly. It just felt so good! And the thought that this was just the start, and that she'd be spending who-knows-how-long running a train as a bathroom cumdump for these misogynistic assholes made her squirm, her needy cunt moistening further around the intruding rod.

If only she could just ask to run a train on groups of guys all the time... but that would be too shameful and embarrassing. Only the filthiest of sluts would do something like this. Not like this assault, which she definitely hadn't asked for and which nobody could really say was her fault...

Then one of the guys, impatient at waiting, yanked down the woman's lovingly-tailored leotard top down over her generous cantaloupe tits and started mauling them for fun, and she was moaning, and she felt something start to spread open her tight asshole, as another bored rapist was now probing it with the rounded bottom end of her prop staff...

Her last clear thought before she became mostly a twitching piece of warm fuckmeat was that this would certainly be a story to tell the rest of her cosplay group. They'd be jealous as all hell.

---------

Oblivious to all this, Carlos tracked down and reunited with Neil, who reported that a Ness player had won the tournament, which conclusively demonstrated why Super Smash Brothers was a shitty unbalanced game that sucked ass. Carlos filed this important knowledge away in his brain, somewhere below "ways that Nico Robin could have crazy sex" and above "when to capitalize words" in importance.

Going with the flow of the crowd, the two found themselves outside the largest of the convention center's assembly rooms, where an extremely long line of chattering fans was starting to form, snaking down the curving hall and outmost out of sight.

"What's going on?" Carlos asked, intrigued.

"Ahh, it's just the cosplay competition," Neil informed him, after a quick glance at the electronic event listing by the double doors. "It's, like, a big fucking deal at this convention."

"Cool, man," Carlos enthused, down for anything as always. "Wanna line up?"

"No way, dude, you've gotta get tickets in advance. Like, line up at the start of the day or whatever. Total waste of time. Besides, these competitions ain't about sewing or whatever shit, it's just all about hot chicks with tons of Instagram followers showing off their T&A. Maybe they do some dumb skit or something, but who fucking cares. It's all a bunch of dumb bullshit."

T&A didn't sound like bullshit to Carlos, but if they couldn't get in, they couldn't get in. He shrugged. "Dude, you know so much about cosplay. They should have you be one of the competition judges, man."

"Yeah, well," Neil preened.

It was unfortunate for them that they weren't able to attend the cosplay competition. Shaped as it was by Carlos's new expectations, it ended up as more of a sexy fashion show than a display of costuming prowess, featuring a succession of scantily-clad women attempting to out-slut each other for the enraptured audience. A Yoko Littner put on a display that was close to an impromptu poledance, sliding seductively around her lengthy prop rifle. A Rei and Asuka pair struck a series of rather gravure poses that displayed just how show-accurate their skintight plugsuits were - including not wearing any underwear, as evidenced by their visible nipples and camel-toe.