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Message-ID: <32592asstr$1001121001@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 3 (ending)
Date: Fri, 21 Sep 2001 21:10:01 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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HER NAME WAS YUKI
by Richard Rivers

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


Other stories available at:

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


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