I AM NOT ASHAMED 08

THE MEGUMI STORIES
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

VOLUME 03: I AM NOT ASHAMED
BY KIMIKO KOBAYASHI AND MEGUMI KATO

CHAPTER VIII

The Silver Pavilion

My temporary husband rose from one of the lobby 
armchairs and watched me approvingly as I rejoined 
him. We took a taxi the short distance to the Hankyu 
Department Store in the centre of Kyoto. I soon found 
exactly what I wanted: a pair of tight white boots 
which reached almost to my knees. The heels were high 
- I insisted on that - but they were broader than 
those on the shoes I had worn since leaving Tokyo, and 
more comfortable for walking. Black laces cris-crossed 
all the way up the front of the boots between silver 
hooks. The young assistant tied them tightly for me as 
she gave me a smile full of secret meaning. She knew 
the effect the hint of bondage was having on my 
watching lover. More important, she could sense how 
much the tightly bound leather was exciting me. I 
suddenly realised that she was experienced in such 
pleasures herself. What a lot I had to learn about 
being a woman! 

When she had done, I examined myself critically in the 
store's mirror. 

"I didn't think to bring any other kind of tights with 
me," I said thoughtfully, "but this fishnet style 
doesn't suit the boots, does it?" 

"No," he said as the girl nodded approvingly, "not 
really. They're lovely, and show off your beautiful 
legs, but between that white skirt and those boots you 
need something sheer and light." 

The young assistant kindly went to the underwear 
department for me and returned with a pair of tights 
she thought would suit. I visited one of the changing 
rooms and pulled them on, then let the girl again lace 
me tightly into my exciting new boots. He was right, 
of course. The new tights did not draw attention to my 
thighs as blatantly as the fishnet design had done; 
instead they subtly emphasised the smooth curves 
between the hem of my skirt and the top of my boots. 
But oh, the assistant knew her business: the tights 
were sheer all the way up and did nothing to hide the 
tiny white panties which flaunted so charmingly 
whenever I moved! This morning I would have been 
horrified to think that I might display myself without 
shame like this in public. Now it gave me a delightful 
fluttery feeling to think how desirable I must look in 
the eyes of every man - especially one particular man. 
I left the changing room walking as sexily as I could. 
For a moment I thought he was about to suggest that we 
should abandon the sights of Kyoto and go straight 
back to the hotel together. But just now culture 
apparently had more to offer than my bottom and 
thighs. We'll see about that, I thought - and was then 
astonished that I had thought it. 

It was a grey, cold afternoon outside and I was glad 
to be wearing more sensible - even though still 
elegant - footwear when another taxi dropped us at the 
start of a gravelled path which zig-zagged between 
austere hedges to a formal entrance. After David had 
paid the entrance charge we walked along a strangely 
unimpressive path - it was like threading one's way 
between private houses in one of the more traditional 
parts of Tokyo - until we found ourselves among a 
group of buildings arranged around a lake. Right in 
front of us at the edge of the water was a perfect 
flat-topped cone of grey sand, nearly a metre high, at 
one end of an obviously artificial sandy beach. I 
stood and looked at it in silence for a while. 

"What does it mean?" I asked at last. 

"Oh, Kimiko darling, don't disappoint me!" he said 
laughing. "That's what _gaijin_ say. They try to make 
logical sense out of such things, and get angry and 
frustrated when they can't. But Japanese are supposed 
to accept things the way they are." 

"I'm sorry," I said, concerned at having failed him 
rather than thinking about what he said, "you're 
right. It's strange, but it's lovely." 

"You shouldn't really see it standing up. Go and sit 
over there, on your own. Give me the camera." 

He indicated the open wooden veranda of the building 
to the left, where some people were already sitting - 
girls mainly, but a few couples. I was relieved to 
find there was no need to enter the building first: 
that would have meant taking my boots off, of course, 
and I was not sure I could do the laces up again 
properly without practice. I sat on the ledge with the 
others and with them looked solemnly at the mountain 
of sand; then, as I realised he was filming me, smiled 
and swung my legs for him. 

He was right. Even Japanese girls like me who have 
never learnt much - or paid attention to what they 
were told - about the arts of traditional Japan can 
appreciate its values instinctively if they give 
themselves the opportunity. The construction had been 
there for hundreds of years, tended carefully by 
generations of gardeners whenever rain or falling 
leaves marred the perfection of the mountain's slopes 
or the stylised wave patterns of the beach it stood 
on. The buildings too - replaced as they doubtless had 
been after fire and earthquake - had earned the right 
to exist by existing. The cool feel of the smooth wood 
under my thighs, polished by countless pairs of 
shuffling stockinged feet, added to a strange 
sensation of tranquillity. Acceptance of what had 
always existed; doing what was expected of one; the 
search for appropriate behaviour in whatever situation 
one was placed in - an aesthetic peace began to blend 
with the new sexual satisfaction and poise which had 
so recently overwhelmed me. Whatever is, is right - 
whatever is right, cannot be shameful - I floated, 
balancing contentedly on a point of stillness where 
time, place and pleasure converged, sensing for the 
first time in my life how the continuity of Japan, the 
Japanese Gods and the beauty of Japan, which are all 
the same thing really, can hold its people suspended 
in the moment and in eternity, if only they will trust 
themselves to it ... 

I found he was sitting beside me - had been perhaps 
for some time - careful not to interrupt my feeling. 
Then, seeing me ready to listen again, he told me how 
the mountain was supposed to represent a real mountain 
rising from a real lake in ancient China, how 
aristocrats of old Kyoto would gather here to watch 
the moon shine on the sand, drink sake, write poetry 
... and if they were lucky feel, I now realised, the 
oneness and content I had just been granted. 

I came back to reality - or to a version of it - and 
slithered down off the veranda to stand on the gravel 
below. I stretched out my hands to him. 

"Show me the rest of it," I asked. 

In the watery autumn sunshine we walked round the 
lake. Brilliantly red miniature maple leaves stuck 
damply to the toes of my boots, then slid off to join 
the random pattern on the narrow paths. Twig brooms 
swept miracles of beauty into piles for later burning. 
Carp flickered lazily among sodden leaves as colourful 
as themselves. My lover took my arm and guided me up 
the hill to the spring whose fresh water had for 
centuries fed the lake, and the ceremonial tea-makings 
which offered brief tranquillity to rulers and 
warriors. 

As we stood with others by the little spring, a young 
couple held out their still camera and asked us to 
photograph them together. The light was fading and the 
simple point-and-shoot mechanism automatically 
flashed. For a moment I got a clear view of them both: 
the tall young man looking solemn, the girl pretty but 
presenting herself badly in a calf-length narrow 
skirt, ugly ankle-boots and a woolly cap on her short 
curly hair. They offered to do the same for us and 
David handed the young man my video camera, explaining 
how to use the display, which buttons controlled the 
zoom and how to start recording. We posed, then 
suddenly I decided to remove my coat. The girl held it 
for me, smiling, as David and I stood together, then 
laughed and kissed, I coquettishly raising one foot. 

"You must be happy ..." whispered the girl shyly as 
she returned my coat. 

"And you?" I asked. 

"Oh yes. It is our honeymoon, you see." She looked 
towards her husband, who was surrendering the 
expensive video camera with a touch of reluctance. "Is 
it yours too, perhaps?" 

"No, no ... I'm just with a friend." 

"Oh, I see ..." she said, confused for a moment, and 
then confided, "I never did anything like that, before 
I was introduced to ..." She looked towards her solemn 
new husband with a mixture of awe and apprehension. 
"He has an important position in his Ministry," she 
concluded in a rush, eager to justify an arranged 
marriage to someone who obviously chose her lovers - 
and _gaijin_ ones at that! - on a whim. 

"Please be very happy," I concluded formally as we 
left, "and thank you for your assistance." 

The four of us bowed, the young man looking severely 
at his wife as soon as we all rose, anxious that all 
this girls' talk had not undermined his still 
precarious authority. 

The encounter had depressed me, and I was lost in 
thought as we continued our walk round the garden and 
left the Silver Pavilion. The young couple had so much 
to learn about each other, and would be lucky to do 
more than make a start during their brief honeymoon. 
That apart, in Japan sex was for love and for 
pleasure, while marriage was for children and being a 
housewife. If you didn't find love before or outside 
marriage, then your sexuality hardly existed, and 
would have to be sublimated into life as a devoted 
slave to your husband and children. Until Megumi's 
wedding, that had been the fate in store for me. My 
elder sister Fumiko was still unmarried, of course, 
and still a rebel; but that would all have to stop 
when she graduated next year. Already my parents were 
talking meaningfully about the sons of my father's 
university cronies. Once Fumiko was settled it would 
be my turn. It suddenly burst upon me that I could not 
afford to waste another moment of my brief freedom. I 
wanted to start immediately, learning to enhance my 
new-found capacity for sexual pleasure - never mind 
what strange, kinky by-ways I found myself exploring. 
The stranger and more perverted the better, I now 
felt. I woke up from my reverie, and took my lover's 
arm. 

"Let's go back to the hotel now, at once!" I said. "I 
want you to do _everything_ to me. Anything you like. 
Teach me to enjoy all the things I've never done 
before." 

"Everything, slave?" he replied with a laugh. "Are you 
sure that's what you want?" 

His use of the word "slave" made my body tingle with 
delighted apprehension. Had I committed myself too 
far? Well, there was only one way to find out. 

"Everything, Master," I insisted firmly. 


[Next in Part 09: Chapter IX: Before and After Dinner] 

For complete series so far see 
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Bob_Williams

