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Subject: {ASS} RP "Her Name Was Yuki" by Richard Rivers (complete)
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Reposter's note: I'm reposting this by request, with consent of the author.
All the praise shall go to Rivers <r_rivers@cryogen.com>. -- CJ
Subject: Story: Her Name Was Yuki (Part 1) [Male, Female, Sex, Japan,
Volleyball]
From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers)
Date: 13 Nov 1997 22:39:24 GMT
--------
This story contains graphic descriptions of sex, although you will
have to read fairly far into it to find them, so if you are under 18,
object to that sort of material, or just don't have any patience, stop
now.
This story also contains a plot, so if you don't know what that is, or
are offended by the very idea, stop now. Without giving it away I
should mention that all of the sex in this story is between consenting
individuals, however some of the characters are below legal age and
some not: draw your own conclusions from that and read on at your own
risk.
Part 1 serves as more or less an introduction to Part 2 but is
hopefully enjoyable on its own. I apologize for the long windedness of
the story, and I wouldn't mind receiving constructive criticism of
this story in order to insure that future efforts are of a higher
quality. I suppose "It sucks!" is constructive on a certain level but
I'd rather hear things that might eventually help the writing improve.
The inverse does not apply to compliments.
Thanks:
Richard Rivers
HER NAME WAS YUKI
Part 1:
September. A ray of the late afternoon sun pierced the drawn
curtains, illuminating a shaft of dust particles suspended in air.
Swirling gently in the stillness, they crossed and re crossed the
light, disappearing back into darkness. I sat on my bed lost in a
fantasy world, as I often did that unhappy year of my life. I
remember the day with unnatural clarity even now: September's white
light had replaced the yellow glow of late summer; a hint of coolness
in the still afternoon air foreshadowed the bitter winter to
come. The earth had already shifted imperceptibly on its axis. What I
remember most about that September day though is that it was the first
time I ever saw my beautiful Yuki.
It was the third week of school, a Monday. I sat in home room that
morning, already bored and distracted when Mr Forbes, our principal,
came into the class.
"Listen up people!" He said clapping his hands. A few bored heads
lifted to look at him and several whispered conversations continued
uninterrupted at the back of the room. "This home room is getting a
new student," he said even more loudly. "I want you all to meet
her. Her name is Yuki. This is Yuki, Yuki Tanaka. She is from
Japan." There was no response. "She speaks good English, probably
better than some of you I'll bet! Ha, ha." He laughed, alone, at his
little joke. "She was a star volleyball player in her home prefecture
in Japan and we hope that she will join up with our girl's team here."
There was another awkward silence during which Mr Forbes cleared his
throat. "You might also like know that her mother, a psychologist,
will be our new school counselor this year. Your home room teacher
will advise you on the counselor's office hours and so forth. I'd
like you all to make both of them feel welcome and at home here at
Adams High."
He stepped aside revealing the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
Her tall slender body had a fragile, delicate kind of beauty, a
subtle beauty one could easily over look for its simplicity. Her
shiny black hair hung in feathered bangs, grazing a thick pair of
eyebrows that arched over a pair of dazzling eyes. One look into her
eyes and I was lost.
Clearly humiliated by Mr Forbes' loud and obnoxious introduction, she
hugged her notebook tightly to her chest, staring at the floor. Some
one yelled out, "Speech! Speech!" getting a laugh. Her cheeks reddened
and she hugged her notebook more tightly, pursing her lips as she took
a deep breath. One of my friends leaned forward from the seat behind
me. "I know, man, we'll call her Yucky!" He snickered. "Yucky, get
it?" I pretended to laugh as he turned to tell his joke to someone
else, immediately (and I hoped not too obviously) returning my gaze to
Yuki, still standing with eyes downcast in front of the class.
Her blushing face, her down-turned eyes made me feel pity for her,
adding fuel to my already aching desire. That afternoon, as the
autumn sun waned outside, its last rays sneaking between my closed
curtains, I sat alone in my room as I often did, and I could think
only of her.
She received her seat assignment the next day, one row over and two
seats ahead of mine. All I had to do was lift my head slightly and
she filled my vision. She wore a similar outfit to the day before,
what was to become her normal way of dressing, almost a uniform:
plain white pants or a dark skirt and a simple blouse or sweater on
top. She dressed in a conservative, almost 'bookish' fashion yet the
clothes she wore always made her appeared very soft and feminine.
Like me, I could tell she was painfully shy. When her name was called
at roll call she winced, and I winced with her.
In time, each day, I studied her from my desk, choosing a different
feature to concentrate on for the entire half hour period: the soft
curve of her thigh hanging over the side of her chair; the flare of
her slender waist widening into her hips; the three-quarter profile
of her small breast peeking out under her arm; her hair, splashed
across her shoulders in different patterns, rearranged each time she
moved her head, like sea grasses swept by gentle waves. All these
images came back to me when I was in my room alone after school and I
spun them into an elaborate, on going fantasy, whiling away the bleak
days as fall turned to winter.
Home room, it turned out, was our only class together so I seldom saw
her after first period. She took advanced courses for most subjects
while I distinguished myself at nothing. My eyes couldn't get enough
of her in just half an hour, and as the days went by I began
obsessively scanning the hallways, the cafeteria, the courtyard,
searching, always searching for her. Occasionally I was rewarded with
a glimpse of her, always alone, hugging her books to her chest,
running from class to class with hurried little steps.
The September weather grew harsher and the light began to fail
earlier. October arrived, gray and unseasonably cold. I spent more
and more afternoons in my curtained room, my mother's footsteps
reassuringly distant upstairs as I whiled away hour after hour, lost
in my fantasy. It is difficult now to think I was ever so naive, that
the mere sight of her eyebrows, the corner of her mouth, the small
wisp of hair next to her ear, the tiniest details of her body could
preoccupy and torment me the way they did.
My preoccupation with Yuki came as welcome relief from a very bad
situation at home. My father, a cold emotionless man throughout my
childhood, had suddenly discovered his lost feelings that summer.
Unfortunately, they consisted of the desire to slap my mother around
and to yell at me whenever I ventured into his sight. I don't know
what happened to him. He never explained anything. Maybe he
went crazy. Maybe he found another woman and just put on an act to
cover his exit from the family. I'll never know. We put up with his
unexplained and abusive behavior for a couple of months and then he
suddenly left one day, in the middle of a shouting match with mom. He
slammed the door behind him and I've not seen or heard from him in all
the years since.
Before school started that fall I began to have horrible nightmares.
My father would come back in those dreams, sometimes looking like a
rotten drunk, sometimes looking like his old self, but always
committing some terrible atrocity against my mother and me in the end.
I woke up almost every night at three or four o'clock in the morning
and couldn't get back to sleep. The problem persisted into the
beginning of the school year. My poor mom had enough to worry about
herself, but there wasn't much she could do for me anyway: We didn't
have the money to pay for therapy right then. When I brought home the
October school bulletin she read with interest about our new school
counselor, Mrs Tanaka, Yuki's mother. In a few days mom had arranged
it with the school that Mrs Tanaka would see me privately once a week
after classes. In exchange I would help out Mr Roberts, the Phys. Ed.
teacher a couple of afternoons a week cleaning up the gym, doing
laundry, or whatever he needed. The prospect of having intimate
conversations with Yuki's mother was both thrilling and scary. I
couldn't wait for the day of our first appointment to arrive but as it
drew closer I also began to dread it. The thought that she might be
able to see right through me, right through to my infatuation with her
daughter, began to haunt me.
When I went in to see Mrs Tanaka after school it was a fine early
October day. The bright sunshine reflected off the fall colored
leaves but did not warm the bitter cold air. When Mrs Tanaka first
opened the door to her office I half expected her to be a carbon copy
of her daughter. To my relief her mother looked quite different, a
petite woman of maybe thirty five, where Yuki had a long, lean,
athletic body, her mother was shorter and had rounder features. Her
short hair framed a broad oval, friendly looking face.
She ushered me to a seat on the couch beside her saying:
"Hello Richard. I've spoken with your mother a few times about the
problems you've been having with sleep. She told me something of your
recent family troubles, but I would like to hear what you have to say
about it, yourself."
Her tone was warm and friendly; she spoke with what I could identify
as only the slightest of accents, more a lilt to the inflections of
the voice rather than different pronunciations of the words. I felt
comfortable and at ease, enough that I lost my fear that she would see
through me right away, exposing my obsession with her daughter. I
began telling her all about what had happened at home and immediately
felt a strong sense of relief from talking about my problems with
someone. My mother and I went through a lot; neither of us had yet
been willing to broach the subject of the recent, painful past with
each other. Before I knew it the hour was over and Mrs Tanaka was
offering me a ride home.
Walking out to the parking lot, and as she drove me home, Mrs Tanaka
told me a few things about herself. Her soft lilting voice hummed in
my ears, soothing me. I'm not sure I heard everything she told
me, I was just trying to soak up the sound of her voice and prolong
the sweet mellow feeling it produced. Her name was Kozue: It sounded
like 'causeway' she knew, but she spelled it for me, laughing softly.
She had studied extensively in the US, first in High School when her
father had been stationed here on business, later at New York
University on her own initiative. She loved America, she said. The
freedom here was a welcome change from life in Japan, especially for a
woman. Both she and her husband had wanted the same experiences for
their daughter Yuki, and they had each taken lesser paying jobs just
to live in the US long enough for her to finish High School and start
College. She added that, unfortunately, her husband had left suddenly
for the Philippines so that she and Yuki now lived here alone
together.
Yuki's name caught my interest and I shyly asked Mrs Tanaka why her
daughter wasn't riding home with her. I was afraid to say the name
Yuki aloud, as if the way I pronounced it would betray my infatuation;
but Mrs Tanaka showed no sign that she had noticed anything as she
told me that Yuki was on the Girl's volleyball team, which was having
practice that afternoon. She went on to explain how Yuki was a star
volleyball player back in Japan and that she might have made the
National team if she had stayed.
"She's a bright girl," Mrs Tanaka said, proudly, "but the only thing
that really motivates her is Volleyball. She's a totally different
person when she steps on the court. All her shyness, her uncertainty,
they all seem to just drop away. She's a fierce competitor. I hope
you can see her play some time."
I assured her that I would like that very much, tempering my
enthusiasm as best I could. As she pulled in front of my house her
tone became serious:
"I know you understand the agreement your mother made with the school.
I've spoken to Mr Roberts and he would like to see you after school
this Friday. At that time you can arrange the exact details of your
work schedule with him all right?" She gave me a pat on the knee.
"Can I count on you to go and see him?"
I assured her that I would and thanked her for the ride. That night,
for the first time in weeks, my father did not invade my dreams to
terrorize me. I had a much more pleasant dream: I dreamed about
Kozue Tanaka.
***
Two days later my Friday afternoon class let out early but I had to
stay at school and head over to the gym. The warm excitement I had
gotten from my meeting with Mrs Tanaka had faded somewhat and now it
hardly seemed worth the price I was going to have to pay. All the
other students were heading home, happy to be free for the weekend but
I was trudging off to see Mr Roberts and work in the gym. I just
knew he was going to have me down on my hands and knees scrubbing
floors or doing something equally back breaking.
Mr Roberts the Phys. Ed. teacher was a young man, not long out of
college. He had long blonde hair, a body builder's physique, and
wasn't too bright; most of my friends and I couldn't stand him. He
was infamous for his sadistic treatment of students, especially those
of us that he considered to be 'nerds'. Quick to assign numerous
pushups to anyone who broke one of his arbitrary rules, he always had
an eye out for the weak and inept students, singling them out the for
ridicule or punishment. As the only Phys. Ed. teacher at our small
school he ran his office in the gym like a tiny, independent
dictatorship.
As I walked down the hallway to Mr Robert's office the door to the gym
opened suddenly and I found myself surrounded by a group of sweaty
girls, laughing and talking as they ran towards the locker room:
Last period gym class had just gotten out. They swarmed past on both
sides, paying no attention to me. The closeness of all of those
female bodies in their gym outfits embarrassed and aroused me; I could
see clearly the outlines of their breasts, their bare thighs, their
faces flushed from exertion. A few of them brushed against me as they
passed, they were so close I could smell the sweat from their bodies
all around me.
I caught a glimpse of Yuki, last in the group, as she quickly slipped
past; her tight fitting white top had blue racing stripes down the
sides and a large blue number 'six' curling between her small breasts.
Below that she had on a pair of baggy gray sweats that hid the rest of
her figure. I fought the urge to turn and look after her as she
walked away down the hall while I continued towards the boy's locker
room in the opposite direction.
The outer part of Mr Roberts' office was a glassed in area set off the
rest of the locker room. When I entered it was empty. My head was
still spinning from seeing Yuki and all those other girls in their gym
outfits. The sight of the empty office briefly gave me the wild idea
that Mr Roberts had forgotten about me and that I might be able to go
straight home after all. Just then I saw him come out of his inner
office and close the door quickly behind him.
"Ah, there you are Rivers," he said, slapping me on the back in a
forced gesture of camaraderie. "Glad to see you! And you're here
early. Good. Very good."
He was the kind of talker who doesn't let you get a word in edgewise,
but I was grateful for it because I had nothing to say to him anyway.
He continued:
"What I need you to do for me is fairly simple, two days a week,
Mondays and Fridays, right?" I nodded. "OK, today's Friday...let's
see...Oh yeah, Friday I need the gym floor cleaned. I'll show you
where all of the stuff is and then you can just get started. I've got
some things, some work I need to do so you'll be on your own." He
nodded towards the door to his inner, personal office. "I'll be in
there. Knock if you need me. I'm sure you wont though, huh? Just
come and tell me when you're done, OK?"
It relieved me to know I would be working alone. I didn't want to
have to be around him, his constant talking, any more than I had to.
He showed me the cleaning supplies and let me go to work in peace.
For the next few weeks Mr Roberts had me cleaning up all the gym and
locker rooms, scrubbing the floors, cleaning the bathrooms and
showers, everything. I didn't see much of him though. After getting
me started on the chore for the day he would spend all of his time in
his inner office with the door closed; when I finished I would knock
to let him know I was leaving.
My relationship with Mr Roberts got off on the wrong foot. Sensing my
dislike for him, I think he labeled me an untrustworthy slacker. He
continued to give me the dirtiest jobs to do and started popping out
of his office at unexpected moments to check up on me, riding me about
being slow, not careful, or would hammer me with any petty criticism
he could come up with. The day he asked me to do the laundry was a
relief from all the scrubbing and cleaning I had been doing on my
hands and knees.
Mr Roberts showed me the laundry room and where to go get the carts
containing the dirty towels and uniforms. "Do the towels first, I'd
say. There's more of 'em," he advised. "Let's se what else we have
today...OK! this cart is football, do the pants and jerseys eparately,
Right? This one is basketball, they all go in one load. Then you'll
have to go down the hall and get the girl's stuff. You can do the
volley ball uniforms today too. One load also, OK?"
My heart was pounding. "Girls volleyball uniforms," I thought to
myself. "Yuki's uniform must be somewhere in that pile!"
"Rivers!" he snapped at me. "Stop day dreaming! You got everything?
You're ready?" I assured him I was ready to get going right away.
I hurriedly got the towels and football stuff going, there were enough
machines for that much; the rest I would have to do after. I sat on
one of the machines for about ten minutes before remembering that the
girl's uniforms were down the hall. I found the cart in the hall and
brought it back into the laundry room, looking over towards the office
to see if Mr Roberts was around. As usual his inner door was shut and
he was nowhere in sight. Torn between an intense curiosity and a deep
sense that what I was about to do was sick and perverted, I thought
about finding Yuki's uniform somewhere in that cart. Unable to resist
the urge, I nervously looked inside, glancing over my shoulder several
times as if Mr Roberts might spring up out of nowhere. Growing bolder
I reached into the cart and pulled out a uniform. It was the same as
the one I had seen Yuki wearing: One piece, like a gymnasts' outfit,
the top was white with blue stripes, the bottom was blue, so that when
worn it looked like a separate shirt and pants. Turning it over in my
hands I looked at the number: 'eleven'. I dropped it and reached for
another: 'nineteen'. After looking at a few more uniforms without
finding 'six' I grew bolder, throwing the uniforms I had looked at out
onto the floor and, finally, near the bottom, discovering the precious
object of my search and lifting it gingerly out of the cart.
Just holding it limply by the shoulders I tried to imagine Yuki's
beautiful body filling it out: her delicate, slender thighs had poked
through these round leg holes; her small firm butt had filled that
now baggy piece of cloth, straining out against the fabric, shaping it
to the form of her body. Turning to the front there was just a hint
of looseness at the breasts. I let my hand run down the front of the
uniform finally grazing that oh so thin strip at the crotch. I closed
my eyes and thought: half an hour ago her moist, soft cunt pressed
against the very spot where my fingers now ran gently. The sight of
that crotch fascinated me; the slight way the fabric puffed out, as if
it had been pushed out by, or strained to contain...what? My
knowledge of female anatomy ended right there. Like an explorer of
old, my imagination had sailed me into unknown waters.
When my father had moved out my mother threw piles of his stuff into
the basement. Among his effects were several Playboy magazines that I
found and 'studied' in the privacy of my room. 'Boobs' were only a
passing fascination for me; my real interest was the pubic hair and
what lay, unseen, beneath it. I would search those photographs like
an astronomer straining his vision into the void, the darkness and
shadows growing darker and shadowier as my gaze descended, always
terminating in artificial, airbrushed blackness. At our swim club I
saw a lot of girls my age in the tightest swim suits, and again my
eyes would seek out their crotches, each one slightly different, but
none of them revealing enough to satisfy my curiosity. Now, the tiny
blue expanse of fabric I held between my fingers fascinated me. To
think that only millimeters away the flesh that I craved had been held
tightly by this very piece of cloth, not an hour ago where my fingers
were now moving freely I would not have been able to put them: two
distances, one in space, the other in time, so close, yet so
hopelessly unbridgeable.
"Rivers!"
Mr Roberts, who had been leaning through the doorway for some time
watching me, harshly interrupted my ruminations. His yell made me
drop my beloved number 'six' back into the laundry cart. "Rivers!" he
yelled again. "What the hell do you think you're doing in here? This
isn't fluff and fold. Just jam those things in there, will you.
Jeez! I want to get home some time today," he added with sarcasm.
"O..Ok!...Sorry," was all I could blurt out, but he was already
walking away shaking his head, muttering to himself. I hurriedly
gathered the uniforms and stuffed them into one of the washers and got
the load going. Mercifully Mr Roberts went back in his office and
closed the door behind him again. I wondered why he hadn't used the
ripe opportunity to ridicule me some more but had simply walked off.
For the next twenty minutes or so, while the washer ran, there was
nothing else for me to do. I needed some air after getting worked up
over Yuki's uniform and, looking furtively over my shoulder for Mr
Roberts, I slipped out the door into the cool November air. On the
walkway, I rounded the corner of the Phys. Ed. building: Yuki was
standing alone in the distance. I stopped, my first urge to being to
back pedal, but she had already seen me and was looking over in my
direction. I hesitated, half way around the corner, rocking from one
leg to the other. "Uh oh," I thought. "I've just been fingering the
crotch of her uniform. Am I supposed to go up and talk to her?" My
hesitation only caused her to keep looking in my direction, a
questioning look on her face. I had no choice but to try to approach
her as naturally as I could.
"Hi," I called out with an exaggerated wave of my hand. I was still
about ten feet away from her, an awkward distance to start a
conversation. "Damn!" I thought to myself. "Too soon! Slow down.
Wait."
She waited until I stopped beside her. "Hello," she said looking at
her feet. "Don't you have a coat? It's so cold!" She pulled her
down coat more closely around shoulders; her jet-black hair was
striking, framed by the white fur-lined hood.
"Oh, no," I answered: "I just stepped out," pointing back towards the
gym.
"Ahhh, I see," she answered, drawing out the words as if I had just
imparted some deep, dark, fundamental truth to her.
"What are you doing out here?" I asked hurriedly, the silence making
me uncomfortable.
"I'm waiting for a ride. My mother...she... sees people after
school." Her cheeks flushed. I knew she knew that I was one of the
people her mother saw after school too. She hurried to continue:
"Usually I have practice, with the orchestra, or I stay and practice
volleyball, but not today, they had to wash the uniforms."
My heart raced. She knew! Was she testing me somehow? Did the look
on my face betray my perverse infatuation, my actions? No, I
decided, the panic receding, she couldn't. She wouldn't be talking to
me now if she knew what I had just been doing...
We stood there, awkwardly, each uncomfortably holding onto our secret
bit of knowledge about the other until she turned her head away
towards the parking lot and stamped her foot lightly. "My mother is
late."
I wanted to stay standing there with her but the silence grew
increasingly uncomfortable; the longer we stood without saying
anything the worse it felt.
"So, you play volleyball." I managed to choke out the words.
"Yes."
"I hear you're supposed to be great, that you could have gone to the
Olympics, or something."
I had embarrassed her. She shook her head. "No, I'm not that good,"
she said as she looked down at her feet, watching herself scrape the
toe of her boot across the ground. "I need a lot of practice. My
serve is OK, because I can practice that all I want, but my
defense..." Her tone grew more animated, the volleyball player taking
over from the shy girl: "My defense is terrible. To practice that I
need someone else to help me. Someone has to throw me the ball and
there isn't anyone else around here interested."
I was just opening my mouth to speak, to offer to help her, to be the
one who would throw her the ball, when a car honked its horn across
the parking lot.
"Oh, its my mother," Yuki said, quickly turning her head. "I've got
to go. Bye."
"So long," I called as I watched her trot across the parking lot then,
turning, I went back in to the gym.
The distance between us had been bridged, however tenuously. The next
day in home room Yuki smiled and said hello to me. Surprised, I only
mumbled something in response, but from that day on we began to
exchange greetings every morning.
***
During the next few weeks my sessions with Mrs Tanaka became painful
and emotional for me as she had me go over the events surrounding my
father's departure in detail. I had tried my best to forget his
rages, his hitting mom and yelling at me, all of his sudden violent
outbursts, and the weird changes that took over his personality.
Dredging all of that up again under her kindly but insistent
questioning was draining. I often ended up exhausted, in tears during
those sessions, my energy completely drained by the end of the hour.
Mrs Tanaka would often end up with her arm around my shoulder
comforting me as I poured out my feelings. The light touch of her
hand sent a pleasant thrill through my body, comforting
me yet at the same time arousing me.
At the end of each session her demeanor changed abruptly but in a way
that was subtle, so subtle it took some time for me to even notice; it
was as if she changed from the psychologist to more of a friend as
soon as the hour was over. She offered me a rides home every week,
always just the two of us, and she would tell little stories about her
life, growing up in Japan, or her first experiences coming to America.
She loved to tell jokes, silly ones that I didn't really find funny,
but I enjoyed them because I loved to hear her laugh. Her quiet sing
song voice gave everything she told me an idyllic, almost fairy tail
quality, filling me with a sense of calm that lasted long after she
left. I came to look forward to the fifteen minutes or so we spent
together in her car every week almost as much as I did to seeing her
daughter. When she touched me, giving me a mock punch on the houlder,
or a pat on the knee as I got out of the car, my whole body felt the
thrill of her touch, vibrating where the pressure of her hand left its
lasting impression, a slowly fading physical memory.
My nightmares were all but gone and Kozue more and more often entered
my dreams as an erotic presence. Where thoughts of Yuki still filled
my conscious, waking hours, for some reason it was her mother who
gradually came to occupy the unconscious ones.
Several days after my brief conversation with Yuki I found myself late
getting out of school. On my way to the lockers one of my teachers
stopped me in the hallway; he wanted to talk about my sinking grades
in his class. We stood talking in the middle of the hall as the other
students streamed around us and the school emptied. He was friendly
but insistent with me. All I wanted was to get away from there as
quickly as possible and so I did everything I could to placate him.
He mistook my attitude for one of real interest in what he was saying
and wouldn't stop talking for several more minutes. When he was
finally through and we took our leave of each other we were the last
two people left in the hallway.
As I started walking home I had the impulse to pass by the gym, not
intending to go inside, but hoping that somehow I might run into Yuki
in the parking lot again; but the lot was almost empty, just a few
cars scattered around, and no one was waiting there. Disappointed, I
changed direction cutting across the lot and headed for the gym. As I
stepped on the walkway I could faintly hear the distinct familiar thud
of a single ball banging off the bleachers through the small windows
high up on the wall. My heart raced: It had to be Yuki, practicing.
I quickly glanced over my shoulder, afraid that someone might see me,
and went in. The sound of the ball grew louder as I walked down the
hall towards the double doors leading to the gym. Looking through the
small glass windows I could see a lone figure at the far end. A tall
slender girl was leaping high in the air, hitting a vicious looking
jump serve over a volleyball net. The ball struck in the corner of
the opposite court and rebounded off a bank of folded bleachers. She
ran forward a few steps, bending to retrieve the bouncing ball and set
up for another serve; her ponytail bobbed behind her as she took long
graceful loping strides. I didn't have to see her face to know that
it was Yuki.
My heart raced as it did whenever I caught a glimpse of her. Her
mother was right: When she was playing volleyball she was a totally
different girl; she exuded power and confidence in the way she moved.
Her slender body arched gracefully as she tossed the ball high in the
air and jumped to meet it, kicking back her feet as she floated in
mid air. Her arm stretched high overhead and then snapped forward,
tomahawking the ball over the net, pounding it down into the opposing
court with a bang that echoed hroughout the gym. She repeated the
serve many times, alternating which corner she was aiming for and
she never missed.
I watched her serve the ball, afraid that if I went in it would scare
her off and I would have to wait another day before my next glimpse of
her; then the ball bounced awkwardly off the bleachers and started
bounding across the gym towards the doors where I was standing. I
didn't think she could see me out in the darkened hallway yet, but the
ball was going to hit right in the middle of the double doors I was
standing behind. She would have to come over to this side of the gym
to get it and surely see me lurking behind the windows then. I had to
make a move quickly or be discovered spying. Pushing through the
doors I trapped the ball with my foot. Yuki was jogging over toward
the door when she noticed me come through. Slowing to a walk, she
reached behind her to pull down the butt of her uniform. I saw her
eyes lower, a guarded expression come across her face in the space of
that one step, and I instantly regretted barging in on her, ruining
her intensely private moment. I couldn't look away; I felt like a
leering oaf but I couldn't tear my eyes off her. She was wearing her
one piece uniform, number 'six', the one I had held in my hands. The
tight fitting uniform made the contours of her body clearly visible:
the soft mound of her crotch; the gentle rise of her belly, even the
slight indentation of her navel; her rib cage, heaving with each
breath she took; her small breasts, hardened nipples pointing at me
like accusing little finger tips that seemed to say: "Shame!"
My gaze embarrassed her, almost more than if she had been naked. The
tightness of the uniform highlighted her body more than it covered it
and her hands nervously traveled upwards, following the path my eyes
took; she clasped them together first in front of her crotch, then
brought them up to wipe her face, covering her breasts with her
forearms.
We both blushed, the short silence seemed painfully long. I panicked
searching for something to say, some reason why I was even there in
the gym at all; the fact that I had intercepted the ball was
incriminating evidence of my spying: it would be a lame excuse to
claim that I had just happened to open the door right then. I had to
say something, make up some story, anything to break up this wretched,
endless moment. Finally, in desperation, because I had absolutely
nothing else in mind, I resorted to honesty.
"Hi, Yuki. Sorry to bother you," I said. "I didn't mean to surprise
you like that. I was just passing by the gym and heard you
practicing. I remember you saying how tough it is to practice on your
own." I faltered, her expression was unchanged; what little
confidence I had left eroded.
"I could throw you the ball, or something," I said tentatively.
"Thank you," she said. "It would be boring for you. I can manage on
my own, really."
"I wouldn't be bored at all," I put in quickly. "I like you...I...I
mean I'd like to. I wouldn't be bored." Flustered, I thought: "Why
did I say that?" She looked down at her shoes. "Listen," I said
quickly trying to erase what I had just said. "Just let me throw you
a couple. I've got nowhere to go anyway. Let me do a couple, then
you can tell me to leave, all right? I'll throw you the ball twice
and then you tell me to go...or to stay, OK?"
"I don't know..."
"Come on," I said, my confidence returning. I could see her
struggling to decide. The shy girl part of her wanted me to go away
and leave her alone but the volleyball player was telling her not to
turn down a golden opportunity to get in some much needed practice. I
knew I was taking advantage of her too, her politeness, her inability
to say no. She fidgeted for a few more seconds before turning back
towards the far end of the gym.
She told me to throw the ball in a high arc over the net and she dug
it out underhand, with her fists together. The ball sailed straight
up into the air.
"Good!" I called out as the ball bounced next to her.
She shook her head as she grabbed it. "No it wasn't. It was
terrible. It's not supposed to go that high. I can't control it;
that's the weakest part of my game," she said, throwing the ball back
to me with some force. "Do that again, the same."
The volleyball player was taking over and she quickly became absorbed.
I threw her the ball again and this time she kept it lower. I could
see she was really thinking hard about what she was doing; her face
had a blank look of intense concentration as she threw the ball back
to me distractedly.
I held it for a moment as she crouched down, waiting. When I didn't
toss it to her she looked up, surprised.
"Yuki," I said, "that's two. Should I go?" I paused. "Whatever you
want, but I don't mind staying," I added.
"You really don't mind?" she asked, her eyebrows raised, a cute
quizzical look that made my heart ache.
"Not at all," I answered truthfully.
She had me throw her the ball many more times after that, alternating
sides of the court, sometimes near the net, sometimes deep in the
back. I noticed that she did seem to improve with practice although I
was mainly interested in watching her lithe body going through its
motions. She looked so fragile and slender, but as I watched her move
around the court I realized how strong and incredibly flexible she
really was. I could see the muscles in her delicate looking thighs
flexing as she crouched to receive the ball or when she ran after it
with long graceful strides. Watching her I longed to run my hands
over her legs, her thighs, her behind, to feel the smooth hardness of
her body under my touch. I couldn't keep my eyes from wandering to
the small feminine mound of her crotch, remembering the way her
uniform puffed out there when I had run my fingers over it. Her warm
cunt was doing that, pushing out the fabric, creating that little
puffy mound right now, I thought. I imagined stroking it, gently,
with just the tips of my fingers brushing it, just as I had done in
the laundry room; only now she would be in it, all soft and warm to
the touch, moaning softly with pleasure, telling me not to stop.
I lost all awareness of time as I threw the ball to her over and over
again; lulled into a trance-like state, my head was buzzing pleasantly
and my entire body felt enveloped in a soft, glowing embrace. Yuki
had lost herself too, in her volleyball. Her shyness totally
disappeared and she began talking more freely, if only to tell me
where to throw the ball and how high, or to chide me if the last throw
had been off.
At last she stopped and held the ball under her arm, breaking the
spell. She said, breathing heavily:
"Richard, I've got to go. My mother will be waiting. Thank you so
much for helping me practice."
Looking at the clock I realized we had been at it for almost an hour.
She came over and stood in front of me, so close that I could see the
beads of sweat on her neck and chest. Through her sweat soaked
uniform I could clearly see the outlines of her small breasts, the
surprisingly fat hard nipples bobbing up and down with each quick
breath she took. It was my turn to look at my shoes, too embarrassed
to look her in the eye.
"Thank you," she said, again.
"No problem," I said.
"Bye."
Turning quickly, she trotted to the doors and went out. For the rest
of the semester I made it a point to pass by the gym on my way home
from school on days when I wasn't working for Mr Roberts or in a
session with Mrs Tanaka, always listening for the sound of Yuki
practicing. She was usually there and our practice sessions together
became fairly regular, at least once a week. I also discovered that
she had to be in school early, because of her mother, and I made it a
point to reform my bad habit of showing up to first period late. If I
arrived early, more often than not she would be there, already in her
seat studying. We began having a few, tentative, non volleyball
conversations.
She told me that she had grown up in a small town in Japan, in a
mountainous part of the country that was relatively isolated. The
local girls school had a tradition of turning out some of the best
women volleyball players in Japan; that is how she got involved in it.
She showed promise early so her parents and coaches had pushed her to
continue and to work very hard at it. Leaving her home, her school
and her team to come to America had been difficult for her. The few
friends she had were all still there, and she knew that by coming to
America her volleyball skills could do nothing but get worse. She
also told me that she had never been to a coed school before. Her
girlfriends back home had teased and scared her with their stories
about America, and in particular, American boys.
One thing we had in common was our fathers' behavior: she confided in
me that her father had left recently for the Philippines where he was
living with a stewardess he met on a business trip. Yuki's mother was
devastated to find out that the affair had been going on for several
years, but she and Yuki decided to stick it out in America alone
together rather than act weak and return to Japan. I told Yuki
about my father and all of the weird stuff that went on in our house
over the summer: I wondered if she knew any of it already from her
mother. She listened sympathetically even if she did. As the end of
the semester drew near Yuki told me that she and her mother were
spending the holiday in Hawaii. She quickly countered my expressions
of envy by telling me that her parents were going to be there
together, to try and patch things up. She wasn't looking forward to
it. For the first time I realized I was going to have to live for two
whole weeks without seeing her: The holidays were going to be bleak
indeed. I told her that me and mom would probably be eating Christmas
dinner off of paper plates, just as we had done for Thanksgiving.
***
After all of the emotionally draining sessions, Mrs Tanaka took a new
tack with me for the last few weeks of the semester; no longer
hammering away at my memories of my father she started asking me all
about my social life, whether or not I had many close friends, and
about my relationships with girls. I tried to be as honest as I could
with her but there was always a gaping hole in anything I had to say:
I couldn't bring myself to tell her how I felt about Yuki, and I there
was no way I was going to tell her about her own role in my dreams. I
was worried that Yuki might have told her mother about our practice
sessions together, or our little chats in home room, but I decided to
play dumb and not bring any of it up. I just couldn't confess any of
the feelings I had for the daughter, in part I began to realize,
because I was attracted to the mother as well. I spent a lot of time
trying to figure out if she was fishing, if she knew of my interest in
Yuki, maybe even of my complete infatuation with her, and was
attempting to get me to talk about it. I felt drained at the end of
each session, like I had played an hour of cat and mouse. Mrs Tanaka
expressed concerns about my being such an introvert, and felt that my
attitudes about women and sex were unhealthy. If I was to be a better
adjusted person, in her opinion, I needed to base my life more on
reality than on fantasy. On that point at least I could not disagree,
and I resolved that with the new year I would remake myself: instead
of fantasizing about Yuki in the dark of my room I would do something
positive about it, get to know her, maybe even ask her out eventually.
I felt my self confidence building, and an intense feeling of
gratitude towards Mrs Tanaka for helping me. At the end of the last
session before the holidays we exchanged a long hug, wishing each
other a happy new year.
Fin
Part 1
Subject: Story: Her Name Was Yuki (Part 2) [Male, Female, Sex, Japan,
Volleyball]
From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers)
Date: 23 Nov 1997 04:45:48 GMT
--------
This story contains graphic descriptions of sex, although you will
have to read fairly far into it to find them, so if you are under 18,
object to that sort of material, or just don't have any patience, stop
now.
This story also contains a plot, so if you don't know what that is, or
are offended by the very idea, stop now. Without giving it away I
should mention that all of the sex in this story is between consenting
individuals, however some of the characters are below legal age and
some not: draw your own conclusions from that and read on at your own
risk.
Part 1 serves as more or less an introduction to Part 2 but is
hopefully enjoyable on its own. I wouldn't mind receiving
constructive criticism of this story in order to insure that future
efforts are of a higher quality. I suppose "It sucks!" is
constructive on a certain level but I'd rather hear things that might
eventually help the writing improve. The inverse does not apply to
compliments. If you didn't see part one and want it before you read
on, mail me, or wait: I will post it all together (somewhere: ASS?)
when the final part (3) is finished.
Synopsis of part one:
A shy High school student, Richard, develops an infatuation for a
transfer student from Japan, Yuki. He develops insomnia and
nightmares about his father who has recently left the family, for
which he seeks counseling from the school's new counselor, Mrs Tanaka,
Yuki's mother. In exchange for the counseling Richard has to work in
the gym a couple of days a week doing odd jobs for Mr Roberts, the
slightly sleazy gym teacher.
Back in Japan Yuki was a star volleyball player. Her first
conversation with Richard is about how there is nobody at the school
to help her practice. Richard finds her in the gym and helps her:
they become friends. Yuki tells him that her father too has just left
them.
Meanwhile Richard starts to discover he is attracted to Mrs Tanaka as
well: he now dreams about her every night. Part one ends at the end
of the first semester of school, with Richard in much better spirits,
vowing to take a more active role in pursuing Yuki.
Richard Rivers
HER NAME WAS YUKI
Part 2:
My holidays weren't bleak after all even though we didn't have much to
celebrate in our house that year. My new found optimism saw me
through what would have otherwise been a miserable vacation.
Preoccupied with thoughts of Yuki and Kozue, it was as if I was only
half there anyway. My poor mother must have felt as if she spent the
holidays alone, or worse than alone since I spent most of my time in
my room listening to the sleet and snow pelt my windows, waiting for
the day when I could go back to school.
But the first week of the semester tested my new years' resolutions
sorely. Yuki smiled and nodded to me in home room but we never got a
chance to talk; she always seemed to be hurrying off to class. Every
day I passed the gym on may way home from school, sometimes standing
in the biting cold for ten minutes until my feet froze, waiting for
the sounds of her practicing that never came. The gym was empty when
I looked inside.
The morning of my session with Mrs Tanaka a bitter wind blew down from
the North , chilling the air well below zero, the kind of cold that
numbs you to the bone within seconds. The sky grew gray and
ominous from noon onward, foreshadowing the coming storm. A few
flakes were already falling as I made my way to her office.
She greeted me in a subdued manner, wishing me a belated happy new
year. The change in her shocked me: she seemed to have lost a lot of
weight in the short winter recess, her eyes had dark circles under
them, and her voice, once the beautiful, lilting, sing-song voice I
had loved, sounded flat and tired.
"How are you doing, Richard?" She managed a weak smile for me. "No
more nightmares, I hope?"
"I'm fine, Mrs Tanaka," I said. "How was Hawaii?" I asked, stupidly,
regretting the words even as they left my mouth.
"Hawaii..." She sighed. "Hawaii is such a beautiful place, Richard.
Such a paradise." Her weary tone suggested a wasteland, not an island
paradise at all; she looked as if she might start crying and I
squirmed with discomfort. I hated being around crying women: I
didn't know what to do, what to say, how I should act. Mom cried a
lot when dad left and I had tried to console her in my own awkward
fashion. The feelings of helplessness and despair that had come over
me were still too fresh in my memory; I didn't want to go through
anything like that again. But Mrs Tanaka didn't cry. She snapped
into her professional persona. Asking me to sit down, we began the
session.
She was not herself; clearly distracted, her mind was far away from me
and my little problems. She made me repeat myself several times, and
her note pad, usually full of scribbled notes by the end of each
session, lay on her lap, the top page empty except for my name and the
date. I'm not even sure what she was driving at with her random
questions; the whole session seemed so blasé, we both just went
through the motions: she asking stock questions, me giving stock
answers. Mrs Tanaka's mood seemed so dark, her emotions so fragile, I
felt my main objective that session should be to simply avoid
upsetting her. My mind wandered as we kept up the shell of a
conversation. I couldn't stop thinking about Yuki: Why was
she ignoring me? What had I done wrong? We both lost track of time.
Eventually Mrs Tanaka snapped out of her daydream and looked at the
clock on her desk.
"Oh, no," she said in a low voice. "Look at the time, it's five o
clock!"
We should have finished by half past four. She offered me a ride
home, after she made one quick phone call; she wanted to see if Yuki
had made it home on her own. I saw her relax a little as Yuki
answered. They spoke together in Japanese for a short time, Mrs
Tanaka's expression growing serious as she hung up the phone.
"It's really snowing out there, according to my daughter," she said
pulling on her coat. "Many roads are closed already. She thought I
was stuck somewhere. We had better hurry. Do you want to call home?"
My mother would still be at work, I told her; no need to call yet.
Once we stepped out of her well-insulated office we could hear the
wind howling outside as we hurried down the empty hallways.
The door to the outside wouldn't open when she pushed it.
"It can't be locked from the inside?" She said, as if thinking aloud.
We tried pushing together and finally got the door about half way
open, letting out exclamations of amazement when we finally managed to
unstick it: a waist high snow had blown against it. Snow blew
into the hallway, in our faces, sending us staggering back inside. We
could see her car in the distance, alone in the middle of the snow
covered parking lot, a drift covering it to the door handles.
"Oh," she said softly, wiping snow from her eyes. "This is terrible."
We closed the door to shut out the biting cold. She leaned against
the wall next to the doors, her shoulders slumped.
"Mrs Tanaka," I said, "I think your car is stuck here. Even if we
could shovel it out we'd never get it out of the lot. Did you see the
drifts out there?" Nobody had been through to plow the school lot
yet, if plows were even out in a storm like this.
"How quickly it happened," she said with quiet astonishment. "It was
clear this afternoon. We will have to find another way home I guess."
Returning to her office she told me to call my mother right away. Mom
sounded relieved to hear my voice, but worried: the TV news said that
all the area roads were impassable, the plows couldn't even get
out and the state police had advised everyone to stay indoors. When I
relayed this news to Mrs Tanaka she got a little frantic, thumbing
through the phone book she said she was going to call us a taxi. I
sat and watched as she called every number in the book with no luck.
No taxi driver in his right mind was going out in that storm.
Finally, she fell into her chair, exasperated.
"I'm going to call Mr Forbes," she said at last.
She explained our predicament to Mr Forbes and then was silent as he
spoke for a long time. His bright idea was to call the police, which
she did right away, talking with several different people, growing
more and more frustrated. It was obvious from her end that the police
weren't going to come either. Their best advice was to stay put. The
school had heat, it was safe, and we could get food and water if we
needed, so why leave? Mrs Tanaka had a difficult time accepting it,
and she kept demanding to speak to higher-ups. Eventually she got as
high as she could before slowly hanging up the phone, sighing.
"They are absolutely no help," she said, leaning back in her chair.
"They are going to make us stay here over night. Nobody can come
until tomorrow." I could see tears welling up in her eyes.
I felt guilty because for me the whole thing had been exciting: the
storm, getting stuck, maybe having to camp out at the school were all
welcome breaks from my dreary life, but Mrs Tanaka seemed upset.
Barely containing her tears she nervously twisted a pen between her
fingers as she broke the news to me. She felt responsible for the
whole mess we were in, and my assurances that I didn't mind had no
effect on her at all.
She showed me to the office next to hers and told me to call my
mother. She had to make a few calls from her own office and would be
back as soon as she finished. My mom expressed concern about me, but
the fact I wasn't going to have to travel in the storm was some
comfort to her. I assured her that I had all my warm clothes with
me, I would try to find something to eat, and that everything would be
fine. After I hung up it struck me how quiet these offices were, how
insulated from the world. Outside, a savage storm was blowing while I
sat warm and comfortable. Nothing could reach me. There was
something appealing about it, like being in a cocoon, or in a deep
warm underground cave. I sat back in the comfortable chair and
enjoyed the feeling. Excitement had completely washed away all my
worries; for the first time in weeks I was able to sit calmly,
peacefully, as if I hadn't a care in the world.
Mrs Tanaka stuck her head into the office.
"Richard," she said, "are you hungry? It's almost seven o'clock. I
think we should see if we can find something in the cafeteria, OK?"
Her voice was much more relaxed; almost back to the way I
remembered it. I think resigning herself to the situation she had
finally stopped fighting and accepted our fate calmly.
We walked in silence through the eerie dark of the deserted school,
the muffled sounds of the howling wind accompanying our soft footsteps
as we passed door after door of empty classrooms. A single
fluorescent tube dimly lit the cafeteria, giving it an eerie, bluish
glow. We walked carefully between the chairs and tables, through the
heavy swinging metal doors and into the kitchen. The kitchen was
pitch black and Mrs Tanaka fumbled for the light switch. With a
crackle the lights came to life, making both of us blink at the sudden
harsh brightness reflected off the stainless steel all around us.
She turned to me. "This is going to be fun," she said with a smile
that took me by surprise. She laughing, the soft, melodious laugh
that I loved to hear as she surveyed the kitchen.
"I've always wanted to do this," she said as if to herself.
After perusing the shelves, she selected a can of tomato soup, enough
to feed twenty people, but the smallest thing we could find. I worked
on getting the can opened while she disappeared into the walk-in
freezer. She emerged with a box in her hands and a triumphant,
mischievous look on her face.
"We are having tomato soup," she said putting the box on the counter,
gesturing towards the now lidless can, "bologna sandwiches," she went
on, pulling out bread, bologna and a huge bottle of mustard, "and, a
special surprise! Cake." She pulled a chocolate cake still in its
plastic tray out of the box with a mock flourish.
"That's great," I couldn't help laughing.
She busied herself making sandwiches and heating the soup, refusing my
offers to help. I leaned on the counter and watched her. Although I
had spent the first semester seeing her every week, other than the
sound of her voice which I loved, it was as if I had never really paid
attention to her before that moment. Now, watching her move about the
kitchen I saw her, in a certain sense, for the first time. She had
such a youthful quality to the way she moved, a playfulness, unlike
any other adult I knew. Quick to laugh, her eyes sparkled with an
impish glitter that delighted me. She took off her jacket, throwing
it onto the counter. In her dark skirt and white blouse I realized
how fine, how delicate her body looked; her slim waist and hips--not
girlish and athletic like Yuki's--had a woman's mature fullness.
Watching the movement of her delicate arms an shoulders thrilled me as
she quickly and efficiently assembled sandwiches and ladled soup. In
my dreams she had been an erotic presence for weeks, but more psychic
than physical, arousing me entirely with the warm glow she radiated.
Now the realization came, surprising me, almost as something I had
been afraid to see: she was a beautiful woman.
We ate our dinner mostly in silence making small talk about the
weather, our strange situation, and other things. After we cleaned
up, she looked at her watch, sighing.
"It's not even eight thirty. Too early to go to bed. I've got work
here I can do. How about you?"
"I can always go to my locker and get some books or something," I
said.
"Good. Go get them. I'm sorry but there isn't anything else to do in
here," she shrugged helplessly. "Study for a while before bedtime.
Mr Forbes told me there is a bed in the nurse's office. You can sleep
there. I'll sleep on the couch in my office."
She set me up with my homework in the office next to hers where I
listlessly flipped the pages of my textbooks for an hour while she
worked next door. Suddenly the lights went out, leaving us in total
darkness. I heard her bumping around in her office as I got to my
feet and started feeling my way along the wall. We met in the
doorway, bumping heads.
"Ouch," she laughed. "Are you OK? We seem to have lost power."
We stood for a moment, only a foot or two apart. It was so quiet I
could hear her breath, feel it on my face. The constant rush of the
heaters, in the background before, had stopped, leaving behind a
sudden, noticeable void.
"I think the heat is gone too," she said.
I held my hand up in front of my eyes. "I can't believe how dark it
is in here, I can't see my own hand."
"I know," she said. "We should go back to my office."
I felt her hand brush my arm. "Hold my hand," she said.
Hand in hand we stumbled to her office. She let me go and fumbled
around on the desk.
"The phone is dead too."
The room already felt a degree or two cooler because of the lack of
constantly blowing warm air. We found our coats to use as blankets
and Mrs Tanaka suggested that we sit on the couch and drape them over
ourselves. Our bodies touched as we sat side by side. I could feel
her warm thigh pressed against mine. We sat quietly for a while and
then she began to tell me a story about her childhood, growing up in
Japan.
She had been a little girl, five or six years old, taking a train trip
all the way to the north part of the island to see her grandparents,
alone. Her parents had put her on a train that would go directly to
the city where her grandparents lived. It was safe, and the stewards
on the train would look out for her during the long trip. Somewhere
the train had stopped in a dark tunnel for what seemed like hours to
her. Terrified, she had started crying and crying, she said, and she
wouldn't stop. A kindly old steward came and held her hand, calming
her until the train was out of the tunnel. Later in the trip he had
lead her up to the front of the train to meet the drivers and had held
her hand again, taking her to the waiting arms of her grandparents at
the station.
At some point during the story she put her arm around my shoulder. I
wanted to do the same, but felt too shy. It was getting noticeably
colder and we sat in silence for a long time. As I started to drift
off to sleep I thought I heard her crying softly.
After some time I partially awoke. I could hear the heaters blowing
and the room was warm again. The lights were off but now the dim
green glow of a flashing digital clock lit the room. I had fallen
asleep leaning on Mrs Tanaka's shoulder. My weight had pushed her
over so that I almost lay on top of her. We were both more asleep than
awake then, and what happened next seems still as if it were a dream:
an unconscious whirl of motions, half remembered, half experienced,
dipping in and out of waking and dreaming. Something from the depths
of my unconscious stealthily surfaced and took control of the living
body it had moved only in dreams before.
Our faces were so close I could feel her warm breath streaming onto my
cheek. Sensing my wakefulness, she stirred. Turning her head
slightly towards me her lips softly grazed my face. I turned to meet
them and our lips touched ever so softly: my first kiss. Our mouths
lingered together without moving, prolonging the feathery gentle
touch. I let myself sink down more deeply, feeling the soft fullness
of her lips give way. Stirring again I heard the soft sharp hiss of
her inhalation next to my ear. Parting further, her lips pulled my
mouth more firmly onto her own. The little moan which issued from her
throat passed as a vibration from her body into mine. Her velvet
tongue reached into me and darted away again as if frightened then,
teasing, playfully coaxed me to follow, deeper and deeper into her
body; at the back of my neck her hands held me tightly to her.
She pulled me down on top of her bringing our legs up onto the couch.
I felt her skirt slide up over her spreading thighs. Our mouths were
unable to stay apart; when she withdrew for a breath I hungrily
sought after her lips, and her hands pulled my head back down to her
again and again as our kisses grew in intensity. Her warm thighs
moved along my body and she locked her legs around me, pulling my
crotch against hers. She enveloped me completely; her legs and arms
wrapped around me in a tight embrace, and wherever we touched the heat
traveled between us completely saturating my nerves, making me tingle.
I lowered all of my weight onto her, freeing my hands to caress her
face and stroke her hair. Already hard and throbbing, the feel of
her soft yielding flesh beneath me aroused me more; she pushed
on me with her calves, showing me the thrusting movements I was too
naive to know how to do on my own. The bulge in my pants burrowed
into the soft flesh beneath her panties. But I yearned for more
total, deeper contact with her and pushed myself against her with
greater and greater force, rubbing myself against her faster and
faster. Her kisses grew hungrier, more urgent and we stiffened,
straining against each other. I began to feel as if I couldn't hold
back any longer, as if my motions were no longer mine to control. I
squeezed my crotch against her, straining every muscle in my body,
wringing a moan from deep within her. Then I shuddered, coming. I
throbbed against her, restricted and straining inside my pants as warm
wet come soaked onto her panties, spreading to the insides of her
thighs as she squeezed my shaking body between her legs.
"I'm sorry," I started to speak. I felt guilty--the mess I'd just
made--as if I had done something terrible.
"Shh," she gently put a finger to my lips. "Shh, don't say anything.
It's OK. Shh." She hugged me more tightly and I felt her warmth
flood into me again. A peaceful calm came over me and I drifted back
to sleep.
I woke up some time later as she tried to wriggle out from under me.
I sat upright, feeling the cold wet come soaking through my pants. In
the dark I could see her standing up next to me.
"I'm going to turn on the light, get ready," she whispered. The
light was harsh after those hours of darkness. Her back was to me and
I glimpsed her thighs as she smoothed her skirt, pulling it down over
her knees as the lights came on.
"Let's see what kind of a mess we've made," she said softly, a little
smile at her lips. She looked herself up and down: "Not too bad. A
little rumpled, I guess, but you..."
She looked down at me and I felt ashamed: come completely soaked the
front of my jeans. I looked as if I had wet my pants.
"Mrs Tanaka, I'm sorry, I..." I started to say again.
"Don't be sorry," she said softly but insistently. "Don't. You poor
boy! This is nothing to be ashamed about." She gave me a pat on the
shoulder. "Shh, don't say anything more right now." Looking at her
watch, she went on: "It's three in the morning. We need to get
cleaned up and ready for tomorrow. If you rinse those pants out and
hang them in front of a heating vent, they'll be dry by morning."
I was taken aback by her brisk, business-like manner: I'd just
stained her with my come, and now she was going on about getting ready
for tomorrow.
"Mrs Tanaka," I began again, more insistently. "Look, I didn't
mean..."
"Shh, she interrupted me again. "Richard, we'll talk about this, I
promise we will, but not now. Not right now." She spoke softly, as
if scolding an errant child. "Please, don't feel guilty or ashamed.
This should be a beautiful time, not a time for apology. Just be
still now." Her gentle voice soothed me into submission. "Oh, and
please, don't you think after that you can call me Kozue?" she added,
with just a hint of mischief in her voice.
We made our way to the bathrooms and each went to work cleaning up
"our little mess" as she called it. I washed my pants and underwear
in the sink and put them back on, wet. She led me to the darkened
nurse's office and showed me the bed, then, kissing me on the
forehead, left me, saying she would return when it was light outside.
I lay awake for a long time that night in that stark hospital bed,
listening to the wind whipping outside, wondering what Mrs Tanaka was
doing at that moment, what she was thinking, and wondering too if my
life had just gotten better, or, suddenly, a whole lot worse.
***
Mrs Tanaka came to wake me up at eight o'clock the next morning. We
went to the cafeteria again to eat some breakfast and wait for our
rescue. She told me I should come to her office as soon as school
resumed after the snow storm and we would have a little chat about
what had happened. In her opinion, it would be a good idea to let our
emotions cool down before we could deal with the situation in a
rational way.
With that, she reverted to her chatty, playful persona. She started
telling me some story about living in New York city, and how a big
snow storm had hit, but I wasn't listening. All I could do was look
at her and think of how beautiful she was. Every move she made sent a
shiver through me: the way she held her elbows close to her body when
she buttered her toast; how her delicate fingers curled around her
coffee mug; the face she made as she wrinkled her little nose at the
bad school coffee. Her motions, so delicate, so thoroughly feminine,
made me want her, but she had receded back to an unassailable distance
again; the brief connection we had enjoyed the night before seemed
lost.
We were rescued about an hour later. Mr Forbes arrived along with a
state policeman who checked to make sure we were OK and then left. Mr
Forbes took us to the office so that we could call our homes, but
before letting us use the phones he ushered us into his personal
office and had us sit down. He told us that he would prefer it if we
both kept quiet about our ordeal. We sat uncomfortably as he told us
that he feared the local press might make "too much out of nothing"
and blow the whole thing out of proportion if our story got out. Mrs
Tanaka nervously crossed her legs as he went on about how some people
might jump to "the wrong conclusions" about the "embarrassing
situation" of a student and a teacher stuck alone together in the
school over night. She asked him what he meant by that, but he
hedged, hemming and hawing, not really answering the question. I
remember guiltily wiping my sweaty palms on the thighs of my pants,
still damp where I had washed my come off them as he droned on.
School got canceled for the rest of the week due to the snow storm.
The next Monday as I filed out of home room a hand on my arm
surprised me. Yuki pulled along side of me in the hallway.
"Richard," she hissed, whispering over the din. "I've got to talk to
you! Can you meet me after school?"
She had never initiated a conversation between us before, and after
her aloof behavior recently this sudden approach completely took me by
surprise. Something about her almost panicky tone worried me: I knew
this had to be about her mother. My appointment with Mrs Tanaka was
for that afternoon, but using that as an excuse for not seeing Yuki
seemed risky and made me extremely nervous and defensive; I suggested
we meet at lunch instead. Her mother went off campus for lunch, she
said, so we could use the office for
privacy.
When we met, Yuki led me into the office and closed the door behind
her. She didn't sit down but leaned her back against the closed door,
hands folded behind her, almost as if she were barricading it,
preventing my escape. In front of Yuki I couldn't bring myself to sit
on the same couch where I had slept with her mother. Instead I hopped
up on the desk, dangling my legs over the edge. "The criminal,
brought back to the scene of the crime for interrogation," I thought.
Yuki took a deep breath and looked me in the eye: "Richard, thank you
for meeting me here. I'm so sorry to trouble you, but the reason I
have to talk to you is because of what happened last week with you and
my mother."
Every muscle in my body tensed, it was all I could do to resist the
urge to push her aside, fling open the door and run off madly down the
hallway.
She went on: "She is not herself anymore. She has been so sad lately,
because she and my father didn't work out their differences over the
winter break, in Hawaii. It was awful, the whole vacation was awful,
and now she's acting as if something worse happened. She has been so
preoccupied, so absent minded, like a different person since that
night she spent here. I was wondering if he called her again, or, I
don't know, if anything else bad happened. Did she talk about
anything to you?"
I relaxed. So she doesn't know...
In my relief I had forgotten to answer the question.
"Richard?"
"Uh, no, she didn't," I said, blankly. Then, regaining composure:
"She did seem very sad, but I think she wanted to put a good face on
things, you know, for me, to keep my spirits up."
"She didn't say anything? Did she act unusual in any way that night?"
"This is heading in the wrong direction," I thought.
"I don't know, I don't think so," I said. "You know, I don't really
know her that well. It's usually me that does all the talking and she
just listens...Come to think of it though," I interrupted myself,
"she told some story about Japan, her childhood, and she seemed a
little sad then, but I didn't think anything of it, you know, I didn't
really notice. I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry." I
shrugged, looking at my shoes swinging out from under the desk hoping
my answer had been good enough to deflect her.
Yuki was silent, thoughtful for a moment. She sighed. "Well, I'm
worried about her and you are the only person who might be able to
help me. You are the only person who knows us both." Her eyes
flickered, then she looked down, fidgeting. "So, what was it like,
the two of you trapped in here alone together all night?"
"Careful," I thought.
"Well, what did your mother say," I asked, trying desperately not to
let my voice sound cagey.
"Oh, she said it was boring. She made soup, then you guys just sat
around reading books, or something.
But she didn't tell me she told you stories about Japan. I wonder why
she left that out?"
"Oh, we were falling asleep by that point," I said. My heart skipped
a beat. "I...I mean I was falling asleep. I had to go across the
hall to the nurses room you know. I slept in there."
I felt as if she had handed me a rope and was watching me tie it
around my neck.
"Can I ask you one more thing?" Her voice changed, softer now. She
didn't look up as she spoke, instead fixing her gaze on the carpet at
her feet.
"Sure," I said.
"Now she kicks the chair out from under me," I thought in despair.
"Are you avoiding me for some reason?" She blushed, eyes still
downward, knocking the backs of her legs nervously against the door.
The wave of relief I felt blanketed me in joyful, ecstatic warmth. I
could have leaped off the desk and hugged her.
"I'm alive!" I thought.
"Me avoiding you?" I stammered.
The painful effort it had taken her to ask me that small question was
obvious: she stood blushing, eyes downcast, as she had been the first
time I ever saw her, and, suddenly, all the feelings I had for her
came back, piercing me. She looked so desirable, battling against her
own shyness, her modesty. In her unexpected brave act of self
expression I glimpsed briefly the shadow of woman she would become: so
like her mother. Her hold over me redoubled its power. I wanted to
go to her, hold her, comfort her, but I stayed rooted to the desk.
Glimpsing the mother through the daughter illuminated the dual,
disquieting nature of my desire: I wanted them both. One person--
split into two independent, living, breathing, and desirable halves--
is
how I saw them: the daughter the potential, the mother its
fulfillment. Aching, impossible desire filled me, a heavy, sluggish
fluid flowing through my veins.
"I thought you were avoiding me," I said. "I've looked for you, after
school, in the gym, but I've never seen you there."
"Well I've been there, but I start practice later now," she said,
defensively. "I have advanced chemistry, and the lab time is half an
hour after last period. I don't even get to the gym until three
thirty."
"That explains it," I said, striking my forehead with the palm of my
hand. "And I thought you were mad at me or something."
We arranged to meet that Thursday, when I would start helping her
practice again.
I spent the rest of the day in a euphoric mood knowing that I had
narrowly escaped an ugly scene, even coming out of the encounter
having my friendship with Yuki on stronger footing than ever.
Three hours later I returned to the same office for my meeting with
Mrs Tanaka.
She ushered me in, and as we took our seats on the couch she gave it a
little pat.
"Scene of the crime," she said, a smile flickering across her face.
I sat in dumbfounded silence: was she a mind reader?
"All right, Richard," she started, more formally. "We both know what
happened in here the other day. I don't even think we need discuss
the details. What I'm interested in are your feelings about it. I'll
tell you mine too. Now the reason I kept shushing you up the other
day was because I wanted you to have some time to reflect on it,
before you just blurted something out, something you might regret
later. I needed the time to reflect myself. It's not that I don't
respect your thoughts, its just that I want them to be better
formulated, OK?"
I nodded. All I could think about was the last time we sat together
on this couch. Her thigh had been touching mine, making me tingle.
Now she sat a few inches a way, inches that felt like light years.
"Why don't you tell me what you feel about it," she prodded.
I didn't want to talk. I only wanted to reach out and stroke her
thigh, run my hand over her skirt, under it, feeling her softness, and
maybe finally see her unclothed body. There was no way I could tell
her the feelings going through me at that moment. My feelings
required actions not words, and I didn't have the courage.
"Well, Mrs Tanaka," I began, hesitantly. "I feel really badly about
what happened. I mean, I don't have much experience with girls, or
women I mean, well I don't have any actually." I was blushing so hard
my head was hot. "I'm not sure I knew what I was doing that night.
Not really, anyway."
"Did you enjoy it?" she asked quietly.
"Uh, well, uh, I guess so..." My embarrassment grew more painful.
"It's OK if you did. There's nothing wrong with that."
"Well yeah, I enjoyed it," I said. I wanted to do it again so badly
it hurt. To have to talk about it and not be able to do anything was
like twisting a knife in me.
"Do you think you took advantage of me," she asked.
"Well yeah, sort of," I said more forcefully. "You were asleep. I
kind of started things."
"But I woke up at some point, didn't I?" She smiled knowingly.
She was torturing me, absolutely torturing me, whether she knew it or
not.
"Yes, I think you must have," I admitted.
"And, did I ever tell you to stop, at any point?"
"No, you never did."
"Then I think you should re evaluate whether or not you took advantage
of me, OK?"
I nodded.
"Now, do you think I took advantage of you? Think about it
carefully." He tone grew serious.
"No way," I said adamantly. "I think I'm the one who really wanted to
do it. You just went along with it. Anyway, I'm the one who, you
know...who..." I couldn't bring myself to say it.
"Came?" She said quietly. "You're the one who came?"
"Yes," I exhaled, relieved that she had said it for me.
"How do you know that, Richard? How do you know I didn't come too?"
She had thoroughly flustered me. I sat stupidly, speechless.
She relaxed and smiled.
"Richard, you have a lot to learn about women, and about sex. First
of all women don't just go along with it, or at least they shouldn't,"
she said forcefully. "I wasn't just going along with it for your
sake. I enjoyed it too you know." She gave me a pat on the leg.
"You men have the problem of thinking that sex is always for, and
about yourselves. Well, women enjoy sex too. Never forget that.
They don't just go along, or if they do and they don't tell you it's
not your burden to feel guilty about later. Do you understand?"
I nodded in assent, feeling a slight glimmer of hope: She enjoyed it!
I longed for her to touch me again, but she kept talking.
"My feelings are that it is something that happened, we were in a
stressful situation, and sometimes that brings out a side of our
personality we aren't even aware of ourselves. It happened, we both
enjoyed it, now its over."
As I listened she slowly broke my heart.
"I don't have any regrets, and neither should you, but I think what
happened wouldn't have happened except in that very unusual situation.
Now there are people who would condemn me for what we did, not
you, but me: I'm older. I should be responsible and so on and so
forth. I don't share their views. I think we were both old enough
and wise enough to decide for ourselves what was right and,
personally, I don't think any real harm was done, to either of us.
However, my position as your counselor has been compromised, and
ethically I do think it is wrong for me to continue in that role.
When a certain gap has been bridged between people it is hard, well
impossible, to ever go back to the way things were before.
We achieved a certain, let me say, familiarity, with each other the
other night." She gave me a wistful smile. "Now we can't go back. I
can't go back to the position I need to be in to counsel you
effectively any more. Personally, as friends, I think we must be
careful with each other as well. Once crossed, that bridge to
intimacy is easier and easier to re cross, more and more tempting. I
think we should not see each other at all for a while."
Noticing my pained expression, her voice softened.
"Don't assume you're the only one this is difficult for. I'm a human
being too. I've got feeling that can be hurt, just like yours." She
stopped abruptly, sounding close to tears.
She got up and sat behind her desk, increasing the already painful
distance between us. Her words dashed my hopes, and the last shards
of my euphoric mood, finally dislodged, blew away.
Mrs Tanaka gave me the names of some free counseling centers that
might take up where she left off, but she didn't feel it was of vital
importance that I keep going: I had made some progress, and we had
accomplished the main goal of the sessions; my nightmares had gone
away completely. She had no idea that I still dreamed about her
almost every night instead. As she rose to let me out of her office
she told me I could certainly drop by if something important came up
then planted a little kiss on my forehead. Its impression burned for
hours after I left.
***
Over the next several weeks I got closer to Yuki, although being in
her presence hardly cut through the deep melancholy I felt over my
break up with Mrs Tanaka. We started meeting at the gym a few times a
week as before. Yuki seemed to come out of her shell, talking and
laughing with me more than she had in the past and sometimes we would
sit on the bleachers together for a few minutes after she had tired
out, just talking. She told me of the places she had toured all over
Asia playing volleyball, or she would tell me things she and her
girlfriends had done back in Japan or the comings and goings of life
in her small town. Whenever she mentioned her mother in passing and I
had to stifle the urge to ask her to tell me more.
The sight of Yuki in her volleyball uniform never bored me. Soaked
with sweat as she usually was after practice, she might as well have
been naked. Without seeing her with her clothes off I already knew
her body intimately: I could clearly see her nipples and the areolas
around them through the sweat soaked fabric; I could count her ribs or
see the small indentation of her navel in the middle of the soft rise
of her belly. Sometimes the back of her outfit would ride up showing
a small firm cheek of her behind. But looking at the small mound
between her legs was my most guilty pleasure. The very essence of her
femininity, its soft fullness constantly attracted my gaze, and if
nothing else had already aroused me, looking there was sure to produce
an erection, impossible to hide standing across the net from her. I
had to ration my quick glances to times when we sat together and I
could safely fold my hands in my lap, or hold the ball there, pressing
it into me, pretending it was her body I held against mine.
She became aware of how I looked at her, she had to, and I think she
came to enjoy her role as the object of my desire. Her behavior
became more playful, flirtatious even. Sometimes it almost seemed as
if she posed for me, knowing how her body affected me. Before, when
the back of her uniform had crept up she had pulled it down, modestly,
furtively, only when facing me, but now she did it with her back to
me, giving the elastic a little snap. Bending to retrieve the ball:
did she do that more slowly now, holding the stretch for just a second
longer than necessary, when I could see the muscles in her thighs
flexing, her long pony tail sweeping the floor, or did I only imagine
it?
Whenever she spoke she looked me in the eye now and fewer things I
said or did seemed to embarrass her. It was me, more often than not,
who ended up looking away or at my feet when she would give me little
pats on the shoulder thanking me at the end of each practice session,
or a little punch if I told a particularly lame joke. I thrilled at
her touches, wishing for more, but I restrained myself from pursuing
her physically.
The change in her delighted me, but my enjoyment always had a dark
underside: so many of the little things she did reminded me of her
mother. The closer I got to Yuki, the more I longed for Kozue.
Memories of the night we spent together haunted me: the feel of her
soft thighs against me, her hot, passionate kisses, the give of the
flesh under her panties. Seeing some small thing in Yuki could
trigger it at any time, setting off the whole painful cascade of
recalled sensations again. I felt as if I walked along a razor's
edge: if I got any closer to Yuki her mother would surely find out and
she would be lost to me forever, so I maintained my frustrating
distance, getting what enjoyment I could just by watching.
As usual, Mr Roberts became the thorn in my side. I assumed that since
my therapy sessions were over I could stop reporting for work at the
gym, but he had a different idea: he telephoned my mom, telling her
what a great help I had been to him, and that my work could turn into
an after school job. My mom just couldn't turn down the offer of a
little extra money coming in and I didn't have the heart to say no to
her when she asked me to do it: we needed it. I would be working in
the gym three afternoons a week, for minimum wage.
Once I was an employee instead of a slave Mr Roberts began treating me
a little better. He let me take breaks, when I could sit at the desk
in the outer part of the office, put my feet up and kick back for a
few minutes. I still hardly ever saw him: he always closed the door
to his inner office and he would emerge every now and then to check on
me or to do some other small errand.
Sometimes I heard him talking on the phone through the door, just a
word here and there of him joking around with some friend on the
other. He evidently talked to this friend, or friends a lot about
women and sex, maybe he gave the run down of his most recent
conquests; I could only hear just enough to arouse my curiosity.
What started as innocently overhearing bits of conversations slowly
evolved into outright eavesdropping. I began looking for the little
light on the telephone to go on, signaling me that he was on the line
so I could tip toe into the outer office and listen at the door, but
this was still frustrating; I could barely hear what he was saying
through the door and the other half of the conversation was lost.
One day, quite by accident, I discovered how to listen in from the
other phone. I needed to call my mom for some reason and I picked up
the phone without thinking to hit the button for the other line. I
held the receiver to my ear but instead of a dial tone I heard an
unfamiliar voice.
"..and you're gonna tell me about it today I hope?" the voice said.
I put my hand on the mouthpiece, waiting with bated breath to see if
they had noticed me pick up another phone.
Mr Roberts came on the line: "Yeah I'll tell you the whole thing,
right now. You got a few minutes?"
"Sure."
"OK, its the same chick I told you about, with the big tits."
"Big for a fourteen year old, I'm sure," the voice said with sarcasm.
"No way," Mr Roberts answered emphatically. "No, these babies are
just B.I.G. Big! But ripe, you know, not hanging down or anything.
They stick straight at ya."
"Uh, huh."
"Anyway, I make her stay after school the other day. I make her stay
late after class, alone. Making up some excuse, like I need to update
my file, or something, so I just asked her her phone number, a bunch
of shit like that, you know, just to kill time. I just wanted to keep
her there."
"So, did you fuck her?" The voice sounded eager.
"No! No, I didn't fuck her, not yet anyway. She's not like the one
last year. You remember the one I told you about. The one who was
dying for it; who practically crawled down MY pants for it. Anyway,
this one's different. Real conservative, sweet. It's going to take a
lot of work if I'm going to stick it to her, you know, if ever. But
for now I'm just watching."
"You lucky prick!"
Mr Roberts laughed: "You said it, my friend! To get on with my story:
I keep her there until everyone else has cleared out, then I tell her
to hit the showers. Just then that punk kid, that guy who works for
me, he shows up, and he's asking me what to do and I'm panicking.
I'm thinking: 'I've got to get going,' so I tell him to do some damn
thing or other and I'm free. I'm just in time too. She's turning on
the water in there, facing me. Facing me! Those big ripe high school
tits are jiggling right in front of me, then they're all wet, and the
water is running over 'em in these two little water falls that go down
each tit and over the nipples. Her nipples are small, you know and
tight."
"Nothing like a small nipple on a big tit, I always say," the voice on
the other end chimed in.
"Right you are! They're like two brand new little pencil erasers."
"What happened next?"
"Well, I swear she knows I'm watching, because she puts on a show.
Maybe being alone in the showers is a turn-on for her, but I think she
knows I'm looking, or she senses it anyway. Whatever. She washes her
hair, then soaps up those tits. I mean she's squeezing them with both
hands, cupping them, and I can see how firm they are by the way
they're moving."
"You gotta love a girl who loves her own tits."
"For sure. So I've got my cock out. I can't stand it any more, and I
figure she's almost done. But she's not. She's just getting started.
She takes the soap again and soaps up her bush. She's got a thin crop
of pussy hair on her which she works into a lather. Now she's facing
away from the water, sideways to me, but I can see clearly. She
starts rubbing her pussy!"
"No way!"
"Yes way! Right there in front of me. I can see her middle finger
stuck downwards between her thighs and she's making these slow side to
side motions, then round and round she goes. She kept if up for a few
minutes, and I joined her, you know, stroking my cock at the same
time. I can tell she was coming. She arches her back, her whole
body's spasoming and she lifts herself onto her toes. I can see her
ass twitching, giving these little pelvic thrusts, and her thigh
muscles clench up. Then her hand stops moving. I know she's coming
right then, at that instant. Her whole body stopped for a second,
then she started jerking, like she was riding an invisible bucking
bronco. Holy shit! Her tits were shaking. Everything was shaking,
and, man, I lost it. I shot my load right then, all aver the fucking
wall. I didn't care."
"That's amazing. Man you are one lucky dude!"
"I know, I know. I'll have to have you come over again some time,
when that kid isn't around, and you can check it out for yourself.
It'll be better than last time. Remember that volleyball game. I
sneaked you in there, didn't I, and while I glad handed all the
parents you got to check the whole team out showering. I took care
of, man. I'll do it again."
"And I thank you for it," the voice said.
"Listen," Mr Roberts went on. "I've got to go check up on that kid,
OK? I...."
That was all I heard. Putting down the receiver, I quickly tiptoed
out of the office. I hadn't gone far when Mr Roberts came out.
"Rivers!" he yelled at me as I was slinking through the locker room.
"Are you finished, or what?"
"No, I'm just taking a break," I told him.
"OK then, but back at it, soon. All right?" With that returned to
his office and shut the door behind him.
As I listened to him talk on the phone I didn't feel shock, or even
surprise; it only confirmed my feelings about him. I'd never liked
him because I always thought he had a sleazy, corrupt side, but I had
never been able to pin down specifically why. It no longer mattered:
this was worse than anything I could have imagined. I knew what he
was doing alone in that office all the time, and why he kept it locked
up like Fort Knox, proving to me for once and for all time that he was
a sleazy bastard. I could go on hating him with a clear conscience.
When he mentioned the girl's volleyball team, and how he had let his
friend spy on them, it filled me with a righteous, fiery anger. How
dare he! Yuki was on that team, MY Yuki! And that creep had been
letting his pals spy on her! I swore I would get even with Mr Roberts
for that, and that alone. I needed some proof though, some concrete
evidence against him other than a conversation I had spied on. I knew
that as a student any little indiscretion I committed would be used
against me, no matter how heinous a crime it served to expose, while
Mr Roberts would always get the benefit of the doubt. If I wasn't
very thorough, the bastard would wriggle out of it somehow. Before I
could tell anyone I would have to get into his office and figure out
exactly how he was doing it, then I could turn him in, armed with the
knowledge that when the door finally opened Mr Robert's secret would
be made plain for all to see.
I needed to act soon. The thought that Yuki was getting undressed
every day in front of him made me burn with hatred, and also with
jealousy. If anyone deserved to see her with her clothes off it was
me.
***
The snow lay heavy on the ground as February wore on. I bided my
time, watchful, ready to pounce whenever the opportunity presented
itself, but Mr Roberts didn't slip up. He always closed and locked
the door behind him when he left his office, even for a moment. I
began to despair of ever getting in there and figuring out what was
going on, resigning myself to the fact that I might have to go to Mr
Forbes, armed only with flimsy evidence to hold up against the word of
a teacher.
Mr Roberts kept up his phone calls to the same friend and several
others, so I got to hear some of his stories two or three times. His
goal was to fuck the student I heard him describe before. According
to him, he managed to pick out and fuck at least one student every
year. He took smug satisfaction in describing the joys of deflowering
fourteen and fifteen year-olds to his coterie of horny friends, to
whom he was something of a hero. Listening to him talk that way
enraged me; but my anger also thinly disguised jealousy, which I
cloaked in the guise of moral indignation.
As I sat in the office taking a break the phone rang. I could see the
light go on when Mr Roberts picked up, and I was soon on the other
extension.
"...anything going on?" the voice said.
"Nah, not at the moment," Mr Roberts answered, sounding bored.
"Listen, are you coming out with us Friday, like we planned?"
"Well, no. There's a change of plan, for me anyway." Mr Roberts
laughed, sounding self satisfied.
"What's up?"
"I've got a date Friday night!"
"You're shitting me. A date? You? What, are you wining and dining
those little girls now before you plug them? That just doesn't sound
like you, man."
"No, no," Mr Roberts cut in. "This is a real date. Progress on that
student is slow, too slow. In fact I'm wondering if I picked the
right one or not. Anyway, I'm not getting any right now. A most dire
situation. So I got myself fixed up with a date for Friday."
"Somebody I know?"
"Nope, no way. She works here at the school. You'd never have seen
her."
Somehow, before he said it, before he mentioned her name, I had the
sinking feeling, the absolute, utter sinking to the bottom of the
deepest pit of the ocean feeling that I knew exactly who he meant.
The room around me seemed to reel; I grabbed the arm of the chair to
keep from falling over backwards.
"She's the counselor at the school, or something," he said. "I dunno
exactly what the hell she does. Met her in the teacher's lounge over
there a few weeks ago."
"Well, is she a babe, or what? Inquiring minds want to know, buddy."
"OK, lets see. Yeah she's a babe, but not in the traditional babe
sense. She's Japanese, a little older. She's been to college,
educated you know, done that whole scene, but she's hot. I can tell.
Underneath all that book learnin' she wants it, bad. She just got a
divorce, and you know what they say."
"Hot to trot," they said in unison and laughed.
"I know the type," he continued. "I feasted on chicks like that all
through college: all prim and proper, so concerned about their image,
their reputation, all that shit. But once you nail them, you know,
once you break through that barrier, they turn out to be wild bitches
in heat. They'll do anything. And they're grateful for it! That's
the best part. You fuck them for a while and they start thanking you
for bringing them outta their shell, you know, opening them up and
all. But that's when you have to dump them. You have to be merciless
with chicks like that. They're smart, and they get dependent, and
that is fucking dangerous. Dangerous! Nothing more dangerous than
having a horny, brainy chick dogging your ass."
"Well, be careful. But it sounds like you're getting laid Friday
night. I guess we'll let you off the hook..."
"No!" Mr Roberts sounded angry. He had to lecture the guy some more.
"You don't understand a fuckin' thing I tell you! With a chick like
that you have to go slow. Maybe it'll take a couple of dates, I
dunno, two or three. It's an investment. A chick like this one has
to be comfortable with it. Both of you know what's going on here,
exactly why you're asking her out. She knows, and you certainly know,
but she needs a couple of drinks, a couple of dinners, maybe a kiss or
two before she'll do it, so you play along. Once she breaks down and
does it..."
I had heard enough. More than enough. His descriptions of women,
especially since they applied to Mrs Tanaka, sickened me. I placed
the phone gently in the cradle and left the office. That bastard! It
was bad enough that he spied on Yuki, but now he was going after Mrs
Tanaka, and in a much more threatening way. I wondered what Mrs
Tanaka could possibly see in a creep like Mr Roberts, such a low life
pervert. Of course she didn't know he was a pervert, or a low life
either, I realized. He must really turn on the charm when he's around
women. They would have no idea about this side of him, until it was
too late. Still, being a psychologist, I reasoned, she would have
some insight into a character like this. She must know the type.
Even I had seen through him right away: the vague sense that he was a
sleaze had been there all along and all of this had only confirmed
what I already knew. She must surely have an even keener sense than
mine. Why couldn't she see it?
Then a disturbing thought occurred to me, a thought that slowly gnawed
away at me. I remembered Mrs Tanaka telling me how she had enjoyed
our little moment on her couch. Images of her came to my mind: of her
kissing and holding me passionately, the way she looked with her
little half smile at my come soaked pants afterward. How much come
had she seen in her life, I wondered? How many men had she been with?
Somehow, although I knew better, I had deluded myself into thinking of
her as being pure and innocent, like Yuki. The realization that she
was a sexual being, a woman with her own sexual feelings and desires
made me uncomfortable. Mrs Tanaka might 'need some' in the same way
that Mr Roberts did. She indeed might see right through him, know his
type. "She knows what's going on," he had said: maybe that was the
reason she was going out with him.
The fear that Mrs Tanaka and Mr Roberts might have sex threw me into a
panic. I couldn't let her go out with him, possibly sleep with him.
There was no way I could stand by and let that happen: she was mine!
He didn't deserve her, that sleaze ball. I had to act, and before
Friday, two days away. The rest of that day, and long into the night,
images of Mr Roberts and Mrs Tanaka engaged in every possible of kind
of sexual activity whirled around in my brain, tormenting me.
***
The next day I had arranged to meet Yuki for more volleyball practice.
I listlessly threw her the ball without much enthusiasm. I could
hardly look at her any more after overhearing that phone call: it only
made me more painfully aware of the fact Mr Roberts got his chances to
look at her too, and he had seen her in ways that I could only dream
about. Also, I had no idea yet how I could stop her mother from
going out with him the next day and I knew that if he did sleep with
her I would be forced--I would force myself--to listen to him describe
it in lurid detail to his pals over the phone.
Yuki, sensing my discomfort, suggested we have a seat in the
bleachers.
"Are you all right?" she asked. "You look sick, or something."
"I'm fine," I said. "I've just got problems, big ones this time."
"Poor Richard, always with problems. Can I help you in any way?" she
asked, patting my arm.
"Just keep doing that," I thought.
"No, not really," I sighed. "Just talk to me. Help me take my mind
off things, OK?"
"Sure Richard. What do you want me to talk about?"
"Well," I started cautiously, "how is your mom doing? You said she was
really upset a while ago. I wondered if she was OK now."
I had to be careful, very careful. I needed information about her
mother but I knew that to get it I would have to tread on some very
thin ice, risking possible exposure.
"She seems to be better now. That's sweet of you to ask."
"So far so good," I thought.
"Do you guys talk much, about things, you know, personal stuff? Like,
does she know about me. I mean us...I...I mean that we practice
together and stuff?"
She raised her eyebrows, normally an achingly cute gesture that made
me long to reach out and grab her, but in this context it was
alarming.
"Hmm," she said slowly. "Richard, you have no idea what it is like
having a psychologist for a mother. Every little thing you do gets
dissected and analyzed. Every time you do something she is ready with
an explanation. She is very good at getting her way too, because she
knows all of the tricks you might use in advance. Don't misunderstand
me: I'm very close to my mother. We share everything, and we talk
about a lot, but there are some things, some personal and important
things, now that I'm older, that I don't bring up with her any more.
She respects my privacy now that I'm...developing...and so I haven't
told her about you. It's too special."
She blushed and looked down at her hands resting on her bare thighs.
Her honesty floored me. She had never given any indication that she
thought of me as someone special before, and now that she had I could
only sit speechless and stare at her in blank amazement, wanting her
more badly than ever.
"You're so nice to ask about my mother." She lay her hand on my
shoulder and let it rest there. "She's fine. Really good in fact.
She has got some big secret date coming up that she is so happy and
excited about, but she absolutely will not tell me who it is. It is
all some big mystery: some mystery man. I think she is finally
getting on with her life, you know, forgetting about my father and all
of the awful things he did to her. She is ready to start enjoying
life again."
To me "enjoying life" meant only one thing: having sex with Mr
Roberts. My dual obsession was killing me. Whenever something good
happened on one front, the other front collapsed in disaster. Yuki
had just told me that I was special to her. She had her hand on me,
touching me at that very moment, something I had lain awake at night
hoping for, yet all I could think about was her mother getting worked
up and excited, ready to give herself to that creep Mr Roberts. I had
to do something, and I had to do it, what ever it was, that day.
"Richard, I bet you are coming down with something," she said. "You
really look pale."
We parted and she jogged off across the gym. Not long ago nothing
could have torn my eyes off her retreating form, but that day I hardly
noticed. I left the gym and ran headlong into Mr Roberts moving at
a brisk pace along the walkway.
"Whoa there Rivers," he said. "You're just the fellow I could use
right now!"
I told him I wasn't working that day, but he said that if I helped him
out for fifteen or twenty minutes right now, I could have tomorrow
off. All he needed me to do was watch the office while he ran an
important errand: he had to deliver some flowers to a lady. I noticed
the bouquet under his arm, for Mrs Tanaka no doubt. Just to kick
myself, to add humiliation to the total defeat crashing down on me I
assured him that I would be happy to help him out. We parted: he with
a spring in his step, me dragging my heels back to the gym.
Mr Roberts had turned off all the lights in the locker room. An eerie
gray darkness greeted me when I opened the door. The lights to the
outer office were the only illumination in the place. Moving
carefully between the benches and lockers in that twilight I finally
came to the office and threw myself into the chair. My resignation
was total. He must be over there in Mrs Tanaka's office this very
moment, sweet talking her. Maybe she had even invited him to have a
seat on the couch: our couch!
I couldn't stand it. I leaped to my feet and paced the room like a
caged animal. Several minutes went by before I noticed with gleeful
astonishment that Mr Roberts had left the door to his inner office
ajar. In his haste to get to Mrs Tanaka he had finally slipped,
finally made that one, fatal mistake. And like the caged animal
seeing its last chance, I pounced.
I hurried into the inner office and pushed the door almost all the way
closed behind me. I didn't know how much time I had. Taking a quick
look around I noted how ordinary it was: just a plain metal desk,
littered with loose papers, a couple of file cabinets, posters of
various athletes on the walls...But it was obvious right away how Mr
Roberts concealed the secret of this office. He must have counted on
the fact that no one would ever even get through the door. On the
wall, right behind the desk, hung a large calendar with the title
"Iron Women" emblazoned across the top. Miss February, a busty blonde
flexing her biceps, with only two dumbbells for clothing, grinned at
me. Lifting the calendar revealed a hole nearly three inches in
diameter in the center of the wall.
As I bent down to peer through the hole the sound of running water
began abruptly. "Some one's in the locker room!" I thought. "Mr
Roberts must have come back and he's taking a leak." I tip toed out
of there as fast as I could, carefully replacing the calendar on the
wall. In the outer office I paused to let the adrenaline rush pass.
The sound of running water was fainter, almost inaudible from there:
pipes must run through that wall, I reasoned, feeling ridiculous for
jumping at the false alarm. I briefly considered not going back in to
the office again; I had all the evidence I needed already. I could
go to Mr Forbes, or whomever, and lead them right to the hole in the
wall. But, in the grip of a compelling curiosity I couldn't turn
back, I had to go in again and actually look through that hole myself.
Back in the office I immediately went to the calendar. Taking it down
I leaned to peer through the hole. As it passed through the wall it
narrowed considerably so that on the other side it could have only
been about the size of a dime, I guessed. As I expected, it opened
into the girl's showers. Like ours, the girl's showers were simply a
rectangular tiled room with a row of shower heads along one long wall.
The hole was positioned so that it looked straight down the line of
showers.
The sound that had scared me was one of the showers running, splashing
onto the empty floor. Just as I was about to pull my eye from the
hole Yuki stepped into view, naked. I started. She was looking right
at me, standing not even ten feet away but she showed no reaction: the
hole must be well hidden on her side.
Standing outside the stream of water, she held the hot-cold knob with
one hand while making little jabbing motions with the other, testing
the temperature. Her breasts shook slightly with the motion of her
arm. I had only seen her in her uniform or school clothes before: her
breasts always flattened tightly against her body by the little bras
she wore or the tight volleyball outfit. Now standing out freely from
her slight frame they looked surprisingly heavy, like small ripe
fruits budding off a supple tree. My eyes traveled down her body,
below her belly. Her pubic hair, already dotted with a few shiny
water droplets, like pearls resting on a bed of the softest grass,
grew sparsely so that I could see her pale white skin through it.
Growing towards the center of her body it thickened, forming a small
tuft, a dark line that passed between her legs. She stepped under the
water, turning sideways to me; her jutting breasts proudly lifting
their nipples upward; below her slim waist she swelled: the soft
mound of her belly rising gently before plunging into the fine growth
of hair below and disappearing between the soft outward curve of her
thighs. The steamy water beat down on the small of her back and
flowed over her in one graceful arc, down over her behind to the top
of her thighs.
In one hand she held a bar of soap which she used to quickly lather
her arm pits and breasts. I could see her soft flesh give as she
rubbed herself. She modestly applied soap between her legs, lathering
up her pubic hair then made a slow full circle under the stream with
her arms raised to rinse all the suds off. Turning off the water she
suddenly stepped out of the shower and my field of view.
The whole thing couldn't have lasted more than one or two minutes, but
thinking about it later, going over and over every minute detail
seemed to stretch it much longer. Something about that heightened
state of perception, when it seemed as if my eyes and every pore of my
body strained to absorb as much of her as I could, had the effect of
obliterating the flow of time. I might have stood there looking at
her for an hour, or all day, the impressions of those fleeting moments
burned themselves into my memory so strongly.
The feeling that I had to get out of that office abruptly cut off my
thoughts of Yuki. Mr Roberts must be on his way back, or he would be
very soon. Leaving everything as I had found it, I left.
Mr Roberts came back from his visit to Mrs Tanaka smirking as he stood
talking to me. I didn't even hear what he was saying I was so dazed
by what I had just seen and enraged at the thought that he had just
come from Mrs Tanaka's office.
"I've got you now, you bastard," I thought.
I ran to the main building after he finally let me go, trying to catch
Mrs Tanaka before she went home for the night. I decided then that I
had to tell her about Mr Roberts right away, to protect both herself
and Yuki. Rounding the corner of the gym at a full run I saw the rear
of her car as it left the parking lot and sped away. I had no idea
where she lived or her phone number. Waiting for tomorrow would be
too late. I sank down on the cold icy curb and cursed myself.
Fin
Part 2
Richard Rivers
Subject: Story: Her Name Was Yuki (Part 3, of 3) [Male, Female, Sex, Japan,
Volleyball]
From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers)
Date: 30 Nov 1997 15:48:49 GMT
--------
This story contains graphic descriptions of sex, although you will
have to read fairly far into it to find them, so if you are under 18,
object to that sort of material, or just don't have any patience, stop
now.
This story also contains a plot, so if you don't know what that is, or
are offended by the very idea, stop now. Without giving it away I
should mention that all of the sex in this story is between consenting
individuals, however some of the characters are below legal age and
some not: draw your own conclusions from that and read on at your own
risk.
Part 1 serves as more or less an introduction to Parts 2 and 3 but is
hopefully enjoyable on its own. I wouldn't mind receiving
constructive criticism of this story in order to insure that future
efforts are of a higher quality. I suppose "It sucks!" is
constructive on a certain level but I'd rather hear things that might
eventually help the writing improve. The inverse does not apply to
compliments. If you didn't see part one or two and want it before you
read on, mail me, or wait: I will post it all together (somewhere:
ASS?) after the final part (3) is finished.
Synopsis of parts one and two:
A shy High school student, Richard, develops an infatuation for a
transfer student from Japan, Yuki. He develops insomnia and
nightmares about his father who has recently left the family, for
which he seeks counseling from the school's new counselor, Mrs Tanaka,
Yuki's mother. In exchange for the counseling Richard has to work in
the gym a couple of days a week doing odd jobs for Mr Roberts, the
slightly sleazy gym teacher.
Back in Japan Yuki was a star volleyball player. Her first
conversation with Richard is about how there is nobody at the school
to help her practice. Richard finds her in the gym and helps her:
they become friends. Yuki tells him that her father too has just left
them.
Meanwhile Richard starts to discover he is attracted to Mrs Tanaka as
well: he now dreams about her every night. Part one ends at the end
of the first semester of school, with Richard in much better spirits,
vowing to take a more active role in pursuing Yuki.
Part two begins with the new year. Richard is disappointed to find
that Yuki treating him coolly; she seems to be avoiding him. At his
first session with Mrs Tanaka Richard notices that her mood is bleak.
They are both preoccupied and lose track of time. Meanwhile a
snowstorm has blown up and trapped them alone in the school building,
where they are forced to spend the night. One thing leads to
another...
Yuki confronts Richard. He panics, thinking she has found out what
has happened, but she is merely worried about her mother's mood, and
about him: she thinks he has been avoiding her. Richard is
surprised to discover that he longs for both the mother and the
daughter but is in despair over ever being able to consummate his dual
desires when Mrs Tanaka tells him they cannot see each other any more.
While working in the gym Richard begins to eaves drop on Mr Robert's
phone conversations, discovering that Mr Roberts has a taste for
underage girls and is somehow spying on the girls showers from his
office. Richard is determined to find out how. One day he discovers
that Mr Roberts has arranged a date, with Mrs Tanaka. Knowing what he
knows about Mr Roberts, combined with his longing for her make him
feel it is imperative that he stop them from going out. Richard
finally gains access to Mr Roberts inner office and discovers how he
has been spying on the girls showers. While investigating, Richard
happens to see Yuki taking a shower.
Mrs Tanaka's date with Mr Roberts is to be the very next day. Richard
madly tries to catch her before she leaves the school that evening but
just misses her...
Richard Rivers
HER NAME WAS YUKI
Part 3:
That evening, after sitting through a seemingly endless dinner with my
mom, unable to eat anything, I started panicking as thoughts of Mr
Roberts, Mrs Tanaka and Yuki all jumbled together in my fevered
imagination. The sweet memory of Yuki showering was completely ruined
by my growing anxiety over what Mrs Tanaka might be getting herself
into. The longer I sat the more agitated I became.
When I could stand it no longer, I went to the phone in the basement
and called directory assistance: only one K. Tanaka listed, it had to
be her. I decided that if Yuki answered I would hang up. There was
no way I could speak to her and then ask for her mother. I couldn't
face it.
The phone rang twice before a woman answered. Or was it a girl? I
couldn't tell!
"Hello? Is anyone there?" The voice asked, again.
I froze.
"Who is this?" She sounded angry now but I recognized the voice: It
was Mrs Tanaka! I let out an audible sigh, but I had just made my job
much harder.
"Mrs Tanaka?" I finally spoke up.
"Yes, now who is it?" she said angrily.
"I'm sorry, I didn't recognize your voice. It's Richard...Rivers,
Richard Rivers."
"Richard?" She sounded wary.
"Yes, Hi Mrs Tanaka!" I laughed nervously. Her end of the line was
silent. "I'm really sorry to bother you, but something important,
well, bad, something bad has happened and I need to talk to you."
"Do you want to set up an appointment?" she asked.
"No, no. I need to talk to you right now."
"Well, all right. But let me move to another phone. Can you hold on
a..."
"No!" I practically shouted, then lowered my voice. "Sorry. No, I
mean, no I can't talk on the phone. This may sound weird, but I need
to meet you at school, tonight."
"Tonight? It's seven thirty! This must be able to wait until
tomorrow. Can't it?" Then her tone changed, her voice got very soft
and she practically whispered: "This isn't about, you know, the night
of the snow storm, is it?"
It seemed to take an hour for her to agree to meet me at the school,
and I don't think I ever convinced her that this had nothing to do
with our night together because, of course, it did; it had everything
to do with it, and her reluctance only made me more nervous about the
whole thing. I slipped away from home and ran the entire way back to
school in the dark.
When I came panting into the parking lot she sat waiting for me in her
car, suggesting we go to her office and have a seat before I said
anything. With her back to the door she stood before me just as Yuki
had a few weeks ago.
"What is this all about, Richard?" she asked, perturbed, but with a
little concern in her voice.
I quickly ran down the details about Mr Roberts; his phone
conversations, and what I had discovered that afternoon, without
admitting I knew about her date with him or that I had seen Yuki
taking a shower. Her eyes widened as I told my story. When I had
finished, ending with a made up version of how I had looked
through the hole into an empty shower room, she finally broke her
silence.
"Richard, this is terrible, just terrible." She shivered, folding her
arms across her chest. I knew it had just occurred to her that she
still had a date with this guy set for tomorrow.
"But why are you telling me?" she asked. "Why didn't you just go to
Mr Forbes with this?"
"You're the only person I really trust," I said lamely.
She raised her eyebrows: so reminiscent of Yuki, I thought, but by her
look it was clear she didn't believe me.
"Really? Come on, there has to be more to it than that."
I knew I had to give her the truth then, or at least part of it, and I
knew it would hurt her. I felt cornered
Slowly I recounted the phone conversation I had heard the day before,
telling her all the things he had said about her indirectly. Tears
forced their way out the corners of her beautiful eyes, making them
all bright and shiny as she stood silently listening. Seeing the hurt
my words did to her I stopped, but she told me to go on, to tell her
everything. I recounted all I could remember Mr Roberts saying,
including having his friend watch the volleyball team shower.
She covered her face in her hands and stood very still. I could see
the tears wetting her fingers, falling to the floor. I didn't know
what to do; somehow this is all my fault, I thought. The pity I felt
only inflamed my desire for her, and I began to tell her how I felt
about her: I hadn't been able to get her out of my mind since the snow
storm; how beautiful she was; by bringing her here and telling her all
this I only wanted to protect her, and that even if we could never be
together again it didn't matter: I cared about her so much, I would do
anything for her.
Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs and I immediately
regretted telling her how I felt. I thought I had gone to far,
insulted her, and at a time when she had already suffered enough; but
she looked up at me with her tear-streaked face, trying to smile.
"Why do all the men in my life have to turn out to be creeps, except
you?" she said softly.
She told me about Mr Roberts then and how she had come to have a date
with him. He had been courting her for some time it turned out,
almost since the night of the snow storm. Showing up in the teacher's
lounge he had acted so sweetly, so polite. A few times he had brought
her small gifts, flowers, chocolates, other things. They had chatted
after some of Yuki's volleyball games, and she had grown to like him.
Since her husband had left her in the summer she had been alone, she
explained. The wounds from the bitter separation were still healing
and Mr Robert's attentions had made her feel wanted, ready to share
friendship and intimacy with a man again for the first time.
"This must have been so hard for you," she said. "I'm so sorry to
have hurt your feelings. I had no idea...You are so sweet to try and
protect me. No man has ever done anything like that for me."
She broke down again as I stood helplessly watching.
"Mrs Tanaka, what can I do? I don't know what to say." Seeing a
grown woman cry like that broke my heart. I felt on the verge of
crying myself.
"Just give me a hug," she said.
I hugged her, feeling her small shoulders heaving under my arms, and I
started crying too. We stood that way for a long time, each lost to
our own sorrows, and, almost exactly as it had the first time, our
passion emerged from the depths, as if our bodies, knowing what they
wanted from each other all along only had to bide their time until our
minds, exhausted, could hold them back no longer.
She looked up. "Oh, you're crying," she said, and softly kissed the
tear running down my cheek. Our lips met, suddenly, in a long deep
kiss. Just as she had said, once crossed, the bridge to intimacy was
easier the second time. She clung to me like a woman drowning. Her
tongue flickered in an out of my mouth, soft yet insistent, leaving
behind a tingling sensation where it touched. Her arms tightened
around my shoulders pulling us together, pressing the soft contours of
her body into me. I massaged her shoulders, letting my hands slowly
slide down her back, feeling the strap of her bra through her thin
blouse. Finding the ridge of her spine, I traced downward to the
small of her back, and lower, over the top of her skirt to her behind.
My palms flattened and grasped her firm body.
Pulling her mouth from mine, her voice breathless, she said: "Grab me,
harder."
I squeezed her against me, surprised her firmness: the palpable feel
of her body made me vividly aware that in my arms I held another human
being, like myself made up of living flesh and bone, and muscle,
throbbing with life. My fingers sank into her, kneading her. The
bones of her pelvis dug into my thighs, and between them her warm
feminine softness, yielding yet hungrily persistent, pressed against
me.
She broke free from our kiss and lay her head on my shoulder, letting
her hands travel up and down my back. The sensations were incredibly
sweet and vibrant. Where her hands passed, they left in their wake
a tingling sensation, and an empty yearning feeling that only the
renewal of her touch could quench.
The pressure of the bulge in my pants against her made me a little
self conscious. As she pressed her hips against me I tried to pull
back; painfully aroused already, burrowing into her like that hurt.
I released her and took a step back. Her arms hung on my shoulders
while I brought my hands up between them to her breasts. A sound
escaped from deep in her chest as my hands covered them completely,
her hard nipples boring into the soft palms of my hands.
"Softly. Gently," she whispered.
"Sorry," I whispered back.
She put a finger to my lips. "No sorrys today, OK?"
I kissed her finger and she laughed, soundlessly.
"Mmm, that's it," she said in response to my lighter pressure. "Just
like that."
Ever so gently, I kneaded her breasts while she purred. Her hands
slid down to my chest and, searching, found my nipples. It had never
occurred to me that my nipples had any use whatsoever until that
moment, when she gently pinched them, sending a wave of pleasure
directly to my groin. I gasped.
"Ooh! too hard?" she asked, concerned, but without releasing me.
"No," I gasped. "Oh, no."
"Do it to me, just like I'm doing to you," she whispered and gently
twisted my nipples.
I found her stiff little knobs and twisted them, synchronizing my
motions with hers, feeling them tighten and grow larger between my
fingers.
"That's nice," she said. Her head rolled back. I could see her eyes
sparkling. "Keep doing that, for as long as you can. Whatever I do
to you OK?"
I nodded.
She looked at me with the mischief that some times stole across her
face, the faintest flicker of a smile that twinkled and vanished,
almost a memory while still there. She let her left hand rest on my
chest while her right hand dropped down and I felt it rise between my
legs. Gently raking her finger tips across my jeans she found the
soft spot where my balls were and stroked them. I lost my grip on her
nipples. The pleasure was too much.
"Ah, how soon you forget," she laughed softly.
I started reaching for her again but she patted my hands down.
"That's OK. It's your turn. Just enjoy. I think I know just what a
young man like you needs," she said.
Now both her hands dropped down and she traced the along my straining
shaft. I let my eyes close as she continued stroking me.
"Mm, such a strong boy, and eager too," she said under her breath.
The buttons to my jeans popped open one by one when she parted my fly.
My straining underwear could hardly contain me. She gave me a little
pinch between her thumb and forefinger on my swollen head.
Looking down I saw a patch of wetness spreading across the fabric.
"We have no time to lose," she said in a husky voice. "We've got to
get you out of these pants. Shoes first."
She knelt and started unlacing my shoes. I reached down to stroke her
thick black hair and she nuzzled her cheek against my thigh while
diligently helping me step out of my shoes.
She asked me to take off my pants. When I stood before her in my
underpants she grabbed the elastic band and slowly slid them down.
Finally free, I sprang outward, burning hot against the cool air of
the
room; and still more blood rushed in making me painfully erect. She
delicately put two fingers under the tip and pushed upward, pinning it
against my belly.
"What a beautiful cock," she said. "Is that what you call it? Cock?
Or what word do you use?"
She studied it carefully.
Even after everything that we had done so far, hearing her say the
word 'cock' with that lilting, sing-song voice I loved was the most
arousing thing I had ever experienced. I closed my eyes.
"Well?" she persisted softly. "What do you call this?" she asked,
giving me a little pinch.
"I don't know," I mumbled. "I guess I just call it 'it,' or
something, or nothing, usually. It's never come up, before," I
stammered.
My unintentional pun made her laugh.
"I doubt that," she said, giving me a few feathery soft strokes.
"It doesn't matter anyway," she said. "I was just curious. Why don't
you sit down?"
She had me sit on the couch with my legs spread and she knelt between
them. Grasping me lightly again she began a series of quick upward
strokes from base to the tip, alternating hands like someone climbing
down a rope. Her hands felt as if they were clad in silk gloves and
her quick motions coaxed me upward, stiffer. I let my head roll back
over the top of the couch. I had never felt anything like what she
was doing to me.
She grasped me firmly with one hand.
"Don't you want to watch?" she asked.
I opened my eyes and looked down: protruding from her small hand, my
wine-dark color stood out against the whiteness of her skin. She
started stroking me again, now more firmly while her other hand found
my balls and cradled them.
"Richard," she said. "Look at me. I want you to look into my eyes
when you come."
Her gaze fixed on mine; the serene look of concentration softened by
the faintest trace of a smile never wavered as she continued her firm,
inexorable strokes.
The pleasure had stopped coming over me in waves: now I vibrated with
continuous ecstasy. The pressure building up in me was becoming
overwhelming. My body start jerking erratically and I let out an
involuntary sound.
"Oh, how hard you are, how big you're getting. Are you going to come
for me?" she asked.
"Mmhmm," is all I could manage.
"Then pull up your shirt," she whispered. "I don't want you staining
your clothes again."
The way she said that, her motherly tone of concern, sent me over the
edge. I barely got my shirt tails pulled up out of the way in time.
The first wet splash landed on my chest and I groaned. She timed her
strokes perfectly between my throbbing spurts. I drained myself
completely onto my chest and belly as she expertly milked out every
drop. All the while her eyes stayed locked on me, softly boring into
mine, serene, unwavering.
"Ooh, so much," she cooed as she continued stroking, slowly easing the
last few shudders from my body.
"Have you ever tasted it?" she asked, wide eyed.
I shook my head, no. She dipped her finger in the pool of come on my
belly and drew it up to my mouth, sliding her finger inside. I tasted
the sweet salty drop.
Fishing in her purse next to me on the couch she produced a small
handkerchief and started to clean me up.
"No messy clothes this time," she said with a conspiratorial smile.
Raising herself to the couch she sat next to me and kissed me deeply.
"Thank you, Mrs Tanaka," I said.
"Kozue, please. After all that you still can't say my name?" She
gave me another little kiss.
"All right Kozue," I said. It felt awkward. She would always be Mrs
Tanaka to me no matter what we did.
"What about you?" I asked. "I mean...don't you want?...I mean...I
could...We could...you know." I was trying to ask her to have sex
with me, still too embarrassed to say the words.
"Of course 'I want,' but just rest now for a minute. I want to show
you how to please a woman, just like I pleased you."
Turning off all the lights except her desk lamp she lit the room with
a soft yellow glow.
"I'm a little shy," she said. "I'm not sixteen any more you know."
She stood with her back to me and slowly undid her blouse. Unzipping
her skirt she let it fall to the floor at her ankles. My eyes
hungrily roamed over her soft round breasts, her narrow waist, and
full behind. She came and sat next to me on the couch in her bra and
panties and I ran my hands over her slender body, from her slight
shoulders down to her waist. She didn't have anything to be shy
about, I thought. Her body was firm to the touch, yet soft, her skin
smooth, silky and warm as my hands glided over her. She turned
towards me.
"Undo me," she said in a soft voice, bringing her hands up to touch
her breasts. "The clasp is in the front."
"Twist, and then pull apart," she advised my fumbling fingers, and
when the two cups separated to expose her small round breasts: "Ah,
that's it!"
"Now touch me...lightly...gently...just your finger tips. Make little
circles."
She was telling me exactly how to touch her, in a voice soft and
smooth, like a hypnotist's.
"Now pinch me, like before, just the nipples. Softly."
Her nipples felt firm and warm between my fingers.
"Ahhh...twist, gently...back and forth."
I felt them stiffen.
"Now pull, softly," she said, her voice husky with pleasure. "Yes,
oh, yes."
She let herself fall back on the couch.
"Kiss me, here," she gently tapped between her breasts."
I leaned over her and gently placed my lips in the space between them,
smelling the sweet fragrance of her body as my face descended into the
cleft between her breasts. She smelled like sandalwood, or some
exotic spice.
"Now suck on me, softly, like a little baby. That's right...just the
nipple. Close your lips around it and pull."
I tasted her and felt her breast swelling between my lips. She let me
take more of her into my mouth: I hungrily opened wide, I couldn't get
enough. I filled my mouth with first one, then the other of her
breasts. Back and forth she guided me between them, with soft words
and the gentle touch of her hand.
"Now its time for these to come off," she said running her thumbs
under the waistband of her plain cotton
panties.
"Help me."
She raised her bottom off the couch and I helped her ease them off,
over her behind and thighs, around the bend in her knees, to her
ankles where she kicked them off playfully.
My eyes went right to the small triangular patch of downy hair.
"Have you ever seen a woman's body before?" she asked. "I mean all of
it..."
"No," I answered in a whisper.
"I'll show you. Get on your knees in front of me."
She slid forward on the couch, almost lying on her back as I knelt
before her.
"Push my knees apart, slowly."
I eased her legs apart and watched as her body unfolded before me.
Her small full thighs parted revealing more of the downy hair, and
pushing her knees further apart caused her to unfold, the outer lips
parting, revealing the soft bare skin, and her tiny lips, still
clinging together at her center.
I looked, captivated by the sight of her: there was more to this than
I had imagined.
"Give me your hand," she said and guided me to her soft outer lips.
"Stroke me here first. Softly...up and down."
She took a deep breath as my fingers grazed through her curly hairs
and found the soft swelling mound of skin beneath, stroking up one
side and down the other. I found the tiny crease, where the top of
her thigh joined her body and ran my fingers along it, then outward,
down the inside of her leg. The sight of her lips still folded
together fascinated me. I couldn't keep my hands away and I let my
fingertips graze that soft skin, slowly pushing them from side to
side.
"That's nice," she whispered. "Now open me. Be gentle, so soft with
your fingers; like you would open the wings of a butterfly."
With the fingers of two hands a parted her and saw tender pink flesh
exposed. She took my hand and bringing my finger up to her mouth she
sucked on it.
"Now stroke me. Right down the center...Yes...just that way. Up and
down. As softly as you can."
I looked up to her face: with her eyes closed tightly she looked like
a little girl, asleep, so beautiful. I spread the moisture from her
mouth across her delicate skin. My finger began to glide more easily
up and down as she produced wetness of her own.
"Do you know what a woman's clitoris is?" she asked.
"I think so," I said, even though I really had only a vague notion.
"Do you know where it is?"
"Isn't it really hard to find?" At least that's what reading all
those Playboy magazines of my Dad's made me think.
"Not hardly," she laughed and took my hand, guiding my finger.
"It's...right...here! Mmm."
I felt a little nub, like a tiny nipple under my finger.
"How hard was that?" she asked, laughing softly at her own little
joke. "Now, rub me there, but ever so gently. Spread some of my
moisture to it...yes. Go round and round it."
I did as she asked and felt it stiffen under my finger. She let out a
small gasp.
She lay silently except for little gasps or sharp inhalations while I
continued stroking her. I tried different motions, seeing if I could
get her to make a sound or take another deep breath. She seemed to
particularly like a rapid side to side motion with just my finger tip
touching her. Her thighs began clenching and unclenching as she moved
her pelvis up and down.
"I want you to taste me," she said under her breath but with urgency.
"Lick me."
I lowered my face between her legs: I could smell the deep fragrance
of her body as she stood open, glistening in front of me. Bringing my
tongue against her, I tasted her: salty, tangy, a musky-damp, like
nothing I had ever tasted before or imagined.
Holding the sides of my head she guided me in long strokes from bottom
to top, lingering there to circle the little bud of her clitoris
before gliding back down.
"Grab me!" she said, and raised herself off the couch so that I could
slide my hands under her behind. Then her soft voice grew more
insistent. "Squeeze me with your hands. Harder. Hold me against
you." She was rocking her pelvis against me and in my hands I felt
the muscles in her behind working pushing herself against me with
each little thrust.
"Now stay there," she commanded in a whisper, placing her hands at my
temples, holding me at her clitoris.
I began slowly circling the little bud with my tongue and immediately
a felt her muscles tighten. She stopped moving and held herself
rigidly still.
"Just like that. Keep doing it just like that," she implored, her
voice a ragged whisper. Bringing her legs over my shoulders she
clamped my head tightly between her thighs. I could hardly breathe
but she kept on telling me not to stop; I went on, gasping for what
air I could get.
At last she let out a long low wail and lifted my face away from her.
"I'm coming," she gasped and clamped her thighs together. Her body
writhed and squirmed. With her eyes still closed she reached for me,
grasping my shoulders.
"Come up here. Kiss me." She pulled my mouth, wet with her juices,
to her own and kissed me deeply. Still in the throes of her orgasm,
she writhed and I had to hold her tightly to keep my mouth on hers.
When she had calmed down we lay back on the couch side by side looking
up at the ceiling. I was aroused and hard again, I wanted her so
badly.
"Mrs...I mean Kozue," I said. "Can we, you know, have sex." I was
still embarrassed to even ask.
Noticing my condition, she gave my thigh a little pat.
"No Richard. No we can't. I mean I can't. That's something I just
can't do, OK?" She looked away and I though she might start crying.
"We have to talk about this Richard. But, in this state you're not
going to hear a thing I say, are you?"
Her voice brightened.
"OK, just this one last thing, then we have to talk," she said as she
grasped me in her hand. "I don't think I could keep up with you,
anyway."
She quickly stroked me to another climax. Almost as quick as I could
have done it myself I thought, but how much more enjoyable to feel
someone else's hand do it.
We both pulled our clothes on in silence. My post orgasm melancholia
was made worse by the fact that I knew that she was going to tell me
we shouldn't have done what we just did, that it was wrong, and we
could never do it again.
"Now we have to talk," she said as we settled back onto the couch.
"Let me tell you a little story, OK?
"You remind me of the first man I was ever with, the first man who
ever made love to me. From the minute I met you I thought of him, in
the back of my mind at first, but now I remember it more strongly.
Not that I planned any of this to happen," she waved her hand and let
it fall back to her lap. "But something about the way you act, the
way you react to things, to life, reminds me of him, strongly.
"I was sixteen, still in high school, living in Tokyo with my parents.
My mother and I had a terrible argument. I don't even remember what
it was about now, something small, stupid, that doesn't even
matter any more. I left our apartment that evening and took a train
across town just to get away from home. I didn't even know where I
was going. I guess I thought I could stay with a friend or something,
but ended up just walking the streets in the Shinjuku area. I just
walked blindly, I was so mad at my mother I didn't even see the world
around me any more. It got late, dark outside, before I calmed down
and I realized that I still hadn't called anybody. I still didn't
know what to do, but I knew I wasn't going home. That was certain.
"Finally, at about eleven at night, I started getting worried. It
might be too late to call any of my friends if I waited longer, so I
found a small restaurant and went in just to use the phone. Someone
was using it and I sat and waited my turn. The restaurant was one of
those sushi places where they put the ready made sushi on a conveyor
belt and it goes round and round. Anyway, I sat down and realizing I
was hungry, grabbed the first thing that came along. It was then that
I noticed him sitting at the end of the counter: an American, maybe in
his early thirties, I guess. I hadn't seen that many westerners at
that time to really know. But I knew he was handsome in an exotic
kind of way, with his bushy hair and beard.
"I'm not sure what came over me then, but I could see he was confused,
he obviously didn't know Japanese and he didn't know how that type of
restaurant worked. I got up and sat next to him. It was a crazy
thing to do. I hardly knew English at the time, and to just go up to
a stranger, a foreigner like that was crazy, very bold, because I was
a shy school-girl, but I did it. I think being angry, defiant against
my mother just loosened something in me, some wildness I never knew
was there. In my bad English I explained how he should just take
whatever he wanted and pay when he was finished: they calculated the
bill by counting the different colored plates. He thanked me and
offered to buy me whatever I wanted. I was grateful for the offer
since I didn't have much money with me and I was starving.
"He treated me to many pieces of sushi and we talked as best we could.
I forgot all about my parents, the phone call I was supposed to make.
He explained that this was his first trip to Japan. He was a
musician, playing in an orchestra that was on tour; he was a little
jet lagged and bewildered by everything at the moment. I remember
asking him about where he came from. He described his home town, some
large city in America that was only a fairly tail to me. As he told
me about his life, where he lived, what it was like to play in the
orchestra, I grew more and more attracted to him in my school-girl
way. As I said he was foreign, exotic, but I think handsome by any
standard. I developed an instant crush on him. Well, more than a
crush. At that age sex, romance, and boys were the only things I
thought about. Like a lot of young girls I longed for some prince
charming type to come along, and he fit the bill perfectly.
"I don't think his intention was to roam Tokyo looking for little
girls to pick up. He was a gentle soul, far from home and lonely. I
mentioned that I had run away, that I needed a place to stay, and he
offered to let me stay in his hotel, one of the best in Tokyo. I know
the request on my part was mostly innocent, naive, and maybe I'm
kidding myself, but I think it was on his part too. Or at least it
started out that way.
"Well, we got to his room. At first it was awkward. We watched TV,
he was very polite and formal with me, so it was I who made the first
move, showing him that I wanted more than just a place to stay. I
got up and sat on the bed next to him, and before long we were kissing
passionately. I'd never kissed a boy before so it was quite a new and
exciting feeling for me. When he started getting more physical with
me, touching my breasts and running his hands under my dress, I got
scared. I stopped him and explained that I had never done this
before: I was still a virgin and I was really nervous. He asked me if
I wanted him to stop. He was so sweet then, and it made me want him
more than before, so I said no, he didn't have to stop, but I didn't
know what to do, and I was afraid he would hurt me.
"Then the most wonderful thing happened. He turned out to be so
gentle, the perfect first lover in fact. He put on some music,
something slow and sad, music that started with a faint murmuring from
the low instruments of the orchestra and grew like a long sighing
breath, it was such deep music and so moving. He undressed me and
spent hours on foreplay, touching me everywhere with his hands, his
tongue, kissing me deeply. He explored my whole body, and he made me
feel so safe under his gentle, patient touch, so aroused, that when
he finally entered me I was ready, I couldn't wait in fact. It was
such a beautiful thing.
"I stayed with him for the next three days until he went back to
America. It was like a dream. I phoned my father at his office and
told him I was staying with a friend so they wouldn't go looking for
me. Then we made love; in the morning, after breakfast, and again in
the afternoon. We took long hot baths together. He gave me a ticket
to hear his orchestra play. It cost over a hundred dollars I think:
and there I was, so self conscious, sitting amongst all those people
in their formal evening dress, me in my little school-girl outfit.
But I loved watching him play. They played the same slow sad piece he
had put on in his hotel room. During the applause he gave me a tiny
wave that made me so proud, and made me shiver with desire for him.
After the concert we went back to his hotel room, ordered the most
lavish and expensive room service meal I had ever imagined, and then
made love again all night.
"I spent two more days like that with him and then he left for home.
We never exchanged addresses or anything. I know where he lives, I've
even seen his orchestra on television and caught glimpses of him
several times, but I've never thought to look him up again: by then I
was married, and the memory of those days is so perfect, my first
experience with love was so wonderful, I think that seeing him again
could never live up to that. Since then my luck with men hasn't
always been so good anyway. But I got off to such a good start I
think I've never lost my idealism about it. I'm thankful to him.
She stopped to wipe tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
"The reason I'm telling you all this is that you reminded me of him.
Something about you, the way you react to things, your gentle nature,
it struck me almost right away. I think that's why things happened
between us. It's my fault, I know, but I suppose it was almost
inevitable. I'm telling you because I think, like him, you would make
some young girl a wonderful lover. You just need a little experience,
the tenderness is already there, and the thought of you groping around
in the back seat of a car in some furtive, guilt ridden fashion just
seems wrong to me. America is such a puritanical country, so old
fashioned. I'll never get over it. It's the one thing I dislike
about your society. You have so much freedom here, so much vibrancy
and life: then why all these backward hang-ups, this fear about sex?
"I guess in some way I'm just trying to be for you what he was for me:
someone to teach you gently, kindly. But like that experience this --
I mean you and me-- this can't last. It shouldn't. We can share
something special, but then I have to go away; maybe not literally,
but we have to end it. There's no future between us. Do you see
that?
"Surely there is some young girl, someone your own age you are
interested in? Isn't there? You can tell me. You don't have to
worry about my feelings. I don't care who it is. Just tell me: is
there someone you long for? Someone whom the mere sight of sets your
heart pounding, makes your head swim?"
I felt like she had just looked right into my soul. After what she
had told me I couldn't lie to her, hold anything back.
"Yes," I said.
"Good," she whispered. "Good. That's who you should be spending your
energy on. I make it too easy for you, too comfortable. With me
there's no challenge. The pursuit of love shouldn't be comfortable,
not at your age. At your age it should be making you lose sleep, not
be able to eat, driving you a little crazy. This young girl, whoever
she is, should be the one you spend your days and nights longing for,
not me. Do you understand?"
I nodded. As she told me her story the image of the young girl in my
mind wasn't her, it was Yuki: the young girl that I could see shedding
her shyness and innocence, letting them give way slowly to her
emerging womanhood. I longed for that innocence, hers and mine
together, and that we might grow closer to one another as we came to
share more and more intimacy together. Perhaps being satiated as I
was then helped, but the rightness of what Mrs Tanaka was telling me
was undeniable. My desire for her faded and I thought more and more
of Yuki.
"You're right," I said. "Of course you are. But I love you..." She
started to speak, but I stopped her. "I mean I love you in the way
you love that man you met long ago, who was kind and gentle with you,
who set you on the right track. But there's one thing I have to say.
I can't keep this from you another day, not any more. I do long for
someone. There is someone who makes my heart pound, who keeps me up
at night, makes me not able to eat or sleep: it's your daughter,
Yuki."
***
The ball nicked the top of the net and spun there precariously for
what seemed like a gravity defying moment until it dropped on the far
side. Yuki came running headlong, diving, one arm outstretched as
she twisted her body in mid air trying desperately to get a hand under
before it hit the ground. Just barely missing it she landed with a
little yelp and slid under the net on her belly, winding up almost at
my feet.
"What a rotten thing to do," she said, smiling up at me, panting like
an eager dog returning his master's
stick.
We had been practicing what she called in her still sometimes funny
English, 'the desperation save.' I would throw the ball far away from
her and she practiced running it down, diving for it, doing anything
she could to keep it in play. She had crashed to the ground so many
times over the last half hour I marveled that her delicate body wasn't
black and blue.
"Richard, are you going to help me up?" she asked, still smiling,
holding out her hand.
I grasped her midway down the forearm, as I'd seen professional
athletes do, but she slipped her arm through mine so that our palms
came together as I pulled her to her feet. She stood close to me for
a
moment, still grasping my hand, before releasing it.
"This floor is dirty," she said with a grimace, brushing herself off.
"Whoever does the floors in here doesn't do a very good job. He must
be a day dreamer, I guess." She smiled and gave me a playful punch
on the arm.
Cleaning the floors was my job but I hadn't done it once in the three
weeks since Mr Robert's sudden departure. I'd spent all that time
helping Mr Davis, the new gym teacher, sort through files in the
office.
Sudden departure: that was the official line, what almost everyone in
the school knew about what happened to Mr Roberts. Only Mr Forbes,
Mrs Tanaka and myself knew the truth. The morning after I
had been with her in her office Mrs Tanaka contacted Mr Forbes and
together they had met Mr Roberts when he arrived at school. That's
all I knew. Mr Forbes had called me in later that morning, where I
had once again sat beside Mrs Tanaka as he lectured us on the need to
keep everything quiet. He assured me that Mr Roberts had no idea who
had found him out. 'A student' turned him in is what he had been
told. I wasn't filled with confidence that my anonymity would last
long. It must have been obvious right away who had turned him in.
For the moment though he was gone, out of a job, and as Mr Forbes
explained, in some legal trouble as well. That meeting was the last
time I had spoken to Mrs Tanaka.
Yuki turned her back to me.
"There is dust all over me," she said. "Can you do my back."
She pulled her pony tail over her shoulders exposing the nape of her
neck. A few wispy strands of hair too short to be caught up in the
pony tail grew in a tiny line down her neck, a small downy line
marking the center of her body.
I gently brushed non existent dust from her neck and shoulders. She
stood motionless as my hand crossed the small ridge where the uniform
traversed her back, a long shallow arc that dipped just low enough to
reveal the tops of her shoulder blades. My hands slid up and down
over the smooth fabric, along her firm slender body to the small of
her back.
"Lower," she whispered. Suddenly everything went still. The air
seemed to thicken and coagulate around us, as if we were suddenly at
the bottom of the ocean, moving as if in a dream.
I let my hands slowly trace from the small of her back, and below;
over that rise where the firmness of her body turned to softness. I
grazed the top of her behind with two hands now pausing at that line,
the line that existed in my mind alone, the act of crossing which
would take me beyond friendship and towards sensuality. Pausing,
suspending time briefly, my hands wavered then retreated up her back.
She started saying something to me but I didn't hear it. All I could
think about was Kozue, how much I had hurt her. The wry little smile
she gave me when I told her my feelings for Yuki remained frozen in
my mind. She hadn't said anything else about it, not directly, but
the subtle change in her tone of voice, her body language and all of a
sudden we were like strangers again. After being so close it felt
like having ice water dumped on me. The next day she had been
friendly, but distant and formal in front of Mr Forbes. When we left
his office she had just said good-bye and walked away. Anyone seeing
our exchange might have thought it friendly: only I knew how much pain
my deception had caused, how difficult to bear it was, and the guilt
of it crushed me. Now, poised at the brink with Yuki, I could not
bring myself to take the next step, add to the injury I had already
done
"...?"
The silence, the look on her face told me Yuki had just asked me a
question but I had no idea what she said.
"Richard!" Her shoulders rose and fell in exasperation. "Are you are
day dreaming again? What is your problem?"
"I'm sorry Yuki, what were you saying?"
She stamped her foot.
"You don't listen to a thing I say, do you? You just stare at me all
the time. It makes me uneasy. Is something wrong? Is it me?"
She looked away for a moment. I thought she was going to leave, trot
away coolly as she had done many times before.
"Can I talk to you? I mean really talk to you, when you will listen
to what I have to say?"
"Sure, Yuki," I said.
"Richard, why are you here?" she asked, sitting on the bottom row of
the bleachers. "I mean what makes you come to the gym all these times
to help me?"
She stopped me from answering, holding up a hand as I sat down next to
her.
"No, I'm sorry. I should say it differently." She looked up at the
ceiling in search of the right words, her eyes wide and beautiful.
"I mean, you have been so nice this year, to help me, to come here so
many times. You have been so patient with me. I'm grateful to you
for your dedication.
"Other than my mother you are my best friend here in America. I feel
we have gotten close to each other through all of the time we spend
together. But then there are times, like today, when I talk to you
and you don't seem to hear what I say. You seem to be so far off,
somewhere else, and I wonder if there is somewhere else you would
rather be. I feel as if I'm wasting your time, keeping you from
something important, maybe someone else more important...I want to be
your friend. I'm trying to, but sometimes I feel as if my words just
float away, unheard.
She sighed.
"Before I came here from Japan, my friends back home teased me about
what America would be like. None of us had ever been here, it was
like a dream and I think they were jealous of me. They told me how
horrible it was here, how the people are so violent, and the schools
are terrible; but they said the worst things about American boys. I
went to an all girl's school since the elementary grades and so I've
been isolated from boys my age most of the time. All my friends were
too. It's scary for most of us to think about going off to University
where we will mingle with boys for the first time; it's scary, but
exciting too. Boys are all we talk about, all we think about. Since
we don't know many they frighten us; but they excite us too. My
friends teased me about American boys a lot. They said that none of
the American girls my age were...I don't even know the word in
English. What do you call a girl who never, you know, did anything
with a boy before, slept together?"
"Uh, a virgin, I guess," I said past the lump in my throat. We were
both blushing profusely, but she seemed to be handling it better than
I was.
"Well that's what they told me: American girls all did it before we
did, and any American boy would expect it. If I got to know any of
them and maybe wanted to go on a date, my friends told me I would
have to be ready for it, to do it, because that is what American boys
would expect. That's how they teased me, because I...well...I'm
a...virgin... I've never done it.
A shiver went through me, hearing her say that word.
"When they teased me like that, it got to me, it really made me
scared. But it made me excited too, to think that I would leave my
small town behind, experience new things...I have seen more of the
world than my friends, because of volleyball. I travel a lot and I
mingle with some of the older girls, college girls who are players.
I've overheard them talking: some of them have boyfriends, and they've
done things. When we go on tours, at the hotels we stay in, the team
chaperones have to work overtime. There are always men around,
westerners mostly --they seem to know just where we stay-- and some of
the players sneak away and go off with them sometimes. I hear them
talking about it later. Hearing the older girls talk that way used to
scare me, I was afraid of those men, but now that I'm older I think
that I want to have some of the experiences that they have: I don't
want to be scared of boys any more. When my friends teased me about
American boys, one part of me really was still scared, but secretly,
another part of me was excited by it, hoped that what they said would
come true.
"But that was back in Japan. When I first started school here the
scared part of me took over. Getting along here wasn't simple like I
though it would be. As for boys, I stopped even thinking about them;
I was so nervous all the time. But then you came along, you were so
nice, so kind and polite, and I realized that there was nothing to be
scared about, at least not with you. I really started to like you.
And it seemed as if you liked me too. Why else were you spending so
much time with me, I wondered? But you never...did anything, never
went any farther, even though I started to wish you would. I thought
it was because you were so polite, so kind, that you didn't want to
offend me. I've tried my best to show you that...I like you...a lot,
not just as a friend, but as...maybe more than a friend, closer...But
lately, I don't know, the last several weeks, you are so distant. It
hurts me, the way you act. It's like everything I say or do doesn't
matter to you. You have no idea what it feels like to gather up all
your strength, all your courage, just to make one small step, to try
and reach out to someone and have them not even notice. You have no
idea because you never do it yourself. You're so quiet, so watchful.
At first I though you were just shy, but now I wonder...I think you
are watchful, waiting all the time for someone else to do something.
I don't want to seem ungrateful for all your help, but the way you act
sometimes...it hurts me..."
She bowed her head, staring at her hands resting on her thighs. A
single tear splashed onto her leg.
Her words went straight to my heart. Finally things were clear to me,
and I realized how all my efforts to remain cool, calm, and uninvolved
had gone astray. I had let myself be tossed like a bit of flotsam on
the stormy seas of other people's emotions. Never intending to hurt
anyone, my inaction, and the evasions, and the deceptions it had
caused me to take had all achieved exactly the opposite result of my
intentions. Without trying I had let myself become entangled in a web
of emotions, hurting both mother and daughter in the process. It had
taken Yuki's pained expression, and before that her mother's, to make
me see how stupidly, how cowardly I had acted.
Sitting beside Yuki alone together in the silent cavernous gym, I felt
more keenly than ever the delicate balance which I had been
maintaining, a weight bearing down on me, immobilizing me under its
force. I had borne that weight for months at the fulcrum, the balance
point, maintaining the delicate equilibrium for as long as I could,
but now it had started to slip out of my control. I didn't have the
strength to hold everything in place any longer. It was time for
action before it all came crashing around me, and I could only see one
possible way out.
I lay my hand lightly on Yuki's arm. She raised her eyes, bright with
tears as I leaned towards her, sliding my hand under her chin, raising
her face to mine.
"Richard, I'm sorry..." she started to say.
"No Yuki, shh. No sorrys today. No more words now," I whispered.
"Forgive me Mrs Tanaka," I thought as our lips met, softly, trembling:
our first kiss.
Fin
Richard Rivers
11/29/97
-- CJ
I don't write any stories. I'm just a reader, and sometimes a reposter.
For some of the best 'teen rom' stories, and informations about a.s.s.,
visit http://teenrom.home.ml.org/ (Keep up the great work, Apuleius!)
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