The Questionable Quintuplets

"Fu- ta- ro-" she moans loudly as her fingers try to grasp his sweaty muscular back. "Oh, don't stop..."

A whirlwind year has passed, and the threads of destiny are now intricately woven into place. Twelve months have flown by, encompassing three hundred sixty-five days, a total of eight thousand seven hundred sixty hours, five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, and an astounding thirty-one million five hundred thirty-six thousand seconds.

"Yes... yes... keep going... yes..." she pleaded for more as he pressed his body toward her.

Does true love last for such a small amount of time? Or does true love crucify you on a cross for an eternal duration that we normally call a year?

I've been waiting to see. I've been waiting to hear. I've been waiting to feel it. I've been waiting. Waiting and Waiting. But is true love such a bitch that it does not show her true face even for a horrible chronological spell that human civilizations have cast on us? A year.

She grabbed him tightly, and caressed his firm buttocks "Uhhh... say my name... say my name..."

Or should I wait longer? It's been a year. And I am here. Waiting to hear. The truth of love. Of whether it's real. Of whether it's a liar. Of whether I can trust that my heart or their hearts would display the truth of love.

Who am I to ask such a benign question? Surely, true love is something that all of us would understand. True love is a ship that carries all of us on voyage of life. Harnessing the winds of our emotions. Steadfast and strong, with it's sails of courage that we move forward on and on amidst the storms. And the oars of our grit and shamelessness, push us toward the beyonds of happiness.

He spread his legs and pressed his weight on her, and slid in, with a devoted look he gave her "Your name is... Uhhh!"

Is true love really that kind of vessel? Is it kind to it's passengers? Is it's captain competent and familiar with the waters? Is the ship ready to fend off the passionate pirates? Are we full enough to resist the urge to just sip the poisonous sea water? Will we even dare to look at the stars and sleep peacefully, knowing that those we share our journey could simply slice our throats while we turn our backs to their promising smiles?

"Futa- ro-" she moaned as pleasure surged into her. "Say my name... say my... name..."

True love is the Titanic. Someone always dies at the end. And the others left to drift on a piece of wood, only to fight each other off as it could not carry the weight of two people. True love is an exciting comedy with an inevitable tragedy that we know will come. But we choose to accept it. And we know, we have to push others off our small drifting hearts.

The winner chooses those she wants to spend her life with drifting at sea. I am a winner. And marriage is never a happily ever after.

"Ah, yes... yes... There... Right there..." She moaned with great release as her juices blended with Futaro's creamy milk.

"You didn't say my name again," she teased. The bed was soft and had white pillows marked with sweat and the ruins of a fierce battle between lovers.

"I haven't earned the right to-" Futaro said as he rested on the bed. He reached for the lamp to turn it on, and checked his phone. "I don't have the right to because... I don't know your name yet."

The black frame of his glasses cast a shadow over his face giving him a mask. It reminded me of Zoro the bandit who hid his true identity to reach his hero's destiny. Futaro is the hero of this story. And I am the heroine. Not my sisters. And if you want me to bring it up again, marriage never meant victory. It only meant that one of us won the first round.

On this round, I claim a win.

Futaro is only a month older than me. April 15, 2000. May 5, 2000.

We're 26 years old now. Futaro, me, and my sisters. Would Futaro have entangled himself with us sisters if he had been a day younger? From what I know, time is a master of all things. Even love falls on it's knees infront of the test of time.

And for a year. Futaro's love had stood the test of time. But for who?

For me? I can't tell you which of one us famed Nakano Quintuplets won the war. And if you think marriage means the victory, then you have not truly understood the nature of true love.

"True love is drifting wood," she mumbled while beside Futaro.

He looked at her with a genuine curiosity and intent to care for her needs.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"Nothing. I have to go." She kissed him on the forehead, and gave him an aloof attitude as she got up the bed and wore her clothes.

"Are you my wife?" Futaro asked with a strong tone of voice. He wanted to know, but a deep understanding in him knew that she would not answer.

"You tell me. Fu... ta... ro? You're the one who married Yotsuba, right?" she smiled and then walked while giving him a last glimpse of her voluptuous body.

It has truly been a year. But Futaro Uesagi had faced made a mistake during his marriage with Yotsuba.

He remembers the day of his wedding. The five Nakano Quintuplets were lined up, wearing the same wedding gown, having the same hair style. And having the same beautiful expression that had genuine love for him.

At the night of the honeymoon, Futaro had realized something grave. And now he has chosen a path that was irreversible.

Futaro scratched his forehead in frustration. And if he married the wrong one, does it mean that she was the one that he truly loved?

Futaro looked at his wallpaper, with the Yotsuba, Itsuki, Miku, Nino, and Ichika smiling with him at the center.

He smiled. "I think I might have married the wrong Quintuplet."