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Message-ID: <32554asstr$1000764601@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Richard Rivers" <richard_rivers@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Richard Rivers repost "Her Name was Yuki" part 2
Date: Mon, 17 Sep 2001 18:10:01 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d



HER NAME WAS YUKI
by Richard Rivers

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 blas , 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

Part 3to be posted in a day or so.

Richard Rivers

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Rivers/www/





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