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o  	This part of my collection offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no    o
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o tertainment and should not be read by minors.  Kristen Becker   o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Journey to the East - Part 2 [MF, Mf, asian]
by Richard Rivers (r_rivers@cryogen.com)
(c) 1997

*

This story contains graphic descriptions of sex and should not 
be read by anyone under 18, or anyone offended by such 
material.  Blah Blah Blah...

The story is divided into seven parts, of which this is the first, 
describing a week-long stay in Japan.  Readers only interested 
in graphic descriptions of sex acts should probably wait for 
some of the later parts, or better yet, skip this story entirely.

The author does not mind constructive comments.  I suppose: 
"This is a piece of crap!" is constructive on some level, but 
what I have in mind would be more along the lines of 
technical pointers or anything that might help future offerings 
attain a higher level of craft.  Of course compliments are 
always welcome.


Richard Rivers
12/97


A JOURNEY TO THE EAST
 

Day 2, Monday:

The night before, when we had stood side by side to each 
other and experienced a moment of closeness, Megumi's 
manner had changed abruptly, as if she had suddenly come to 
her senses. She quietly took her leave of me, almost before I 
knew what she was saying, and I found myself standing alone 
on the bridge watching the sun set, wishing she were still 
beside me.  

In the morning she had been all business, smiling and 
friendly but somehow distant, as if a shadowy veil had fallen 
between us; it was nothing I could pin down: I had only 
known her for two days.  Now I sat on the low stone bench 
letting the sun warm me, resting my eyes after several hours 
work.  Megumi was reviewing my progress as I waited.  She 
would deliver my results to Mr Ogawa that afternoon and 
report back to me his opinions so I had no choice but to sit 
back and relax until that had taken place.  

Japan, I thought:  how strange after thirty years to finally 
come here and not be able to see any of it outside this estate.  
As an American of Japanese descent, Japan had tantalized me 
all my life, yet I had never come. Opportunities had presented 
themselves many times but something always held me back: 
the time was never quite right, the trips were always deferred.  
The mythic quality of Japan grew out of the idyllic stories my 
father told me in childhood.  They had been embellished in 
my imagination until the place came to represent everything 
that was unattainable and remote, at once desirable and 
hopelessly incomprehensible. Refusing to consummate my 
desire only strengthened it, like an erotic longing, becoming 
more poignant as its object receded before me as if in a 
dream.  

The day I arrived in Tokyo--only two nights ago--exhausted 
from the long flight but too excited to sleep I had simply 
wandered the city aimlessly, boarding the subway and getting 
off at random, losing myself in the crowds.  How odd for the 
first time in my life to be surrounded by people the same race 
as myself, yet here I was truly the foreigner, out of place.  
Back home I thought of myself as an American, nothing 
more, and it bothered me when people assumed that I was a 
foreigner, asking me if I knew English, or where I came from.  
I felt as if I lived behind a mask, this Asian face, which hid a 
person underneath who was just like everybody else, or at 
least wanted to be.  As I walked the crowded streets of Tokyo 
I felt like an impostor, a spy behind enemy lines with an 
almost perfect disguise.  My only flaw is I don't speak a word 
of Japanese; it worried me that someone might stop and speak 
to me, ask for directions and expose me.  My father had 
warned me too: not being able to speak the language was a 
great disadvantage to me, much greater than if I looked like a 
westerner; as an Americanized Japanese I would be regarded 
with scorn, as less than zero.

***

Megumi made her way down the path towards where I sat; in 
her hand the briefcase she carried looked so out of place with 
her flowing robe and wooden sandals.  

"Good afternoon Mr Sato," she said as she sat beside me on 
the bench and lay the case on the ground.  Folding her hands 
in her lap she drew in a deep breath.  "You have made a very 
good start.  I am just now on my way to Mr Ogawa to discuss 
your morning's work."  

She had her hair up.  Escaping, a few downy wisps trailed 
against the white skin around her ears and along the side of 
her neck.  I scarcely listened to her as she summarized my 
work, letting my attention wander over her body, down her 
graceful throat, delicate as a swan's, to the opening at the 
front of her robe where the two small collar bones peeked out 
at me, rising and falling as she spoke.  

"Mr Ogawa will surely be pleased," she said at length, 
bending to retrieve the briefcase.  "Will you walk with me to 
the far end of the garden while I take this to him?"

"Of course," I said.  Rising, I offered her my hand.  The touch 
of her warm soft skin against mine made me shiver.  

We took a different path from the one we had walked the 
evening before, one that skirted the far edge of the large pond 
and passed into a deeply shaded grove.  After walking silently 
for some time Megumi stopped and held up her hand.

"Look!" she whispered.  I followed the direction of her gaze 
back through the trees towards the water.  A young girl was 
slowly walking along the edge of the pond.  Seemingly 
unaware of our presence she was looking the other way, out 
over the water.  We watched her secretly, as if noticing us 
might send her scampering back into the forest like a wild 
fawn.  She wore a dazzling white robe and her hair hung 
down the middle of her back in one long braid.  "It is Satomi, 
Mr Ogawa's daughter," Megumi whispered.

When the young girl had passed from our sight Megumi set 
off along the path again.  "She is very shy," she said still in a 
half whisper.  "She knows a stranger is here.  Notice how she 
was not walking along the regular pathways: she is afraid of 
running into you.  Only sixteen: in another year or two she 
will not be avoiding strange men in the garden any more, she 
will be seeking them out."  She gave me a sideways glance 
and laughed.

When we emerged from the shaded grove Megumi stopped.  
"I will go on alone from here Mr Sato.  Mr Ogawa's house is 
just down the hill.  When I have discussed your findings with 
him I will return to the library later this afternoon."  She 
walked a few paces away before turning back to me.  "Beware 
of the garden Nymph!" she laughed.

I stood enjoying the sight of Megumi's form disappearing 
down the hill before turning back.  Entering the shaded grove 
I slowed my pace, attentively searching for a sign of the 
young girl, afraid that I might easily miss her, but also 
nervous about meeting her suddenly face to face and startling 
her.  The path drew near to the pond, still densely shaded by 
trees; when I was deepest in shadow I saw her again.  With 
her back to me she knelt at the water's edge.  Leaning out she 
was gathering the lilies which floated close to the shore.  I 
watched as she grasped several of the plants and lay them on 
the ground beside her.  Each time she leaned over the water 
the robe pulled more tightly about her lithe young body; the 
soft white bottoms of her bare feet emerged from below the 
curve of her hips, her small toes laying on the green grass like 
a string of pearls.

I felt deeply aroused watching the girl, as if catching her in 
some secret, forbidden act.  Her motions were delicate and 
purposeful, sensual in their femininity; as I saw her young 
hands curl and grasp the plants I imagined their softness, the 
feel of them on my own body, grasping, tugging, gently 
uprooting.  Holding my breath I watched her gather as many 
of the lilies as she could reach before she rose and carried 
them away, back in the direction of her house.

***  
 
That evening the moon rose over the pond; its soft reflection 
danced on the rippling water.  I leaned on the stone bridge 
looking down, thinking about my day's work:  Mr Ogawa was 
an exacting employer.  He had sent Megumi back with pages 
of revisions for me to do and I had worked long past supper 
time incorporating his new ideas.  Megumi's demeanor had 
changed when she returned.  Once again she seemed more 
distant, formal, not the same woman who had laughed with 
me in the garden earlier; I wondered if I had displeased her in 
some way, or if Mr Ogawa had spoken badly of me in their 
meeting.  

Without looking up I became aware of her beside me.  

"You are up late Mr Sato," she said.

"Yes," I sighed.  "I find it difficult to rest after hard work 
sometimes.  Strange, isn't it?"

"No, I don't think so," she answered.  "The mind becomes 
agitated, entangled in the problems of the day.  It is best to 
seek some peace before sleeping."

"I hope I haven't displeased Mr Ogawa...or you...in any way,"  
I said, looking away, embarrassed by my own words.

"Not at all," she said, touching my arm, bringing my attention 
back to her.  "Actually he was very pleased with your work so 
far, impressed even, and he is a difficult man to impress, or to 
please."  She looked down at the water flowing beneath us.  
"Do not be troubled by all his changes and revisions to your 
work Mr Sato: that is simply his way.  The more he respects 
you the more he will push you, test you.  I know from 
personal experience how difficult he can be, how frustrating 
he can make things.  You are only here for a week.  I have 
been with him for years."

"How do you manage?" I asked.  

"Oh, I manage," she smiled.  "I never let him dominate me.  
He is a powerful man, and stubborn.  He is used to getting 
what he wants, controlling whatever he sees; he scrutinizes 
meticulously whatever he notices.  My secret is just that I 
don't let him see me, the real me, that is.  I hide myself from 
his notice very carefully so that he thinks he knows me, 
thinks he controls me, and he is happy.  I too am happy that 
way."

"But who gets to see the real you?"  I asked.

She laughed.  "Ah, Mr Sato, the American.  How fast 
everything in America goes!  You are...what do you call 
it...fishing, I believe."  

Suddenly the playful side of her had come the fore.  I 
wondered which was really her; the serious businesswoman 
who had spent two hours leaning over my shoulder 
instructing me in the changes Mr Ogawa wanted 
implemented; or was it the serene one who spoke of beauty, 
peacefulness, breathing deeply the scents of the garden; or the 
playful creature who stood beside me now: perhaps all three, 
perhaps none.  I longed to know her better, and I began to 
wonder if her real secret was that she hid nothing, living an 
honest and simple life, rising above the petty the deceits 
afflicting the rest of the world.  Suddenly I felt foolish, like a 
child, unworthy of her.

"You fascinate me Mr Sato," she said.  "Americans do.  They 
always have, but you even more so; you are so like us in some 
ways, when I look at you...but your thoughts, your actions are 
not quite of this place.  Somehow your Americanness comes 
through.  I don't know how to describe it."  She looked at me 
intensely for an instant before returning her gaze to the water 
below.  "I've never met such an un-Japanese Japanese person 
before."  

I had nothing to say to that: was she laughing at me?  I wasn't 
sure.

"I'm sorry she said," placing her hand on my shoulder, "I 
didn't mean to offend.  I shouldn't make jokes like that."  Her 
voiced dropped and she became serious.  "Forgive me, Mr 
Sato."

Her hand slid down my arm and I grasped it in mine, 
desperately hoping to maintain the tenuous contact we had 
established.  I had glimpsed her, the real person, I thought, if 
only I was clever enough to figure her out.  She had laid 
herself out in front of me;  I only needed more time, a few 
minutes more with her and I might pull back the veil and 
understand something of who she was.

"Megumi," I said.  "Will you stay here with me?  Just a little 
while longer."

Her hand slipped from mine and she turned away.  "No Mr 
Sato," she whispered.  "I cannot.  Not tonight, or any other 
night.  I am sorry."  Turning in my direction she brushed 
passed me leaving in her wake only her sweet fragrance, the 
soft rustling sounds of her robe, and the memory of her 
musical laughter.

In my desolation I knew I was not worthy of her, too far 
beneath her to even hope.  The words of my father came back 
to me at that moment and I was powerless to stop them from 
inundating my consciousness, repeating themselves over and 
over again: you will be less than zero.

***

Fin, Part 2 of 7

Richard Rivers 12/97

