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From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers)
Subject: Story: Her Name Was Yuki (Part 1) [Male, Female, Sex, Japan, Volleyball]
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This story contains graphic descriptions of sex, although you will 
have to read fairly far into it to find them, so if you are under 18, 
object to that sort of material, or just don't have any patience, stop 
now.

This story also contains a plot, so if you don't know what that is, or 
are offended by the very idea, stop now.  Without giving it away I 
should mention that all of the sex in this story is between consenting 
individuals, however some of the characters are below legal age and 
some not: draw your own conclusions from that and read on at your own 
risk.

Part 1 serves as more or less an introduction to Part 2 but is 
hopefully enjoyable on its own. I apologize for the long windedness of 
the story, and I wouldn't mind receiving constructive criticism of 
this story in order to insure that future efforts are of a higher 
quality.  I suppose "It sucks!" is constructive on a certain level but 
I'd rather hear things that might eventually help the writing improve.  
The inverse does not apply to compliments.

Thanks:

Richard Rivers


HER NAME WAS YUKI

Part 1:

September.  A ray of the late afternoon sun pierced the drawn 
curtains, illuminating a shaft of dust particles suspended in air. 
Swirling gently in the stillness, they crossed and re crossed  the 
light, disappearing back into darkness.  I sat on my bed lost in a 
fantasy world, as I often did that unhappy year of my life.  I 
remember the day with unnatural clarity even now:  September's white 
light had replaced the yellow glow of late summer; a hint of coolness 
in the still afternoon air foreshadowed the bitter winter to 
come. The earth had already shifted imperceptibly on its axis.  What I 
remember most about that September day though is that it was the first 
time I ever saw my beautiful Yuki.  

It was the third week of school, a  Monday.  I sat in home room that 
morning, already bored and distracted when Mr Forbes, our principal, 
came into the class.  

"Listen up people!" He said clapping his hands.  A few bored heads 
lifted to look at him and several whispered conversations continued 
uninterrupted at the back of the room.  "This home room is getting a 
new student,"  he said even more loudly.   "I want you all to meet 
her.  Her name is Yuki.  This is Yuki, Yuki Tanaka.  She is from 
Japan."  There was no response.  "She speaks good English, probably 
better than some of you I'll bet! Ha, ha."  He laughed, alone, at his 
little joke.  "She was a star volleyball player in her home prefecture 
in Japan and we hope that she will join up with our girl's team here." 
There was another awkward silence during which Mr Forbes cleared his 
throat. "You might also like know that her mother, a psychologist, 
will be our new school counselor this year.  Your home room teacher 
will advise you on the counselor's office hours and so forth.  I'd 
like you all to make both of them feel welcome and at home here at 
Adams High."  

He stepped aside revealing the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.  
Her  tall slender body had a fragile, delicate kind of beauty, a 
subtle beauty one could easily over look for its simplicity.   Her 
shiny black hair hung in feathered bangs, grazing a thick pair of 
eyebrows that arched over a pair of dazzling eyes.  One look into her 
eyes and I was lost.  

Clearly humiliated by Mr Forbes' loud and obnoxious introduction, she 
hugged her notebook tightly to her chest, staring at the floor.  Some 
one yelled out, "Speech! Speech!" getting a laugh. Her cheeks reddened 
and she hugged her notebook more tightly, pursing her lips as she took 
a deep breath.  One of my friends leaned forward from the seat behind 
me.  "I know, man, we'll call her Yucky!" He snickered.  "Yucky, get 
it?"  I pretended to laugh as he turned to tell his joke to someone 
else, immediately (and I hoped not too obviously) returning my gaze to 
Yuki, still standing with eyes downcast in front of the class.  

Her blushing face, her down-turned eyes made me feel pity for her, 
adding fuel to my already aching desire.  That afternoon, as the 
autumn sun waned outside, its last rays sneaking between my closed 
curtains, I sat alone in my room as I often did, and I could think 
only of her.

She received her seat assignment the next day, one row over and two 
seats ahead of mine.  All I had to do was lift my head slightly and 
she filled my vision.  She wore a similar outfit to the day before, 
what was to become her normal way of dressing, almost a uniform:  
plain white pants or a dark skirt and a simple blouse or sweater on 
top.  She dressed in a conservative, almost 'bookish' fashion yet the 
clothes she wore always made her appeared very soft and feminine.  
Like me, I could tell she was painfully shy.  When her name was called 
at roll call she winced, and I winced with her.

In time, each day, I studied her from my desk, choosing a different 
feature to concentrate on for the entire half hour period:  the soft 
curve of her thigh hanging over the side of her chair; the flare of 
her slender waist widening into her hips;  the three-quarter profile 
of her small breast peeking out under her arm;  her hair, splashed 
across her shoulders in different patterns, rearranged each time she 
moved her head, like sea grasses swept by gentle waves.  All these 
images came back to me when I was in my room alone after school and I 
spun them into an elaborate, on going fantasy, whiling away the bleak 
days as fall turned to winter.

Home room, it turned out, was our only class together so I seldom saw 
her after first period.  She took advanced courses for most subjects 
while I distinguished myself at nothing. My eyes couldn't get enough 
of her in just  half an hour, and as the days went by I began 
obsessively scanning the hallways, the cafeteria, the courtyard, 
searching, always searching for her.  Occasionally I was rewarded with 
a glimpse of her, always alone, hugging her books to her chest, 
running from class to class with hurried little steps.

The September weather grew harsher and the light began to fail 
earlier.  October arrived, gray and unseasonably cold.  I spent more 
and more afternoons in my curtained room, my mother's footsteps 
reassuringly distant upstairs as I whiled away hour after hour, lost 
in my fantasy.  It is difficult now to think I was ever so naive, that 
the mere sight of her eyebrows,  the corner of her mouth, the small 
wisp of hair next to her ear, the tiniest details of her body could 
preoccupy and torment me the way they did.  

My preoccupation with Yuki came as welcome relief from a very bad 
situation at home.  My father, a cold emotionless man throughout my 
childhood, had suddenly discovered his lost feelings that summer.  
Unfortunately, they consisted of the desire to slap my mother around 
and  to yell at me whenever I ventured into his sight.  I don't know 
what happened to him.  He never explained anything.  Maybe he 
went crazy.  Maybe he found another woman and just put on an act to 
cover his exit from the family.  I'll never know.  We put up with his 
unexplained and abusive behavior for a couple of months and then he 
suddenly left one day, in the middle of a shouting match with mom.  He 
slammed the door behind him and I've not seen or heard from him in all 
the years since.

Before school started that fall I began to have horrible nightmares.  
My father would come back in those dreams, sometimes looking like a 
rotten drunk, sometimes looking like his old self, but always 
committing some terrible atrocity against my mother and me in the end.  
I woke up almost every night at three or four o'clock in the morning 
and couldn't get back to sleep.  The problem persisted into the 
beginning of the school year.  My poor mom had enough to worry about 
herself, but there wasn't much she could do for me anyway:  We didn't 
have the money to pay for therapy right then.  When I brought home the 
October school bulletin she read with interest about our new school 
counselor, Mrs Tanaka, Yuki's mother.  In a few days mom had arranged 
it with the school that Mrs Tanaka would see me privately once a week 
after classes.  In exchange I would help out Mr Roberts, the Phys. Ed. 
teacher a couple of afternoons a week cleaning up the gym, doing 
laundry, or whatever he needed.  The prospect of having intimate 
conversations with Yuki's mother was both thrilling and scary.  I 
couldn't wait for the day of our first appointment to arrive but as it 
drew closer I also began to dread it.  The thought that she might be 
able to see right through me, right through to my infatuation with her 
daughter, began to haunt me.  

When I went in to see Mrs Tanaka after school it was a fine early 
October day.  The bright sunshine reflected off the fall colored 
leaves but did not warm the bitter cold air. When Mrs Tanaka first 
opened the door to her office I half expected her to be a carbon copy 
of her daughter. To my relief her mother looked quite different, a 
petite woman of maybe thirty five, where Yuki had a long, lean, 
athletic body, her mother was shorter and had rounder features.  Her 
short hair framed a broad oval, friendly looking  face.  

She ushered me to a seat on the couch beside her saying: 

"Hello Richard.  I've spoken with your mother a few times about the 
problems you've been having with sleep.  She told me something of your 
recent family troubles, but I would like to hear what you have to say 
about it, yourself."

Her tone was warm and friendly; she spoke with what I could identify 
as only the slightest of accents, more a lilt to the inflections of 
the voice rather than different pronunciations of the words.  I felt 
comfortable and at ease, enough that I lost my fear that she would see 
through me right away, exposing my obsession with her daughter. I 
began telling her all about what had happened at home and immediately 
felt a strong sense of relief from talking about my problems with 
someone.  My mother and I went through a lot; neither of us had yet 
been willing to broach the subject of the recent, painful past with 
each other.  Before I knew it the hour was over and Mrs Tanaka was 
offering me a ride home.  

Walking out to the parking lot, and as she drove me home, Mrs Tanaka 
told me a few things about herself.  Her soft lilting voice hummed in 
my ears, soothing me.  I'm not sure I heard everything she told 
me, I was just trying to soak up the sound of her voice and prolong 
the sweet mellow feeling it produced.  Her name was Kozue:  It sounded 
like 'causeway' she knew, but she spelled it for me, laughing softly.   
She had studied extensively in the US, first in High School when her 
father had been stationed here on business, later at New York 
University on her own initiative.  She loved America, she said.  The 
freedom here was a welcome change from life in Japan, especially for a 
woman.  Both she and her husband had wanted the same experiences for 
their daughter Yuki, and they had each taken lesser paying jobs just 
to live in the US long enough for her to finish High School and start 
College.  She added that, unfortunately, her husband had left suddenly 
for the Philippines so that she and Yuki  now lived  here alone 
together.

Yuki's name caught my interest and I shyly asked Mrs Tanaka why her 
daughter wasn't riding home with her.  I was afraid to say the name 
Yuki aloud, as if the way I pronounced it would betray my infatuation; 
but Mrs Tanaka showed no sign that she had noticed anything as she 
told me that Yuki was on the Girl's volleyball team, which was having 
practice that afternoon.  She went on to explain how Yuki was a star 
volleyball player back in Japan and that she might have made the 
National team if she had stayed.  

"She's a bright girl," Mrs Tanaka said, proudly, "but the only thing 
that really motivates her is Volleyball.  She's a totally different 
person when she steps on the court.  All her shyness, her uncertainty, 
they all seem to just drop away.  She's a fierce competitor.  I hope 
you can see her play some time."  

I assured her that I would like that very much, tempering my 
enthusiasm as best I could.  As she pulled in front of my house her 
tone became serious:

"I know you understand the agreement your mother made with the school.  
I've spoken to Mr Roberts and he would like to see you after school 
this Friday.  At that time you can arrange the exact details of your 
work schedule with him all right?"  She gave me a pat on the knee.

"Can I count on you to go and see him?"  

I assured her that I would and thanked her for the ride.  That night, 
for the first time in weeks, my father did not invade my dreams to 
terrorize me.  I had a much more pleasant dream:  I dreamed about 
Kozue Tanaka.


***


Two days later my Friday afternoon class let out early but I had to 
stay at school and head over to the gym.  The warm excitement I had 
gotten from my meeting with Mrs Tanaka had faded somewhat and now it 
hardly seemed worth the price I was going to have to pay.  All the 
other students were heading home, happy to be free for the weekend but 
I was trudging off to see Mr Roberts and work in the gym. I just 
knew he was going to have me down on my hands and knees scrubbing 
floors or doing something equally back breaking. 

Mr Roberts the Phys. Ed. teacher was a young man, not long out of 
college.  He had long blonde hair, a body builder's physique, and 
wasn't too bright;  most of my friends and I couldn't stand him.  He 
was infamous for his sadistic treatment of students, especially those 
of us that he considered to be 'nerds'. Quick to assign numerous 
pushups to anyone who broke one of his arbitrary rules, he always had 
an eye out for the weak and inept students, singling them out the for 
ridicule or punishment.  As the only Phys. Ed. teacher at our small 
school he ran his office in the gym like a tiny, independent 
dictatorship.  

As I walked down the hallway to Mr Robert's office the door to the gym 
opened suddenly and I found myself surrounded by a group of sweaty 
girls, laughing and talking as they ran towards the locker room:  
Last period gym class had just gotten out.  They swarmed past on both 
sides, paying no attention to me.  The closeness of all of those 
female bodies in their gym outfits embarrassed and aroused me; I could 
see clearly the outlines of their breasts, their bare thighs, their 
faces flushed from exertion.  A few of them brushed against me as they 
passed, they were so close I could smell the sweat from their bodies 
all around me.

I caught a glimpse of Yuki, last in the group, as she quickly slipped 
past;  her tight fitting white top had blue racing stripes down the 
sides and a large blue number 'six' curling between her small breasts.  
Below that she had on a pair of baggy gray sweats that hid the rest of 
her figure.  I fought the urge to turn and look after her as she 
walked away down the hall while I continued towards the boy's locker 
room in the opposite direction.    

The outer part of Mr Roberts' office was a glassed in area set off the 
rest of the locker room.  When I entered it was empty.  My head was 
still spinning from seeing Yuki and all those other girls in their gym 
outfits.  The sight of the empty office briefly gave me the wild idea 
that Mr Roberts had forgotten about me and that I might be able to go 
straight home after all.  Just then I saw him come out of his inner 
office and close the door quickly behind him. 

"Ah, there you are Rivers,"  he said, slapping me on the back in a 
forced gesture of camaraderie.  "Glad to see you!  And you're here 
early.  Good.  Very good."  

He was the kind of talker who doesn't let you get a word in edgewise, 
but I was grateful for it because I had nothing to say to him anyway. 
He continued:

"What I need you to do for me is fairly simple, two days a week, 
Mondays and Fridays, right?"  I nodded.  "OK, today's Friday...let's 
see...Oh yeah, Friday I need the gym floor cleaned.  I'll show you 
where all of the stuff is and then you can just get started.  I've got 
some things, some work I need to do so you'll be on your own."  He 
nodded towards the door to his inner, personal office.  "I'll be in 
there.  Knock if you need me.  I'm sure you wont though, huh?  Just 
come and tell me when you're done, OK?"  

It relieved me to know I would be working alone.  I didn't want to 
have to be around him, his constant talking, any more than I had to.  
He showed me the cleaning supplies and let me go to work in peace.

For the next few weeks Mr Roberts had me cleaning up all the gym and 
locker rooms, scrubbing the floors, cleaning the bathrooms and 
showers, everything.  I didn't see much of him though.  After getting 
me started on the chore for the day he would spend all of his time in 
his inner office with the door closed; when I  finished I would knock 
to let him know I was leaving.

My relationship with Mr Roberts got off on the wrong foot.  Sensing my 
dislike for him, I think he labeled me an untrustworthy slacker.  He 
continued to give me the dirtiest jobs to do and started popping out 
of his office at unexpected moments to check up on me, riding me about 
being slow, not careful, or would hammer me with any petty criticism 
he could come up with.  The day he asked me to do the laundry was a 
relief from all the scrubbing and cleaning I had been doing on my 
hands and knees.

Mr Roberts showed me the laundry room and where to go get the carts 
containing the dirty towels and uniforms.  "Do the towels first, I'd 
say.  There's more of 'em,"    he advised. "Let's se what else we have 
today...OK! this cart is football, do the pants and jerseys eparately, 
Right?  This one is basketball, they all go in one load.  Then you'll 
have to go down the hall and get the girl's stuff.  You can do the 
volley ball uniforms today too.  One load also, OK?"  

My heart was pounding.  "Girls volleyball uniforms," I thought to 
myself.  "Yuki's uniform must be somewhere in that pile!"  

"Rivers!" he snapped at me.  "Stop day dreaming!  You got everything?  
You're ready?"  I assured him I was ready to get going right away.

I hurriedly got the towels and football stuff going, there were enough 
machines for that much; the rest I would have to do after.  I sat on 
one of the machines for about ten minutes before remembering that the 
girl's uniforms were down the hall.  I found the cart in the hall and 
brought it back into the laundry room, looking over towards the office 
to see if Mr Roberts was around.  As usual his inner door was shut and 
he was nowhere in sight. Torn between an intense curiosity and a deep 
sense that what I was about to do was sick and perverted, I thought 
about finding Yuki's uniform somewhere in that cart.  Unable to resist 
the urge, I nervously looked inside, glancing over my shoulder several 
times as if Mr Roberts might spring up out of nowhere.  Growing bolder 
I reached into the cart and pulled out a uniform.   It was the same as 
the one I had seen Yuki wearing:  One piece, like a gymnasts' outfit, 
the top was white with blue stripes, the bottom was blue, so that when 
worn it looked like a separate shirt and pants.  Turning it over in my 
hands I looked at the number: 'eleven'.  I dropped it and reached for 
another: 'nineteen'.  After looking at a few more uniforms without 
finding 'six' I grew bolder, throwing the uniforms I had looked at out 
onto the floor and, finally, near the bottom, discovering the precious 
object of my search and lifting it gingerly out of the cart.   

Just holding it limply by the shoulders I tried to imagine Yuki's 
beautiful body filling it out: her delicate, slender thighs had poked 
through these round leg holes;  her small firm butt had filled that 
now baggy piece of cloth, straining out against the fabric, shaping it 
to the form of her body.  Turning to the front there was just a hint  
of looseness at the breasts.  I let my hand run down the front of the 
uniform finally grazing that oh so thin strip at the crotch.  I closed 
my eyes and thought: half an hour ago her moist, soft cunt pressed 
against the very spot where my fingers now ran gently.  The sight of 
that crotch fascinated me; the slight way the fabric puffed out, as if 
it had been pushed out by, or strained to contain...what?  My 
knowledge of female anatomy ended right there.  Like an explorer of 
old, my imagination had sailed me into unknown waters.

When my father had moved out my mother threw piles of his stuff into 
the basement.  Among his effects were several Playboy magazines that I 
found and 'studied' in the privacy of my room.  'Boobs' were only a 
passing fascination for me; my real interest was the pubic hair and 
what lay, unseen, beneath it.  I would search those photographs like 
an astronomer straining his vision into the void, the darkness and 
shadows growing darker and shadowier as my gaze descended, always 
terminating in artificial, airbrushed blackness.  At our swim club I 
saw a lot of girls my age in the tightest swim suits, and again my 
eyes would seek out their crotches, each one slightly different, but 
none of them revealing enough to satisfy my curiosity.  Now, the tiny 
blue expanse of fabric I held between my fingers fascinated me.  To 
think that only millimeters away the flesh that I craved had been held 
tightly by this very piece of cloth,  not an hour ago where my fingers 
were now moving freely I would not have been able to put them:  two 
distances, one in space, the other in time, so close,  yet so 
hopelessly unbridgeable.

"Rivers!"

Mr Roberts, who had been leaning through the doorway for some time 
watching me, harshly interrupted my ruminations.   His yell made me 
drop my beloved number 'six' back into the laundry cart.  "Rivers!" he 
yelled again.  "What the hell do you think you're doing in here?  This 
isn't fluff and fold.  Just jam those things in there, will you.  
Jeez!  I want to get home some time today,"  he added with sarcasm. 

"O..Ok!...Sorry," was all I could blurt out, but he was already 
walking away shaking his head, muttering to himself.  I hurriedly 
gathered the uniforms and stuffed them into one of the washers and got 
the load going.  Mercifully Mr Roberts went back in his office and 
closed the door behind him again.  I wondered why he hadn't used the 
ripe opportunity to ridicule me some more but had simply walked off. 

For the next twenty minutes or so, while the washer ran, there was 
nothing else for me to do. I needed some air after getting worked up 
over Yuki's uniform and, looking furtively over my shoulder for Mr 
Roberts, I slipped out the door into the cool  November air.  On the 
walkway, I rounded the corner of the Phys. Ed. building: Yuki was 
standing alone in the distance.  I stopped, my first urge to being to 
back pedal, but she had already seen me and was looking over in my 
direction.  I hesitated, half way around the corner, rocking from one 
leg to the other.  "Uh oh,"  I thought.  "I've just been fingering the 
crotch of her uniform.  Am I supposed to go up and talk to her?"  My 
hesitation only caused her to  keep looking in my direction, a 
questioning look on her face. I had no choice but to try to approach 
her as naturally as I could.  

"Hi," I called out with an exaggerated wave of my hand.  I was still 
about ten feet away from her, an awkward distance to start a 
conversation.  "Damn!" I thought to myself.  "Too soon!  Slow down.  
Wait."  

She waited until I stopped beside her.  "Hello," she said looking at 
her feet.  "Don't you have a coat?  It's so cold!"  She pulled her 
down coat more closely around shoulders; her jet-black hair was 
striking, framed by the white fur-lined hood.

"Oh, no," I answered:  "I just stepped out," pointing back towards the 
gym.  

"Ahhh, I see," she answered, drawing out the words as if I had just 
imparted some deep, dark, fundamental truth to her.  

"What are you doing out here?" I asked hurriedly, the silence making 
me uncomfortable.  

"I'm waiting for a ride.  My mother...she... sees people after 
school."  Her cheeks flushed.  I knew she knew that I was one of the 
people her mother saw after school too.  She hurried to continue: 
"Usually I have practice, with the orchestra, or I stay and practice 
volleyball, but not today, they had to wash the uniforms."  

My heart raced.  She knew!  Was she testing me somehow?  Did the look 
on my face betray my  perverse infatuation, my actions?  No, I 
decided, the panic receding, she couldn't.  She wouldn't be talking to 
me now if she knew what I had just been doing...

We stood there, awkwardly, each uncomfortably holding onto our secret 
bit of knowledge about the other until she turned her head away 
towards the parking lot and stamped her foot lightly.  "My mother is 
late." 

I wanted  to stay standing there with her but the silence grew 
increasingly uncomfortable; the longer we stood without saying 
anything the worse it felt. 

"So, you play volleyball."  I managed to choke out the words.

"Yes."

"I hear you're supposed to be great, that you could have gone to the 
Olympics, or something."

I had embarrassed her.  She shook her head. "No, I'm not that good," 
she said as she looked down at her feet, watching herself scrape the 
toe of her boot across the ground.  "I need a lot of practice.  My 
serve is OK, because I can practice that all I want, but my 
defense..." Her tone grew more animated, the volleyball player taking 
over from the shy girl:  "My defense is terrible.  To practice that I 
need someone else to help me.  Someone has to throw me the ball and 
there isn't anyone else around here interested."

I was just opening my mouth to speak, to offer to help her, to be the 
one who would throw her the ball, when a car honked its horn across 
the parking lot.

"Oh, its my mother,"  Yuki said, quickly turning her head.  "I've got 
to go.  Bye."  

"So long," I called as I watched her trot across the parking lot then, 
turning,  I went back in to the gym.

The distance between us had been bridged, however tenuously.  The next 
day in home room Yuki smiled and said hello to me.  Surprised, I only 
mumbled something in response, but from that day on we began to 
exchange greetings every morning.


***

During the next few weeks my sessions with Mrs Tanaka became painful 
and emotional for me as she had me go over the events surrounding my 
father's departure in detail.  I had tried my best to forget his 
rages, his hitting mom and yelling at me, all of his sudden violent 
outbursts, and the weird changes that took over his personality.  
Dredging all of that up again under her kindly but insistent 
questioning was draining.  I often ended up exhausted, in tears during 
those sessions, my energy completely drained by the end of the hour.  
Mrs Tanaka would often end up with her arm around my shoulder 
comforting me as I poured out my feelings.  The light touch of her 
hand sent a pleasant thrill through my body, comforting 
me yet at the same time arousing me.

At the end of each session her demeanor changed abruptly but in a way 
that was subtle, so subtle it took some time for me to even notice; it 
was as if she changed from the psychologist to more of a friend as 
soon as the hour was over.  She offered me a rides home every week, 
always just the two of us, and she would tell little stories about her 
life, growing up in Japan, or her first experiences coming to America.  
She loved to tell jokes, silly ones that I didn't really find funny, 
but I enjoyed them because I loved to hear her laugh.  Her quiet sing 
song voice gave everything she told me an idyllic, almost fairy tail 
quality, filling me with a sense of calm that lasted long after she 
left.  I came to look forward to the fifteen minutes or so we spent 
together in her car every week almost as much as I did to seeing her 
daughter.  When she touched me, giving me a mock punch on the houlder, 
or a pat on the knee as I got out of the car, my whole body felt the 
thrill of her touch, vibrating where the pressure of her hand left its 
lasting impression, a slowly fading physical memory.   

My nightmares were all but gone and Kozue more and more often entered 
my dreams as an erotic presence.  Where thoughts of Yuki still filled 
my conscious, waking hours, for some reason it was her mother who 
gradually came to occupy the unconscious ones.    

Several days after my brief conversation with Yuki I found myself late 
getting out of school.  On my way to the lockers one of my teachers 
stopped me in the hallway; he wanted to talk about my sinking grades 
in his class.  We stood talking in the middle of the hall as the other 
students streamed around us and the school emptied.  He was friendly 
but insistent with me.  All I wanted was to get away from there as 
quickly as possible and so I did everything I could to placate him.  
He mistook my attitude for one of real interest in what he was saying 
and wouldn't stop talking for several more minutes.  When he was 
finally through and we took our leave of each other we were the last 
two people left in the hallway.  

As I started walking home I had the impulse to pass by the gym, not 
intending to go inside, but hoping that somehow I might run into Yuki 
in the parking lot again; but the lot was almost empty, just a few 
cars scattered around, and no one was waiting there.  Disappointed, I 
changed direction cutting across the lot and headed for the gym.  As I 
stepped on the walkway I could faintly hear the distinct familiar thud 
of a single ball banging off the bleachers through the small windows 
high up on the wall.  My heart raced:  It had to be Yuki, practicing.

I quickly glanced over my shoulder, afraid that someone might see me, 
and went in.  The sound of the ball grew louder as I walked down the 
hall towards the double doors leading to the gym.  Looking through the 
small glass windows I could see a lone figure at the far end.  A tall 
slender girl was leaping high in the air, hitting a vicious looking 
jump serve over a volleyball net.  The ball struck in the corner of 
the opposite court and rebounded off a bank of folded bleachers.  She 
ran forward a few steps, bending to retrieve the bouncing ball and set 
up for another serve; her ponytail bobbed behind her as she took long 
graceful loping strides.  I didn't have to see her face to know that 
it was Yuki.

My heart raced as it did whenever I caught a glimpse of her. Her 
mother was right: When she was playing volleyball she was a totally 
different girl; she exuded power and confidence in the way she moved.  
Her slender body arched gracefully as she tossed the ball high in the 
air and jumped to meet it, kicking back her feet as she floated in  
mid air. Her arm stretched high overhead and then snapped forward, 
tomahawking the ball over the net, pounding it down into the opposing 
court with a bang that echoed hroughout the gym.  She repeated the 
serve many times, alternating which corner she was aiming for and 
she never missed.  

I watched her serve the ball, afraid that if I went in it would scare 
her off and I would have to wait another day before my next glimpse of 
her; then the ball bounced awkwardly off the bleachers and started 
bounding across the gym towards the doors where I was standing.  I 
didn't think she could see me out in the darkened hallway yet, but the 
ball was going to hit right in the middle of the double doors I was 
standing behind.  She would have to come over to this side of the gym 
to get it and surely see me lurking behind the windows then. I had to 
make a move quickly or be discovered  spying.  Pushing through the 
doors I trapped the ball with my foot.  Yuki was jogging over toward 
the door when she noticed me come through.  Slowing to a walk,  she 
reached behind her to pull down the butt of her uniform.  I saw her 
eyes lower, a guarded expression come across her face in the space of 
that one step, and  I instantly regretted barging in on her, ruining 
her intensely private moment. I couldn't look away; I felt like a 
leering oaf but I couldn't tear my eyes off her.  She was wearing her 
one piece uniform, number 'six', the one I had held in my hands. The 
tight fitting uniform made the contours of her body clearly visible:  
the soft mound of her crotch; the gentle rise of her belly, even the 
slight indentation of her navel; her rib cage, heaving with each 
breath she took; her small breasts, hardened nipples pointing at me 
like accusing little finger tips that seemed to say: "Shame!"

My gaze embarrassed her, almost more than if she had been naked.  The 
tightness of the uniform highlighted her body more than  it covered it 
and her hands nervously traveled upwards, following the path my eyes 
took; she clasped them together first in front of her crotch, then 
brought them up to wipe her face, covering her breasts with her 
forearms.

We both blushed,  the short silence seemed painfully long.  I panicked 
searching for something to say, some reason why I was even there in 
the gym at all; the fact that I had intercepted the ball was 
incriminating evidence of my spying: it would be a lame excuse to 
claim that I had just happened to open the door  right then.  I had to 
say something, make up some story, anything to break up this wretched, 
endless moment.  Finally, in desperation, because I had absolutely 
nothing else in mind, I resorted to honesty.

"Hi, Yuki.  Sorry to bother you," I said.  "I didn't mean to surprise 
you like that.  I was just passing by the gym and heard you 
practicing.  I remember you saying how tough it is to practice on your 
own."  I faltered, her expression was unchanged; what little 
confidence I had left eroded.

"I could throw you the ball, or something," I said tentatively.

"Thank you," she said.  "It would be boring for you.  I can manage on 
my own, really."  

"I wouldn't be bored at all," I put in quickly. "I like you...I...I 
mean I'd like to.  I wouldn't be bored." Flustered, I thought:  "Why 
did I say that?"  She looked down at her shoes.  "Listen," I said 
quickly trying to erase what I had just said.  "Just let me throw you 
a couple.  I've got nowhere to go anyway.  Let me do a couple, then 
you can tell me to leave, all right?  I'll throw you the ball twice 
and then you tell me to go...or to stay, OK?"

"I don't know..."  

"Come on," I said, my confidence returning.  I could see her 
struggling to decide.  The shy girl part of her wanted me to go away 
and leave her alone but the volleyball player was telling her not to 
turn down a golden opportunity to get in some much needed practice.  I 
knew I was taking advantage of her too, her politeness, her inability 
to say no.  She fidgeted for a few more seconds before turning back 
towards the far end of the gym.

She told me to throw the ball in a high arc over the net and she dug 
it out underhand, with her fists together.  The ball sailed straight 
up into the air.

"Good!" I called out as the ball bounced next to her.

She shook her head as she grabbed it.  "No it wasn't.  It was 
terrible.  It's not supposed to go that high.  I can't control it; 
that's the weakest part of my game,"  she said, throwing the ball back 
to me with some force.  "Do that again, the same."  

The volleyball player was taking over and she quickly became absorbed.  
I threw her the ball again and this time she kept it lower.  I could 
see she was really thinking hard about what she was doing; her face 
had a blank look of intense concentration as she threw the ball back 
to me distractedly.

I held it for a moment as she crouched down, waiting.  When I didn't 
toss it to her she looked up, surprised.

"Yuki," I said, "that's two.  Should I go?"  I paused.  "Whatever you 
want, but I don't mind staying," I added.

"You really don't mind?" she asked, her eyebrows raised, a cute 
quizzical look that made my heart ache.

"Not at all," I answered truthfully.

She had me throw her the ball many more times after that, alternating 
sides of the court, sometimes  near the net, sometimes deep in the 
back.  I noticed that she did seem to improve with practice although I 
was mainly interested in watching her lithe body going through its 
motions.  She looked so fragile and slender, but as I watched her move 
around the court I realized how strong and incredibly flexible she 
really was.  I could see the muscles in her delicate looking thighs 
flexing as she crouched to receive the ball or when she ran after it 
with long graceful strides.  Watching her I longed to run my hands 
over her legs, her thighs, her behind, to feel the smooth hardness of 
her body under my touch.  I couldn't keep my eyes from wandering to 
the small feminine mound of her crotch, remembering the way her 
uniform puffed out there when I had run my fingers over it.  Her warm 
cunt was doing that, pushing out the fabric, creating that little 
puffy mound right now, I thought.  I imagined stroking it, gently, 
with just the tips of my fingers brushing it, just as I had done in 
the laundry room; only now she would be in it, all soft and warm to 
the touch, moaning softly with pleasure, telling me not to stop.

I lost all awareness of time as I threw the ball to her over and over 
again; lulled into a trance-like state, my head was buzzing pleasantly 
and my entire body felt enveloped in a soft, glowing embrace.  Yuki 
had lost herself too, in her volleyball.  Her shyness totally 
disappeared and she began talking more freely, if only to tell me 
where to throw the ball and how high, or to chide me if the last throw 
had been off.  

At last she stopped and held the ball under her arm, breaking the 
spell.  She said, breathing heavily:

"Richard, I've got to go.  My mother will be waiting.  Thank you so 
much for helping me practice." 

Looking at the clock I realized we had been at it for almost an hour.  
She came over and stood in front of me, so close that I could see the 
beads of sweat on her  neck and chest. Through her sweat soaked 
uniform I could clearly see the outlines of her small breasts, the 
surprisingly fat hard nipples bobbing up and down with each quick 
breath she took.  It was my turn to look at my shoes,  too embarrassed 
to look her in the eye.

"Thank you," she said, again.

"No problem," I said.

"Bye." 

Turning quickly, she trotted to the doors and went out.  For the rest 
of the semester I made it a point to pass by the gym on my way home 
from school on days when I wasn't working for Mr Roberts or in a 
session with Mrs Tanaka, always listening for the sound of Yuki 
practicing.  She was usually there and our practice sessions together 
became fairly regular, at least once a week.  I also discovered that 
she had to be in school early, because of her mother, and I made it a 
point to reform my bad habit of showing up to first period late.  If I 
arrived early, more often than not she would be there, already in her 
seat studying.  We began having a few, tentative, non volleyball 
conversations.

She told me that she had grown up in a small town in Japan, in a 
mountainous part of the country that was relatively isolated.  The 
local girls school had a tradition of turning out some of the best 
women volleyball players in Japan; that is how she got involved in it.  
She showed promise early so her parents and coaches had pushed her to 
continue and to work very hard at it.  Leaving her home, her school 
and her team to come to America had been difficult for her.  The few 
friends she had were all still there, and she knew that by coming to 
America her volleyball skills could do nothing but get worse.  She 
also told me that she had never been to a coed school before.  Her 
girlfriends back home had teased and scared her with their stories 
about America, and in particular, American boys.  

One thing we had in common was our fathers' behavior: she confided in 
me that her father had left recently for the Philippines where he was 
living with a stewardess he met on a business trip.  Yuki's mother was 
devastated to find out that the affair had been going on for several 
years, but she and Yuki decided to stick it out in America alone 
together rather than act weak and return to Japan.  I told Yuki 
about my father and all of the weird stuff that went on in our house 
over the summer: I wondered if she knew any of it already from her 
mother.  She listened sympathetically even if she did.  As the end of 
the semester drew near Yuki told me that she and her mother were 
spending the holiday in Hawaii.  She quickly countered my expressions 
of envy by telling me that her parents were going to be there 
together, to try and patch things up.  She wasn't looking forward to 
it.  For the first time I realized I was going to have to live for two 
whole weeks without seeing her:  The holidays were going to be bleak 
indeed.  I told her that me and mom would probably be eating Christmas 
dinner off of paper plates, just as we had done for Thanksgiving.


***


After all of the emotionally draining sessions, Mrs Tanaka took a new 
tack with me for the last few weeks of the semester; no longer 
hammering away at my memories of my father she started asking me all 
about my social life, whether or not I had many close friends, and 
about my relationships with girls.  I tried to be as honest as I could 
with her but there was always a gaping hole in anything I had to say:  
I couldn't bring myself to tell her how I felt about Yuki, and I there 
was no way I was going to tell her about her own role in my dreams.  I 
was worried that Yuki might have told her mother about our practice 
sessions together, or our little chats in home room, but I decided to 
play dumb and not bring any of it up.  I just couldn't confess any of 
the feelings I had for the daughter, in part I began to realize, 
because I was attracted to the mother as well.  I spent a lot of time 
trying to figure out if she was fishing, if she knew of my interest in 
Yuki, maybe even of my complete infatuation with her, and was 
attempting to get me to talk about it.  I felt drained at the end of 
each session, like I had played an hour of cat and mouse.   Mrs Tanaka 
expressed concerns about my being such an introvert, and felt that my 
attitudes about women and sex were unhealthy.  If I was to be a better 
adjusted person, in her opinion, I needed to base my life more on 
reality than on fantasy.  On that point at least I could not disagree, 
and I resolved that with the new year I would remake myself: instead 
of fantasizing about Yuki in the dark of my room I would do something 
positive about it, get to know her, maybe even ask her out eventually.  
I felt my self confidence building, and an intense feeling of 
gratitude towards Mrs Tanaka for helping me.  At the end of the last 
session before the holidays we exchanged a long hug, wishing each 
other a happy new year.


Fin 
Part 1

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