Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 #title "Miya in the Park" By "Senor Rojo"

   It was the summer of 1996, and I was attempting a last ditch effort to
break out of the English teaching gig that all expats usually start (but
never finish) with before my VISA ran out.  Things with the current
girlfriend where on the rocks, and (for some insane reason) I was looking
to move to Tokyo.

   I met Miya on the way to an interview at one of the local ISPs in
Shibuya.  There she was, at Shibuya station, looking at the street map for
Yamata-cho, her long black hair shifting in the wind.  Miya was dressed in
business blue, looking the part of the 'Office Lady' job that she was
interviewing for.  Flats finished the package of what we would call an
'administrative assistant' in the States (but what the rest of the world
would call a secretary).

   Like me she was also looking for the Nippodenso Internet office, and we
both ended up walking the 5 blocks to the high rise apartment that doubled
as NI KK's branch office in Shibuya.  I wished her luck as we both went off
to our separate interviews.

   ~~~~~

   Hours later, as the sun went down, we met outside, frustrated.  It was a
typical thing, that the management would have to 'think about' us, even
after the second interview.  Miya and I went for coffee, and after that,
she, back to her friend's house, and I to a sento somewhere on the
Yamatonote line where I could crash for a few hours.  The next day, I
called her cell phone (all Tokyo women have these) -- the story was that
she was working for an AIDS researcher, and was 'on call' as his assistant.
He was gone in Africa for the next two months, and she was looking for a
part time job.  The next night we were off to Shinjuku 'to go out'.  Miya
was dressed all in skintight black, and long black leather jacket.  She
looked the artiste, just my type.  Good enough to eat.  We settled for a
small coffee shop in Kabuki-cho, climbing the stairs into the darkness, and
slid into the darkness of a booth (So, what do you like to do?) Me, letting
my hands wander, after a few Kahluas.  She kept up, of course.  Japanese
women can hold their liquor better than any man, it turns out.

   "I like kiss." (English) Ah, this one is a bit forward.  I liked that.

   (Oh really?  Hmm.  So do I.)

   And that was our first kiss, in the semiprivate darkness of the coffee
shop.  I decided to go a bit further....  "Ugh," she moaned into my mouth,
as I moved my free hand in between her legs.

   "I like kiss."

   I ignored her, as her tongue darted into my mouth, I moved my hand
inside her thigh, rubbing back and forth to the rhythm of her breathing. 
We did that for awhile, before hopping the train to Kichijouji Park 'on a
lark.'

   Kichijouji was the infamous site of what the Japanese called the
'Barabara Jiken' -- there was a murder there where the police found a
number of body parts strewn around the park.  Now the park was a place for
students, a veritable forest of....sex.  Occasionally we could see others
together through the trees, before we looked away....

   We settled against one of those trees; I pushed her back against an old
willow with my mouth, running my hands into the depths of her jacket as she
nuzzled me from below.  My hands found their ways into her; under her
tights, into her wetness, rubbing the black triangle that I could only
imagine but not see.  "I like KISS." She seemed to protest, swooning.  I
brought my fingers, with her stickiness to my mouth, tasting her.  She
smiled shyly as I kissed her.  "Mmmm...mmph!" She tasted herself, her body
shuddered as my fingers passed her clit, to continue within.  She rubbed
against me, hesitant, and yet wanting more; her hand shaking as she rubbed
me through my jeans.  She traced her fingers around my hardness.

   (Would you do something about that?  It needs....)

   (I can't) "Is it?  What?  Can I do?² (I don't know what I should do....)
She looked up at me through her long, dishevelled hair, lips parted.  I
wanted to kiss them again....

   (Well, you could start by unzipping my jeans..) I led her quivering
hands to emphasize the point.  (Kind of like what I am doing here.) I bent
down, kneeling, pulling at the silk blouse, kissing her navel, pulled down
her tights, tasting her with my tongue.  Her whole body shuddered as her
hands grabbed my head, pulling me into herself, shaking as my tongue lapped
at her clit.  I moved my hands up under her blouse, slipped my fingers
under her sports bra, pinching her tiny nipples.  I just love tiny girls!

   "I...like...." (Ahhhh!  My God!  Ahhh....) She repeated, over and over,
as I propelled her to another orgasm, her hands clenching and unclenching
uncontrollably in my hair, as I removed her tights and sopping panties in
one motion.  She didn't seem to notice.  I privately thanked the Japanese
gods for warm summers, and sensitive pussy.  Time to make my next move.  As
I started to stand, I finished her job of unzipping me, and in standing,
ran my hardness against her leg, and into her wetness, raising her and
pinning her to the old willow again.  She was no virgin, but boy she was
tight.  She buried her head in my shoulder, screaming, as we moved against
the tree.

   (I'm coming!  I'm coming!  Oh God!) She wrapped her legs around me,
kissing me deeply, moaning into my mouth in Japanese, eyes closed.

   (Heheheh.  No, you're going.) "I'm going to come in you, my pretty one."
grinned, thrusting into her as we both 'went', me into her, her screaming,
tears of ectasy on my neck.  (An aside: If you ever get to screw a Japanese
girl, the word "Iku" should be music to your ears.  It means 'to go' -- you
see, Japanese people 'go' -- just like we 'come' Heheheheh).

   "Where are my panties?" She looked around, confused, as the sun went
down.  We were still hidden from the path by the tree, but the police would
probably be out in the early evening to clear the park of kids.  Suddenly,
her cell phone chirped.  She had an 'appointment' in 45 minutes, and her
employer could not wait.  She put her tights back on, and started towards
the station.  "So, will we ever meet again?" Tired, she looked at me.  (Ah,
sorry...do you think I can see you again sometime?)

   (Maybe.) she smiled one of those mysterious Japanese smiles, as in
'maybe yes' or then again 'maybe no'.  It turns out that I did get to keep
some souvenirs of our little tryst, her cell phone number, and the panties
that ended up in the back pocket of my jeans.

   ~~~~~~

   A week later I was back to sucking and fucking my girlfriend.  Turns out
that she missed me, and the fact that I was not returning her calls was
irking her.  Though we got back together, and are still together now, there
are times when I remember the taste of Miya in Kichijoji Park.

   The End?

   -

   Yet another semi true story by the Cabron d'Japon.

   Hehehe.  The following is yet another semi true story, this time from my
POV.  Since this cabron do speak Japon, Anything in () is probably
Japanese. Anything else is quoted Engrishy.  Enjoy.  And, if you are
offended, leave now.  Mail, flames, ad nauseum please.  Writers do not live
on Kahlua alone, even bad ones (grin)