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From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers)
Subject: Story: Her Name Was Yuki (Part 2) [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 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.  If you didn't see part one and want it before you read 
on, mail me, or wait: I will post it all together (somewhere: ASS?) 
when the final part (3) is finished.

Synopsis of part one:
A shy High school student, Richard, develops an infatuation for a 
transfer student from Japan, Yuki.  He develops insomnia and 
nightmares about his father who has recently left the family, for 
which he seeks counseling from the school's new counselor, Mrs Tanaka, 
Yuki's mother.  In exchange for the counseling Richard has to work in 
the gym a couple of days a week doing odd jobs for Mr Roberts, the 
slightly sleazy gym teacher. 

Back in Japan Yuki was a star volleyball player.  Her first 
conversation with Richard is about how there is nobody at the school 
to help her practice.  Richard finds her in the gym and helps her: 
they become friends.  Yuki tells him that her father too has just left 
them.

Meanwhile Richard starts to discover he is attracted to Mrs Tanaka as 
well: he now dreams about her every night.  Part one ends at the end 
of the first semester of school, with Richard in much better spirits, 
vowing to take a more active role in pursuing Yuki.

Richard Rivers



HER NAME WAS YUKI
Part 2:

My holidays weren't bleak after all even though we didn't have much to 
celebrate in our house that year.   My new found optimism saw me 
through what would have otherwise been a miserable vacation.  
Preoccupied with thoughts of Yuki and Kozue, it was as if I was only 
half there anyway.  My poor mother must have felt as if she spent the 
holidays alone, or worse than alone since I spent most of my time in 
my room listening to the sleet and snow pelt my windows, waiting for 
the day when I could go back to school.

But the first week of the semester tested my new years' resolutions 
sorely.  Yuki smiled and nodded to me in home room but we never got a 
chance to talk; she always seemed to be hurrying off to class.  Every 
day I passed the gym on may way home from school, sometimes standing 
in the biting cold for ten minutes until my feet froze, waiting for 
the sounds of her practicing that never came.  The gym was empty when 
I looked inside.    

The morning of my session with Mrs Tanaka a bitter wind blew down from 
the North , chilling the air well below zero, the kind of cold that 
numbs you to the bone within seconds.  The sky grew gray and 
ominous from noon onward, foreshadowing the coming storm.  A few 
flakes were already falling as I made my way to her office.

She greeted me in a subdued manner, wishing me a belated happy new 
year.  The change in her shocked me: she seemed to have lost a lot of 
weight in the short winter recess, her eyes had dark circles under 
them, and her voice, once the beautiful, lilting, sing-song voice I 
had loved, sounded flat and tired.    

"How are you doing, Richard?"  She managed a weak smile for me.  "No 
more nightmares, I hope?"

"I'm fine, Mrs Tanaka," I said.  "How was Hawaii?" I asked, stupidly, 
regretting the words even as they left my mouth.

"Hawaii..." She sighed.  "Hawaii is such a beautiful place, Richard.  
Such a paradise."  Her weary tone suggested a wasteland, not an island 
paradise at all; she looked as if she might start crying and I 
squirmed with discomfort.  I hated being around crying women:  I 
didn't know what to do, what to say, how I should act.  Mom cried a 
lot when dad left and I had tried to console her in my own awkward 
fashion.  The feelings of helplessness and despair that had come over 
me were still too fresh in my memory;  I didn't want to go through 
anything like that again.  But Mrs Tanaka didn't cry.  She snapped 
into her professional persona.  Asking me to sit down, we began the 
session.

She was not herself; clearly distracted, her mind was far away from me 
and my little problems.  She made me repeat myself several times, and 
her note pad, usually full of scribbled notes by the end of each 
session, lay on her lap, the top page empty except for my name and the 
date.  I'm not even sure what she was driving at with her random 
questions; the whole session seemed so blasé, we both just went 
through the motions: she asking stock questions, me giving stock 
answers.  Mrs Tanaka's mood seemed so dark, her emotions so fragile, I 
felt my main objective that session should be to simply avoid 
upsetting her. My mind wandered as we kept up the shell of a 
conversation.  I couldn't stop thinking about Yuki: Why was 
she ignoring me?  What had I done wrong?  We both lost track of time.  

Eventually Mrs Tanaka snapped out of her daydream and looked at the 
clock on her desk.

"Oh, no," she said in a low voice.  "Look at the time, it's five o 
clock!"  

We should have finished by half past four.  She offered me a ride 
home, after she made one quick phone call; she wanted to see if Yuki 
had made it home on her own.  I saw her relax a little as Yuki 
answered.  They spoke together in Japanese for a short time, Mrs 
Tanaka's expression growing serious as she hung up the phone.

"It's really snowing out there, according to my daughter," she said 
pulling on her coat.  "Many roads are closed already.  She thought I 
was stuck somewhere.  We had better hurry.  Do you want to call home?"

My mother would still be at work, I told her; no need to call yet.  
Once we stepped out of her well-insulated office we could hear the 
wind howling outside as we hurried down the empty hallways.  

The door to the outside wouldn't open when she pushed it.

"It can't be locked from the inside?" She said, as if thinking aloud.

We tried pushing together and finally got the door about half way 
open, letting out exclamations of amazement when we finally managed to 
unstick it: a waist high snow had blown against it.  Snow blew 
into the hallway, in our faces, sending us staggering back inside.  We 
could see her car in the distance, alone in the middle of the snow 
covered parking lot, a drift covering it to the door handles.

"Oh," she said softly, wiping snow from her eyes.  "This is terrible."

We closed the door to shut out the biting cold.  She leaned against 
the wall next to the doors, her shoulders slumped.

"Mrs Tanaka," I said, "I think your car is stuck here.  Even if we 
could shovel it out we'd never get it out of the lot.  Did you see the 
drifts out there?"  Nobody had been through to plow the school lot 
yet, if plows were even out in a storm like this.

"How quickly it happened," she said with quiet astonishment.  "It was 
clear this afternoon.  We will have to find another way home I guess."

Returning to her office she told me to call my mother right away.  Mom 
sounded relieved to hear my voice, but worried: the TV news said that 
all the area roads were impassable, the plows couldn't even get out 
and the state police had advised everyone to stay indoors.  When I 
relayed this news to Mrs Tanaka she got a little frantic, thumbing 
through the phone book she said she was going to call us a taxi.  I 
sat and watched as she called every number in the book with no luck.  
No taxi driver in his right mind was going out in that storm.  
Finally, she fell into her chair, exasperated.

"I'm going to call Mr Forbes," she said at last.

She explained our predicament to Mr Forbes and then was silent as he 
spoke for a long time.  His bright idea was to call the police, which 
she did right away, talking with several different people, growing 
more and more frustrated.  It was obvious from her end that the police 
weren't going to come either.  Their best advice was to stay put.  The 
school had heat, it was safe, and we could get food and water if we 
needed, so why leave?  Mrs Tanaka had a difficult time accepting it, 
and she kept demanding to speak to higher-ups.  Eventually she got as 
high as she could before slowly hanging up the phone, sighing.

"They are absolutely no help," she said, leaning back in her chair.  
"They are going to make us stay here over night.  Nobody can come 
until tomorrow."  I could see tears welling up in her eyes.

I felt guilty because for me the whole thing had been exciting: the 
storm, getting stuck, maybe having to camp out at the school were all 
welcome breaks from my dreary life, but Mrs Tanaka seemed upset.  
Barely containing her tears she nervously twisted a pen between her 
fingers as she broke the news to me.  She felt responsible for the 
whole mess we were in, and my assurances that I didn't mind had no 
effect on her at all.  

She showed me to the office next to hers and told me to call my 
mother.  She had to make a few calls from her own office and would be 
back as soon as she finished.  My mom expressed concern about me, but 
the fact I wasn't going to have to travel in the storm was some 
comfort to her.  I assured her  that I had all my warm clothes with 
me, I would try to find something to eat, and that everything would be 
fine.  After I hung up it struck me how quiet these offices were, how 
insulated from the world.  Outside, a savage storm was blowing while I 
sat warm and comfortable.   Nothing could reach me.  There was 
something appealing about it, like being in a cocoon, or in a deep 
warm underground cave.  I sat back in the comfortable chair and 
enjoyed the feeling.  Excitement had completely washed away all my 
worries; for the first time in weeks I was able to sit calmly, 
peacefully, as if I hadn't a care in the world.

Mrs Tanaka stuck her head into the office.

"Richard," she said, "are you hungry?  It's almost seven o'clock.  I 
think we should see if we can find something in the cafeteria, OK?"  
Her voice was much more relaxed; almost back to the way I 
remembered it.  I think resigning herself to the situation she had 
finally stopped fighting and accepted our fate calmly. 

We walked in silence through the eerie dark of the deserted school, 
the muffled sounds of the howling wind accompanying our soft footsteps 
as we passed door after door of empty classrooms.  A single 
fluorescent tube dimly lit the cafeteria, giving it an eerie, bluish 
glow.  We walked carefully between the chairs and tables, through the 
heavy swinging metal doors and into the kitchen.  The kitchen was 
pitch black and Mrs Tanaka fumbled for the light switch.  With a 
crackle the lights came to life, making both of us blink at the sudden 
harsh brightness reflected off the stainless steel all around us.

She turned to me. "This is going to be fun,"  she said with a smile 
that took me by surprise.   She laughing, the soft, melodious laugh 
that I loved to hear as she surveyed the kitchen.

"I've always wanted to do this," she said as if to herself.

After perusing the shelves, she selected a can of tomato soup, enough 
to feed twenty people, but the smallest thing we could find.  I worked 
on getting the can opened while she disappeared into the walk-in 
freezer.  She emerged with a box in her hands and a triumphant, 
mischievous look on her face.

"We are having tomato soup," she said putting the box on the counter, 
gesturing towards the now lidless can, "bologna sandwiches," she went 
on, pulling out bread, bologna and a huge bottle of mustard, "and, a 
special surprise! Cake."  She pulled a chocolate cake still in its 
plastic tray out of the box with a mock flourish.

"That's great," I couldn't help laughing.

She busied herself making sandwiches and heating the soup, refusing my 
offers to help.   I leaned on the counter and watched her.  Although I 
had spent the first semester seeing her every week, other than the 
sound of her voice which I loved, it was as if I had never really paid 
attention to her before that moment.  Now, watching her move about the 
kitchen I saw her, in a certain sense, for the first time.  She had 
such a youthful quality to the way she moved, a playfulness,unlike any 
other adult I knew.  Quick to laugh, her eyes sparkled with an impish 
glitter that delighted  me.  She took off her jacket, throwing it onto 
the counter.  In her dark skirt and white blouse I realized how fine, 
how delicate her body looked; her slim waist and hips--not girlish and 
athletic like Yuki's--had a  woman's mature fullness.  Watching the 
movement of her delicate arms an shoulders thrilled me as she quickly 
and efficiently assembled sandwiches and ladled soup.  In my dreams 
she had been an erotic presence for weeks, but more psychic 
than physical, arousing me entirely with the warm glow she radiated.  
Now the realization came, surprising me, almost as something I had 
been afraid to see: she was a beautiful woman.  

We ate our dinner mostly in silence making small talk about the 
weather, our strange situation, and other things.  After we cleaned 
up, she looked at her watch, sighing.

"It's not even eight thirty.  Too early to go to bed.  I've got work 
here I can do.  How about you?"

"I can always go to my locker and get some books or something," I 
said.

"Good.  Go get them.  I'm sorry but there isn't anything else to do in 
here,"  she shrugged helplessly.  "Study for a while before bedtime.  
Mr Forbes told me there is a bed in the nurse's office.  You can sleep 
there.  I'll sleep on the couch in my office."

She set me up with my homework in the office next to hers where I 
listlessly flipped the pages of my textbooks for an hour while she 
worked next door.  Suddenly the lights went out, leaving us in total 
darkness.  I heard her bumping around in her office as I got to my 
feet and started feeling my way along the wall.  We met in the 
doorway, bumping heads.

"Ouch," she laughed.  "Are you OK?  We seem to have lost power."

We stood for a moment, only a foot or two apart.  It was so quiet I 
could hear her breath, feel it on my face.  The constant rush of the 
heaters, in the background before, had stopped, leaving behind a 
sudden, noticeable void.  

"I think the heat is gone too," she said.

I held my hand up in front of my eyes.  "I can't believe how dark it 
is in here, I can't see my own hand."

"I know," she said.  "We should go back to my office."  

I felt her hand brush my arm.  "Hold my hand," she said.

Hand in hand we stumbled to her office.  She let me go and fumbled 
around on the desk.

"The phone is dead too."

The room already felt a degree or two cooler because of the lack of 
constantly blowing warm air.  We found our coats to use as blankets 
and Mrs Tanaka suggested that we sit on the couch and drape them over 
ourselves.  Our bodies touched as we sat side by side.  I could feel 
her warm thigh pressed against mine.  We sat quietly for a while and 
then she began to tell me a story about her childhood, growing up in 
Japan.  

She had been a little girl, five or six years old, taking a train trip 
all the way to the north part of the island to see her grandparents, 
alone.  Her parents had put her on a train that would go directly to 
the city where her grandparents lived.  It was safe, and the stewards 
on the train would look out for her during the long trip.  Somewhere 
the train had stopped in a dark tunnel for what seemed like hours to 
her.  Terrified, she had started crying and crying, she said, and she 
wouldn't stop.  A kindly old steward came and held her hand, calming 
her until the train was out of the tunnel.  Later in the trip he had 
lead her up to the front of the train to meet the drivers and had held 
her hand again, taking her to the waiting arms of her grandparents at 
the station. 

At some point during the story she put her arm around my shoulder.  I 
wanted to do the same, but felt too shy.  It was getting noticeably 
colder and we sat in silence for a long time.  As I started to drift 
off to sleep I thought I heard her crying softly.   

After some time I partially awoke.  I could hear the heaters blowing 
and the room was warm again.  The lights were off but now the dim 
green glow of a flashing digital clock lit the room.  I had fallen 
asleep leaning on Mrs Tanaka's shoulder.  My weight had pushed her 
over so that I almost lay on top of her. We were both more asleep than 
awake then, and what happened next seems still as if it were a dream: 
an unconscious whirl of motions, half remembered, half experienced, 
dipping in and out of waking and dreaming.  Something from the depths 
of my unconscious stealthily surfaced and took control of the living 
body it had moved only in dreams before.    

Our faces were so close I could feel her warm breath streaming onto my 
cheek.  Sensing my wakefulness, she stirred.  Turning her head 
slightly towards me her lips softly grazed my face.  I turned to meet 
them and our lips touched ever so softly: my first kiss.  Our mouths 
lingered together without moving, prolonging the feathery gentle 
touch.  I let myself sink down more deeply, feeling the soft fullness 
of her lips give way.  Stirring again I heard the soft sharp hiss of 
her inhalation next to my ear.  Parting further, her lips pulled my 
mouth more firmly onto her own. The little moan  which issued from her 
throat passed as a vibration from her body into mine.  Her velvet 
tongue reached into me and darted away again as if frightened then, 
teasing,  playfully coaxed me to follow, deeper and deeper into her 
body; at the back of my neck her hands held me tightly to her.

She pulled me down on top of her bringing our legs up onto the couch.  
I felt her skirt slide up over her spreading thighs.  Our mouths were 
unable to stay apart; when she withdrew for a breath I hungrily 
sought after her lips, and her hands pulled my head back down to her 
again and again as our kisses grew in intensity.  Her warm thighs 
moved along my body and she locked her legs around me, pulling my 
crotch against hers.  She enveloped me completely; her legs and arms 
wrapped around me in a tight embrace, and wherever we touched the heat 
traveled between us completely saturating my nerves, making me tingle.  
I lowered all of my weight onto her, freeing my hands to caress her 
face and stroke her hair.  Already hard and  throbbing, the feel of 
her soft yielding flesh beneath me aroused me more; she pushed 
on me with her calves, showing me the thrusting movements I was too 
naive to know how to do on my own.  The bulge in my pants burrowed 
into the soft flesh beneath her panties.  But I yearned for more 
total, deeper contact with her and pushed myself against her with 
greater and greater force, rubbing myself against her faster and 
faster.  Her kisses grew hungrier, more urgent and we stiffened, 
straining against each other.  I began to feel as if I couldn't hold 
back any longer, as if my motions were no longer mine to control.  I 
squeezed my crotch against her, straining every muscle in my body, 
wringing a moan from deep within her.  Then I shuddered, coming.  I 
throbbed against her, restricted and straining inside my pants as warm 
wet come soaked onto her panties, spreading to the insides of her 
thighs as she squeezed my shaking body between her legs.

"I'm sorry," I started to speak.  I felt guilty--the mess I'd just 
made--as if I had done something terrible.

"Shh," she gently put a finger to my lips.  "Shh, don't say anything.  
It's OK.  Shh."  She hugged me more tightly and I felt her warmth 
flood into me again.  A  peaceful calm came over me and I drifted back 
to sleep.

I woke up some time later as she tried to wriggle out from under me.  
I sat upright, feeling the cold wet come soaking through my pants.  In 
the dark I could see her standing up next to me.

"I'm going to turn on the light, get ready,"  she whispered.  The 
light was harsh after those hours of darkness.  Her back was to me and 
I glimpsed her thighs as she smoothed her skirt, pulling it down over 
her knees as the lights came on.  

"Let's see what kind of a mess we've made," she said softly, a little 
smile at her lips.  She looked herself up and down:  "Not too bad.  A 
little rumpled, I guess, but you..." 

She looked down at me and I felt ashamed: come completely soaked the 
front of my jeans.  I looked as if I had wet my pants.

"Mrs Tanaka, I'm sorry, I..." I started to say again.

"Don't be sorry," she said softly but insistently. "Don't. You poor 
boy!  This is nothing to be ashamed about." She gave me a pat on the 
shoulder.  "Shh, don't say anything more right now."  Looking at her 
watch, she went on: "It's three in the morning.  We need to get 
cleaned up and ready for tomorrow.  If you rinse those pants out and 
hang them in front of a heating vent, they'll be dry by morning."  

I was taken aback by her brisk, business-like manner:  I'd just 
stained her with my come, and now she was going on about getting ready 
for tomorrow.

"Mrs Tanaka,"  I began again, more insistently.  "Look, I didn't 
mean..."

"Shh, she interrupted me again.  "Richard, we'll talk about this, I 
promise we will, but not now.  Not right now."  She spoke softly, as 
if scolding an errant child. "Please, don't feel guilty or ashamed.  
This should be a beautiful time, not a time for apology.  Just be 
still now."  Her gentle voice soothed me into submission. "Oh, and 
please, don't you think after that you can call me Kozue?" she added, 
with just a hint of mischief in her voice.

We made our way to the bathrooms and each went to work cleaning up 
"our little mess" as she called it.  I washed my pants and underwear 
in the sink and put them back on, wet.  She led me to the darkened 
nurse's office and showed me the bed, then, kissing me on the 
forehead, left me, saying she would return when it was light outside.  

I lay awake for a long time that night in that stark hospital bed, 
listening to the wind whipping outside, wondering what Mrs Tanaka was 
doing at that moment, what she was thinking, and  wondering too if my 
life had just gotten better, or, suddenly, a whole lot worse. 


***


Mrs Tanaka came to wake me up at eight o'clock the next morning.  We 
went to the cafeteria again to eat some breakfast and wait for our 
rescue.  She told me I should come to her office as soon as school 
resumed after the snow storm and we would have a little chat about 
what had happened.  In her opinion, it would be a good idea to let our 
emotions cool down before we could deal with the situation in a 
rational way.  

With that, she reverted to her chatty, playful persona.  She started 
telling me some story about living in New York city, and how a big 
snow storm had hit, but I wasn't listening.  All I could do was look 
at her and think of how beautiful she was.  Every move she made sent a 
shiver through me: the way she held her elbows close to her body when 
she buttered her toast; how her delicate fingers curled around her 
coffee mug; the face she made as she wrinkled her little nose at the 
bad school coffee.  Her motions, so delicate, so thoroughly feminine, 
made me want her, but she had receded back to an unassailable distance 
again; the brief connection we had enjoyed the night before seemed 
lost.

We were rescued about an hour later.  Mr Forbes arrived along with a 
state policeman who checked to make sure we were OK and then left.  Mr 
Forbes took us to the office so that we could call our homes, but 
before letting us use the phones he ushered us into his personal 
office and had us sit down.  He told us that he would prefer it if we 
both kept quiet about our ordeal.  We sat uncomfortably as he told us 
that he feared the local press might make "too much out of nothing" 
and blow the whole thing out of proportion if our story got out.  Mrs 
Tanaka nervously crossed her legs as he went on about how some people 
might jump to "the wrong conclusions" about the "embarrassing 
situation" of a student and a teacher stuck alone together in the 
school over night.  She asked him what he meant by that, but he 
hedged, hemming and hawing, not really answering the question.  I 
remember guiltily wiping my sweaty palms on the thighs of my pants, 
still damp where I had washed my come off them as he droned on.

School got canceled for the rest of the week due to the snow storm.  
The next  Monday as I filed out of home room a hand on my arm 
surprised me.  Yuki pulled along side of me in the hallway.

"Richard," she hissed, whispering over the din.  "I've got to talk to 
you!  Can you meet me after school?"

She had never initiated a conversation between us before, and after 
her aloof behavior recently this sudden approach completely took me by 
surprise.  Something about her almost panicky tone worried me: I knew 
this had to be about her mother.  My appointment with Mrs Tanaka was 
for that afternoon, but using that as an excuse for not seeing Yuki 
seemed risky and made me extremely nervous and defensive; I suggested 
we meet at lunch instead.  Her mother went off campus for lunch, she 
said, so we could use the office for privacy.

When we met, Yuki led me into the office and closed the door behind 
her.  She didn't sit down but leaned her back against the closed door, 
hands folded behind her, almost as if she were barricading it, 
preventing my escape.  In front of Yuki I couldn't bring myself to sit 
on the same couch where I had slept with her mother.  Instead I hopped 
up on the desk, dangling my legs over the edge.  "The criminal, 
brought back to the scene of the crime for interrogation," I thought. 

Yuki took a deep breath and looked me in the eye:  "Richard, thank you 
for meeting me here.  I'm so sorry to trouble you, but the reason I 
have to talk to you is because of what happened last week with you and 
my mother."

Every muscle in my body tensed, it was all I could do to resist the 
urge to push her aside, fling open the door and run off madly down the 
hallway.

She went on: "She is not herself anymore.  She has been so sad lately, 
because she and my father didn't work out their differences over the 
winter break, in Hawaii.  It was awful, the whole vacation was awful, 
and now she's acting as if something worse happened.  She has been so 
preoccupied, so absent minded, like a different person since that 
night she spent here. I was wondering if he called her again, or, I 
don't know, if anything else bad happened.  Did she talk about 
anything to you?"

I relaxed.  So she doesn't know...

In my relief I had forgotten to answer the question.  

"Richard?"

"Uh, no, she didn't," I said, blankly.  Then, regaining composure:  
"She did seem very sad, but I think she wanted to put a good face on 
things, you know, for me,  to keep my spirits up."

"She didn't say anything?  Did she act unusual in any way that night?"

"This is heading in the wrong direction," I thought.  

"I don't know, I don't think so," I said.  "You know, I don't really 
know her that well.  It's usually me that does all the talking and she 
just listens...Come to think of it though," I interrupted myself,  
"she told some story about Japan, her childhood, and she seemed a 
little sad then, but I didn't think anything of it, you know, I didn't 
really notice.  I don't know what else to say.  I'm sorry."  I 
shrugged, looking at my shoes swinging out from under the desk hoping 
my answer had been good enough to deflect her.

Yuki was silent, thoughtful for a moment.  She sighed.  "Well, I'm 
worried about her and you are the only person who might be able to 
help me.  You are the only person who knows us both."  Her eyes 
flickered, then she looked down, fidgeting.  "So, what was it like, 
the two of you trapped in here alone together all night?"

"Careful," I thought.  

"Well, what did your mother say," I asked, trying desperately not to 
let my voice sound cagey.

"Oh, she said it was boring.  She made soup, then you guys just sat 
around reading books, or something.  But she didn't tell me she told 
you stories about Japan.  I wonder why she left that out?"

"Oh, we were falling asleep by that point," I said.  My heart skipped 
a beat.  "I...I mean I was falling asleep.  I had to go across the 
hall to the nurses room you know.  I slept in there."  

I felt as if she had handed me a rope and was watching me tie it 
around my neck.

"Can I ask you one more thing?"  Her voice changed, softer now.  She 
didn't look up as she spoke, instead fixing her gaze on the carpet at 
her feet.

"Sure," I said.

 "Now she kicks the chair out from under me," I thought in despair.

"Are you avoiding me for some reason?"  She blushed,  eyes still 
downward, knocking the backs of her legs nervously against the door.

The wave of relief I felt blanketed me in joyful, ecstatic warmth.  I 
could have leaped off the desk and hugged her.

"I'm alive!" I thought.     

"Me avoiding you?"  I stammered.

The painful effort it had taken her to ask me that small question was 
obvious:  she stood blushing, eyes downcast, as she had been the first 
time I ever saw her, and, suddenly, all the feelings I had for her 
came back, piercing me.  She looked so desirable, battling against her 
own shyness, her modesty.  In her unexpected brave act of self 
expression I glimpsed briefly the shadow of woman she would become: so 
like her mother.  Her hold over me redoubled its power.  I wanted to 
go to her, hold her, comfort her, but I stayed rooted to the desk.

Glimpsing the mother through the daughter illuminated the dual, 
disquieting nature of my desire:  I wanted them both.  One person--
split into two independent, living, breathing, and desirable halves--
is how I saw them: the daughter the potential, the mother its 
fulfillment.  Aching, impossible desire filled me, a heavy, sluggish 
fluid flowing through my veins.
 
"I thought you were avoiding me," I said.  "I've looked for you, after 
school, in the gym, but I've never seen you there."

"Well I've been there, but I start practice later now," she said, 
defensively.  "I have advanced chemistry, and the lab time is half an 
hour after last period.  I don't even get to the gym until three 
thirty."

"That explains it," I said, striking my forehead with the palm of my 
hand.  "And I thought you were mad at me or something."  

We arranged to meet that Thursday, when I would start helping her 
practice again.  

I spent the rest of the day in a euphoric mood knowing that I had 
narrowly escaped an ugly scene, even coming out of the encounter 
having my friendship with Yuki on stronger footing than ever.  

Three hours later I returned to the same office for my meeting with 
Mrs Tanaka.

She ushered me in, and as we took our seats on the couch she gave it a 
little pat.

"Scene of the crime," she said, a smile flickering across her face.

I sat in dumbfounded silence: was she a mind reader?

"All right, Richard," she started, more formally.  "We both know what 
happened in here the other day.  I don't even think we need discuss 
the details.  What I'm interested in are your feelings about it.  I'll 
tell you mine too.  Now the reason I kept shushing you up the other 
day was because I wanted you to have some time to reflect on it, 
before you just blurted something out, something you might regret 
later.  I needed the time to reflect myself.  It's not that I don't 
respect your thoughts, its just that I want them to be better 
formulated, OK?"

I nodded.  All I could think about was the last time we sat together 
on this couch.  Her thigh had been touching mine, making me tingle.  
Now she sat a few inches a way, inches that felt like light years.

"Why don't you tell me what you feel about it," she prodded.

I didn't want to talk.  I only wanted to reach out and stroke her 
thigh, run my hand over her skirt, under it, feeling her softness, and 
maybe finally see her unclothed body.  There was no way I could tell 
her the feelings going through me at that moment.  My feelings 
required actions not words, and I didn't have the courage.

"Well, Mrs Tanaka," I began, hesitantly.  "I feel really badly about 
what happened.  I mean, I don't have much experience with girls, or 
women I mean, well I don't have any actually."  I was blushing so hard 
my head was hot.  "I'm not sure I knew what I was doing that night.  
Not really, anyway."

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked quietly.

"Uh, well, uh, I guess so..."  My embarrassment grew more painful.

"It's OK if you did.  There's nothing wrong with that."

"Well yeah, I enjoyed it," I said.  I wanted to do it again so badly 
it hurt.  To have to talk about it and not be able to do anything was 
like twisting a knife in me.

"Do you think you took advantage of me," she asked.

"Well yeah, sort of," I said more forcefully.  "You were asleep.  I 
kind of started things."

"But I woke up at some point, didn't I?"  She smiled knowingly.

She was torturing me, absolutely torturing me, whether she knew it or 
not.

"Yes, I think you must have," I admitted.

"And, did I ever tell you to stop, at any point?" 

"No, you never did."

"Then I think you should re evaluate whether or not you took advantage 
of me, OK?"

I nodded.  

"Now, do you think I took advantage of you?  Think about it 
carefully."  He tone grew serious.

"No way," I said adamantly.  "I think I'm the one who really wanted to 
do it.  You just went along with it. Anyway, I'm the one who, you 
know...who..."  I couldn't bring myself to say it.

"Came?"  She said quietly.  "You're the one who came?"

"Yes," I exhaled, relieved that she had said it for me.

"How do you know that, Richard?  How do you know I didn't come too?"

She had thoroughly flustered me.  I sat stupidly, speechless.

She relaxed and smiled.

"Richard, you have a lot to learn about women, and about sex.  First 
of all women don't just go along with it, or at least they shouldn't," 
she said forcefully.  "I wasn't just going along with it for your 
sake.  I enjoyed it too you know."  She gave me a pat on the leg.  
"You men have the problem of thinking that sex is always for, and 
about yourselves.  Well, women enjoy sex too.  Never forget that.  
They don't just go along, or if they do and they don't tell you it's 
not your burden to feel guilty about later.  Do you understand?"

I nodded in assent, feeling a slight glimmer of hope:  She enjoyed it!  
I longed for her to touch me again, but she kept talking.

"My feelings are that it is something that happened, we were in a 
stressful situation, and sometimes that brings out a side of our 
personality we aren't even aware of ourselves.  It happened, we both 
enjoyed it, now its over."

As I listened she slowly broke my heart.

"I don't have any regrets, and neither should you, but I think what 
happened wouldn't have happened except in that very unusual situation.  
Now there are people who would condemn me for what we did, not you, 
but me: I'm older.  I should be responsible and so on and so forth.  I 
don't share their views.  I think we were both old enough and wise 
enough to decide for ourselves what was right and, personally, I don't 
think any real harm was done, to either of us.  However, my position 
as your counselor has been compromised, and ethically I do think it is 
wrong for me to continue in that role.  When a certain gap has been 
bridged between people it is hard, well impossible, to ever go back to 
the way things were before.  We achieved a certain, let me say, 
familiarity, with each other the other night."  She gave me a wistful 
smile.  "Now we can't go back.  I can't go back to the position I need 
to be in to counsel you effectively any more.  Personally, as friends, 
I think we must be careful with each other as well.  Once crossed, 
that bridge to intimacy is easier and easier to  re cross, more and 
more tempting.  I think we should not see each other at all for a 
while."

Noticing my pained expression, her voice softened.

"Don't assume you're the only one this is difficult for.  I'm a human 
being too.  I've got feeling that can be hurt, just like yours."  She 
stopped abruptly, sounding close to tears.

She got up and sat behind her desk, increasing the already painful 
distance between us.  Her words  dashed my hopes, and the last shards 
of my euphoric mood, finally dislodged, blew away.

Mrs Tanaka gave me the names of some free counseling centers that 
might take up where she left off, but she didn't feel it was of vital 
importance that I keep going:  I had made some progress, and we had 
accomplished the main goal of the sessions; my nightmares had gone 
away completely.  She had no idea that I still dreamed about her 
almost every night instead.  As she rose to let me out of her office 
she told me I could certainly drop by if something important came up 
then planted a little kiss on my forehead.  Its impression burned for 
hours after I left.


***


Over the next several weeks I got closer to Yuki, although being in 
her presence hardly cut through the deep melancholy I felt over my 
break up with Mrs Tanaka.  We started meeting at the gym a few times a 
week as before.  Yuki seemed to come out of her shell, talking and 
laughing with me more than she had in the past and sometimes we would 
sit on the bleachers together for a few minutes after she had tired 
out, just talking.  She told me of the places she had toured all over 
Asia playing volleyball, or she would tell me things she and her 
girlfriends had done back in Japan or the comings and goings of life 
in her small town.  Whenever she mentioned her mother in passing and I 
had to stifle the urge to ask her to tell me more.

The sight of Yuki in her volleyball uniform never bored me.  Soaked 
with sweat as she usually was after practice, she might as well have 
been naked.  Without seeing her with her clothes off I already knew 
her body intimately: I could clearly see her nipples and the areolas 
around them through the sweat soaked fabric; I could count her ribs or 
see the small indentation of her navel in the middle of the soft rise 
of her belly.  Sometimes the back of her outfit would ride up showing 
a small firm cheek of her behind.  But looking at the small mound 
between her legs was my most guilty pleasure.  The very essence of her 
femininity, its soft fullness constantly attracted my gaze, and if 
nothing else had already aroused me, looking there was sure to produce 
an erection, impossible to hide standing across the net from her.  I 
had to ration my quick glances to times when we sat together and I 
could safely fold my hands in my lap, or hold the ball there, pressing 
it into me, pretending it was her body I held against mine. 

She became aware of how I looked at her, she had to, and  I think she 
came to enjoy her role as the object of my desire.  Her behavior 
became more playful, flirtatious even.  Sometimes it almost seemed as 
if she posed for me, knowing how her body affected me.  Before, when 
the back of her uniform had crept up she had pulled it down, modestly, 
furtively, only when facing me, but now she did it with her back to 
me, giving the elastic a little snap.  Bending to retrieve the ball: 
did she do that more slowly now, holding the stretch for just a second 
longer than necessary, when I could see the muscles in her thighs 
flexing,  her long pony tail sweeping the floor, or did I only imagine 
it? 

Whenever she spoke she looked me in the eye now and fewer things I 
said or did seemed to embarrass her.  It was me, more often than not, 
who ended up looking away or at my feet when she would give me little 
pats on the shoulder thanking me at the end of each practice session, 
or a little punch if I told a particularly lame joke. I thrilled at 
her touches, wishing for more, but I restrained myself from pursuing 
her physically. 

The change in her delighted me, but my enjoyment always had a dark 
underside: so many of the little things she did reminded me of her 
mother.  The closer I got to Yuki, the more I longed for Kozue.  
Memories of the night we spent together haunted me: the feel of her 
soft thighs against me, her hot, passionate kisses, the give of the 
flesh under her panties.  Seeing some small thing in Yuki could 
trigger it at any time, setting off the whole painful cascade of 
recalled sensations again.  I felt as if I walked along a razor's 
edge: if I got any closer to Yuki her mother would surely find out and 
she would be lost to me forever, so I maintained my frustrating 
distance, getting what enjoyment I could just by watching.

As usual, Mr Roberts became the thorn in my side. I assumed that since 
my therapy sessions were over I could stop reporting for work at the 
gym, but he had a different idea:  he telephoned my mom, telling her 
what a great help I had been to him, and that my work could turn into 
an after school job.  My mom just couldn't turn down the offer of a 
little extra money coming in and I didn't have the heart to say no to 
her when she asked me to do it:  we needed it.  I would be working in 
the gym three afternoons a week, for minimum wage.

Once I was an employee instead of a slave Mr Roberts began treating me 
a little better.  He let me take breaks, when I could sit at the desk 
in the outer part of the office, put my feet up and kick back for a 
few minutes.  I still hardly ever saw him: he always closed the door 
to his inner office and he would emerge every now and then to check on 
me or to do some other small errand.  

Sometimes I heard him talking on the phone through the door, just a 
word here and there of him joking around with some friend on the 
other.  He evidently talked to this friend, or friends a lot about 
women and sex, maybe he gave the run down of his most recent 
conquests;  I could only hear just enough to arouse my curiosity.  
What started as innocently overhearing bits of conversations slowly 
evolved into outright eavesdropping.  I began looking for the little 
light on the telephone to go on, signaling me that he was on the line 
so I could tip toe into the outer office and listen at the door, but 
this was still frustrating;  I could barely hear what he was saying 
through the door and the other half of the conversation was lost.  

One day, quite by accident, I discovered how to listen in from the 
other phone.  I needed to call my mom for some reason and I picked up 
the phone without thinking to hit the button for the other line.  I 
held the receiver to my ear but instead of a dial tone I heard an 
unfamiliar voice.

"..and you're gonna tell me about it today I hope?" the voice said.

I put my hand on the mouthpiece, waiting with bated breath to see if 
they had noticed me pick up another phone.

Mr Roberts came on the line: "Yeah I'll tell you the whole thing, 
right now.  You got a few minutes?"

"Sure."

"OK, its the same chick I told you about, with the big tits."

"Big for a fourteen year old, I'm sure," the voice said with sarcasm.

"No way," Mr Roberts answered emphatically.  "No, these babies are 
just B.I.G.  Big! But ripe, you know, not hanging down or anything.  
They stick straight at ya."

"Uh, huh."

"Anyway, I make her stay after school the other day.  I make her stay 
late after class, alone.  Making up some excuse, like I need to update 
my file, or something, so I just asked her her phone number, a bunch 
of shit like that, you know, just to kill time.  I just wanted to keep 
her there."

"So, did you fuck her?" The voice sounded eager.

"No! No, I didn't fuck her, not yet anyway.  She's not like the one 
last year.  You remember the one I told you about.  The one who was 
dying for it; who practically crawled down MY pants for it.  Anyway, 
this one's different.  Real conservative, sweet.  It's going to take a 
lot of work if I'm going to stick it to her, you know, if ever.  But 
for now I'm just watching."

"You lucky prick!"

Mr Roberts laughed: "You said it, my friend!  To get on with my story: 
I keep her there until everyone else has cleared out, then I tell her 
to hit the showers.  Just then that punk kid, that guy who works for 
me, he shows up, and he's asking me what to do and  I'm panicking.  
I'm thinking: 'I've got to get going,' so I tell him to do some damn 
thing or other and I'm free.  I'm just in time too.  She's turning on 
the water in there, facing me.  Facing me!  Those big ripe high school 
tits are jiggling right in front of me, then they're all wet, and the 
water is running over 'em in these two little water falls that go down 
each tit and over the nipples.  Her nipples are small, you know and 
tight."

"Nothing like a small nipple on a big tit, I always say," the voice on 
the other end chimed in.

"Right you are!  They're like two brand new little pencil erasers."

"What happened next?"

"Well, I swear she knows I'm watching, because she puts on a show.  
Maybe being alone in the showers is a turn-on for her, but I think she 
knows I'm looking, or she senses it anyway.  Whatever.  She washes her 
hair, then soaps up those tits.  I mean she's squeezing them with both 
hands, cupping them, and I can see how firm they are by the way 
they're moving."

"You gotta love a girl who loves her own tits."

"For sure.  So I've got my cock out.  I can't stand it any more, and I 
figure she's almost done.  But she's not.  She's just getting started.  
She takes the soap again and soaps up her bush.  She's got a thin crop 
of pussy hair on her which she works into a lather.  Now she's facing 
away from the water, sideways to me, but I can see clearly.  She 
starts rubbing her pussy!"

"No way!"

"Yes way!  Right there in front of me.  I can see her middle finger 
stuck downwards between her thighs and she's making these slow side to 
side motions, then round and round she goes.  She kept if up for a few 
minutes, and I joined her, you know, stroking my cock at the same 
time.  I can tell she was coming.  She arches her back, her whole 
body's spasoming and she lifts herself onto her toes.  I can see her 
ass twitching, giving  these little pelvic thrusts, and her thigh 
muscles clench up.  Then her hand stops moving.  I know she's coming 
right then, at that instant.  Her whole body stopped for a second, 
then she started jerking, like she was riding an invisible bucking 
bronco.  Holy shit!  Her tits were shaking.  Everything was shaking, 
and, man, I lost it.  I shot my load right then, all aver the fucking 
wall.  I didn't care."

"That's amazing.  Man you are one lucky dude!"

"I know, I know.  I'll have to have you come over again some time, 
when that kid isn't around, and you can check it out for yourself.  
It'll be better than last time.  Remember that volleyball  game.  I 
sneaked you in there, didn't I, and while I glad handed all the 
parents you got to check the whole team out showering.  I took care 
of, man.  I'll do it again."

"And I thank you for it," the voice said.

"Listen," Mr Roberts went on.  "I've got to go check up on that kid, 
OK?  I...."

That was all I heard.  Putting down the receiver, I quickly tiptoed 
out of the office.  I hadn't gone far when Mr Roberts came out.

"Rivers!" he yelled at me as I was slinking through the locker room.  
"Are you finished, or what?"

"No, I'm just taking a break," I told him.

"OK then, but back at it, soon.  All right?"  With that returned to 
his office and shut the door behind him.

As I listened to him talk on the phone I didn't feel shock, or even 
surprise; it only confirmed my feelings about him.  I'd never liked 
him because I always thought he had a sleazy, corrupt side, but I had 
never been able to pin down specifically why. It no longer mattered: 
this was worse than anything I could have imagined.  I knew what he 
was doing alone in that office all the time, and why he kept it locked 
up like Fort Knox, proving to me for once and for all time that he was 
a sleazy bastard.  I could go on hating him with a clear conscience.

When he mentioned the girl's volleyball team, and how he had let his 
friend spy on them, it filled me with a righteous, fiery anger.  How 
dare he!  Yuki was on that team, MY Yuki!  And that creep had been 
letting his pals spy on her!  I swore I would get even with Mr Roberts 
for that, and that alone.  I needed some proof though, some concrete 
evidence against him other than a conversation I had spied on.  I knew 
that as a student any little indiscretion I committed would be used 
against me, no matter how heinous a crime it  served to expose, while 
Mr Roberts would always get the benefit of the doubt.  If I wasn't 
very thorough, the bastard would wriggle out of it somehow.  Before I 
could tell anyone I would have to get into his office and figure out 
exactly how he was doing it, then I could turn him in, armed with the 
knowledge that when the door finally opened Mr Robert's secret would 
be made plain for all to see.

I needed to act soon.  The thought that Yuki was getting undressed 
every day in front of him made me burn with hatred, and also with 
jealousy.  If anyone deserved to see her with her clothes off it was 
me.


***


The snow lay heavy on the ground as February wore on.  I bided my 
time, watchful, ready to pounce whenever the opportunity presented 
itself, but Mr Roberts didn't slip up.  He always closed and locked 
the door behind him when he left his office, even for a moment.  I 
began to despair of ever getting in there and figuring out what was 
going on, resigning myself to the fact that I might have to go to Mr 
Forbes, armed only with flimsy evidence to hold up against the word of 
a teacher.

Mr Roberts kept up his phone calls to the same friend and several 
others, so I got to hear some of his stories two or three times.  His 
goal was to fuck the student I  heard him describe before.  According 
to him, he managed to pick out and fuck at least one student every 
year.  He took smug satisfaction in describing the joys of deflowering 
fourteen and fifteen year-olds to his coterie of horny friends, to 
whom he was something of a hero.  Listening to him talk that way 
enraged me; but my anger also thinly disguised jealousy, which I 
cloaked in the guise of moral indignation.

As I sat in the office taking a break the phone rang.  I could see the 
light go on when Mr Roberts picked up, and I was soon on the other 
extension.

"...anything going on?"  the voice said.

"Nah, not at the moment," Mr Roberts answered, sounding bored.

"Listen, are you coming out with us Friday, like we planned?"

"Well, no.  There's a change of plan, for me anyway."  Mr Roberts 
laughed, sounding self satisfied.      

"What's up?"

"I've got a date Friday night!"

"You're shitting me.  A date? You?  What, are you wining and dining 
those little girls now before you plug them?  That just doesn't sound 
like you, man."

"No, no," Mr Roberts cut in.  "This is a real date.  Progress on that 
student is slow, too slow.  In fact I'm wondering if I picked the 
right one or not.  Anyway, I'm not getting any right now.  A most dire 
situation.  So I got myself fixed up with a date for Friday."

"Somebody I know?"

"Nope, no way.  She works here at the school.  You'd never have seen 
her."

Somehow, before he said it, before he mentioned her name, I had the 
sinking feeling, the absolute, utter sinking to the bottom of the 
deepest pit of the ocean feeling that I knew exactly who he meant.  
The room around me seemed to reel; I grabbed the arm of the chair to 
keep from falling over backwards.

"She's the counselor at the school, or something," he said.  "I dunno 
exactly what the hell she does.  Met her in the teacher's lounge over 
there a few weeks ago."

"Well, is she a babe, or what?  Inquiring minds want to know, buddy."

"OK, lets see.  Yeah she's a babe, but not in the traditional babe 
sense.  She's Japanese, a little older.  She's been to college, 
educated you know, done that whole scene, but she's hot.  I can tell.  
Underneath all that book learnin' she wants it, bad.  She just got a 
divorce, and you know what they say."

"Hot to trot," they said in unison and laughed.  

"I know the type," he continued.  "I feasted on chicks like that all 
through college: all prim and proper, so concerned about their image, 
their reputation, all that shit.  But once you nail them, you know, 
once you break through that barrier, they turn out to be wild bitches 
in heat.  They'll do anything.  And they're grateful for it!  That's 
the best part.  You fuck them for a while and they start thanking you 
for bringing them outta their shell, you know, opening them up and 
all.  But that's when you have to dump them.  You have to be merciless 
with chicks like that.  They're smart, and they get dependent, and 
that is fucking dangerous.  Dangerous!  Nothing more dangerous than 
having a horny, brainy chick dogging your ass."

"Well, be careful.  But it sounds like you're getting laid Friday 
night.  I guess we'll let you off the hook..."

"No!"  Mr Roberts sounded angry.  He had to lecture the guy some more.  
"You don't understand a fuckin' thing I tell you!  With a chick like 
that you have to go slow.  Maybe it'll take a couple of dates, I 
dunno, two or three.  It's an investment.  A chick like this one has 
to be comfortable with it.  Both of you know what's going on here, 
exactly why you're asking her out.  She knows, and you certainly know, 
but she needs a couple of drinks, a couple of dinners, maybe a kiss or 
two before she'll do it, so you play along.  Once she breaks down and 
does it..."

I had heard enough.  More than enough.  His descriptions of women, 
especially since they applied to Mrs Tanaka, sickened me.  I placed 
the phone gently in the cradle and left the office.  That bastard!  It 
was bad enough that he spied on Yuki, but now he was going after Mrs 
Tanaka, and in a much more threatening way.  I wondered what Mrs 
Tanaka could possibly see in a creep like Mr Roberts, such a low life 
pervert.  Of course she didn't know he was a pervert, or a low life 
either, I realized.  He must really turn on the charm when he's around 
women.  They would have no idea about this side of him, until it was 
too late.  Still, being a psychologist, I reasoned, she would have 
some insight into a character like this.  She must know the type.  
Even I had seen through him right away: the vague sense that he was a 
sleaze had been there all along and all of this had only confirmed 
what I already knew.  She must surely have an even keener sense than 
mine.  Why couldn't she see it?

Then a disturbing thought occurred to me, a thought that slowly gnawed 
away at me.  I remembered Mrs Tanaka telling me how she had enjoyed 
our little moment on her couch.  Images of her came to my mind: 
of her kissing and holding me passionately, the way she looked  with 
her little half smile at my come soaked pants afterward.  How much 
come had she seen in her life, I wondered?  How many men had she 
been with?  Somehow, although I knew better, I had deluded myself into 
thinking of her as being pure and innocent, like Yuki.  The 
realization that she was a sexual being, a woman with her own sexual 
feelings and desires made me uncomfortable.  Mrs Tanaka might 'need 
some' in the same way that Mr Roberts did.  She indeed might see right 
through him, know his type.  "She knows what's going on," he had said: 
maybe that was the reason she was going out with him.

The fear that Mrs Tanaka and Mr Roberts might have sex threw me into a 
panic.  I couldn't let her go out with him, possibly sleep with him.  
There was no way I could stand by and let that happen: she was mine!  
He didn't deserve her, that sleaze ball.  I had to act, and before 
Friday, two days away.  The rest of that day, and long into the night, 
images of Mr Roberts and Mrs Tanaka engaged in every possible of kind 
of sexual activity whirled around in my brain, tormenting me. 


***


The next day I had arranged to meet Yuki for more volleyball practice.  
I listlessly threw her the ball without much enthusiasm.  I could 
hardly look at her any more after overhearing that phone call: it only 
made me more painfully aware of the fact Mr Roberts got his chances to 
look at her too, and he had seen her in  ways that I could only dream 
about.  Also, I had no idea yet how I could stop her mother from 
going out with him the next day and I knew that if he did sleep with 
her I would be forced--I would force myself--to listen to him describe 
it in lurid detail to his pals over the phone.  

Yuki, sensing my discomfort, suggested we have a seat in the 
bleachers.  

"Are you all right?" she asked.  "You look sick, or something."

"I'm fine," I said.  "I've just got problems, big ones this time."

"Poor Richard, always with problems.  Can I help you in any way?" she 
asked, patting my arm.

"Just keep doing that," I thought.  

"No, not really," I sighed.  "Just talk to me.  Help me take my mind 
off things, OK?"

"Sure Richard.  What do you want me to talk about?"

"Well," I started cautiously, "how is your mom doing? You said she was 
really upset a while ago.  I wondered if she was OK now."

I had to be careful, very careful.  I needed information about her 
mother but I knew that to get it I would have to tread on some very 
thin ice, risking possible exposure.

"She seems to be better now.  That's sweet of you to ask."

"So far so good," I thought.  

"Do you guys talk much, about things, you know, personal stuff?  Like, 
does she know about me.  I mean us...I...I mean that we practice 
together and stuff?"

She raised her eyebrows, normally an achingly cute gesture that made 
me long to reach out and grab her, but in this context it was 
alarming. 

"Hmm," she said slowly.  "Richard, you have no idea what it is like 
having a psychologist for a mother.  Every little thing you do gets 
dissected and analyzed.  Every time you do something she is ready with 
an 
explanation.  She is very good at getting her way too, because she 
knows all of the tricks you might use in advance.  Don't misunderstand 
me: I'm very close to my mother.  We share everything, and we talk 
about a lot, but there are some things, some personal and important 
things, now that I'm older, that I don't bring up with her any more. 
She respects my privacy now that I'm...developing...and so I haven't 
told her about you.  It's too special."

She blushed and looked down at her hands resting on her bare thighs.

Her honesty floored me.  She had never given any indication that she 
thought of me as someone special before, and now that she had I could 
only sit speechless and stare at her in blank amazement, wanting her 
more badly than ever.

"You're so nice to ask about my mother."  She lay her hand on my 
shoulder and let it rest there.  "She's fine.  Really good in fact.  
She has got some big secret date coming up that she is so happy and 
excited about, but she absolutely will not tell me who it is.  It is 
all some big mystery: some mystery man.  I think she is finally 
getting on with her life, you know, forgetting about my father and all 
of the awful things he did to her.  She is ready to start enjoying 
life again."

To me "enjoying life" meant only one thing: having sex with Mr 
Roberts.  My dual obsession was killing me.  Whenever something good 
happened on one front, the other front collapsed in disaster.  Yuki 
had 
just told me that I was special to her.  She had her hand on me, 
touching me at that very moment, something I had lain awake at night 
hoping for, yet all I could think about was her mother getting worked 
up and excited, ready to give herself to that creep Mr Roberts.  I had 
to do something, and I had to do it, what ever it was, that day.

"Richard, I bet you are coming down with something," she said.  "You 
really look pale."  
 
We parted and she jogged off across the gym.  Not long ago nothing 
could have torn my eyes off her retreating form, but that day I hardly 
noticed.  I left the gym and ran headlong into Mr Roberts moving at 
a brisk pace along the walkway.

"Whoa there Rivers," he said.  "You're just the fellow I could use 
right now!"

I told him I wasn't working that day, but he said that if I helped him 
out for fifteen or twenty minutes right now, I could have tomorrow 
off.  All he needed me to do was watch the office while he ran an 
important errand: he had to deliver some flowers to a lady.  I noticed 
the bouquet under his arm, for Mrs Tanaka no doubt.  Just to kick 
myself, to add humiliation to the total defeat crashing down on me I 
assured him that I would be happy to help him out.  We parted: he with 
a spring in his step, me dragging my heels back to the gym.

Mr Roberts had turned off all the lights in the locker room.  An eerie 
gray darkness greeted me when I opened the door.  The lights to the 
outer office were the only illumination in the place.  Moving 
carefully between the benches and lockers in that twilight I finally 
came to the office and threw myself into the chair.  My resignation 
was total.  He must be over there in Mrs Tanaka's office this very 
moment, sweet talking her.  Maybe she had even invited him to have a 
seat on the couch: our couch!  

I couldn't stand it.  I leaped to my feet and paced the room like a 
caged animal.  Several minutes went by before I noticed with gleeful 
astonishment that Mr Roberts had left the door to his inner office 
ajar.  In his haste to get to Mrs Tanaka he had finally slipped, 
finally made that one, fatal mistake.  And like the caged 
animal seeing its last chance, I pounced.  

I hurried into the inner office and pushed the door almost all the way 
closed behind me. I didn't know how much time I had.  Taking a quick 
look around I noted how ordinary it was: just a plain metal desk, 
littered with loose papers, a couple of file cabinets, posters of 
various athletes on the walls...But it was obvious right away how Mr 
Roberts concealed the secret of this office.  He must have counted on 
the fact that no one would ever even get through the door.  On the 
wall, right behind the desk, hung a large calendar with the title 
"Iron Women" emblazoned across the top.  Miss February, a busty blonde 
flexing her biceps, with only two dumbbells for clothing, grinned at 
me.  Lifting the calendar revealed a hole nearly three inches 
in diameter in the center of the wall.

As I bent down to peer through the hole the sound of running water 
began abruptly.  "Some one's in the locker room!" I thought. "Mr 
Roberts must have come back and he's taking a leak."  I tip toed out 
of there as fast as I could, carefully replacing the calendar on the 
wall.  In the outer office I paused to let the adrenaline rush pass.  
The sound of running water was fainter, almost inaudible from there: 
pipes must run through that wall, I reasoned, feeling ridiculous for 
jumping at the false alarm.  I briefly considered not going back in to 
the office again;  I had all the evidence I needed already.  I could 
go to Mr Forbes, or whomever, and lead them right to the hole in the 
wall.  But, in the grip of a compelling curiosity I couldn't turn 
back, I had to go in again and actually look through that hole myself.

Back in the office I immediately went to the calendar.  Taking it down 
I leaned to peer through the hole.  As it passed through the wall it 
narrowed considerably so that on the other side it could have only 
been about the size of a dime, I guessed.   As I expected, it opened 
into the girl's showers.  Like ours, the girl's showers were simply a 
rectangular tiled room with a row of shower heads along one long wall.  
The hole was positioned so that it looked straight down the line of 
showers.

The sound that had scared me was one of the showers running, splashing 
onto the empty floor.  Just as I was about to pull my eye from the 
hole Yuki stepped into view, naked.  I started.  She was looking right 
at me, standing not even ten feet away but she showed no reaction: the 
hole must be well hidden on her side.  

Standing outside the stream of water, she held the hot-cold knob with 
one hand while making little jabbing motions with the other, testing 
the temperature.  Her breasts shook slightly with the motion of her 
arm.  I had only seen her in her uniform or school clothes before: her 
breasts always flattened  tightly against her body by the little bras 
she wore or the tight volleyball outfit.  Now standing out freely from 
her slight frame they looked surprisingly heavy, like small ripe 
fruits budding off a supple tree. My eyes traveled down her body, 
below her belly.  Her pubic hair, already dotted with a few shiny 
water droplets, like pearls resting on a bed of the softest grass, 
grew sparsely so that I could see her pale white skin through it.  
Growing towards the center of her body it thickened, forming a small 
tuft, a dark line that passed between her legs. She stepped under the 
water, turning sideways to me; her jutting breasts proudly lifting 
their nipples upward;  below her slim waist she swelled: the soft 
mound of her belly rising gently before plunging into the fine growth 
of hair below and disappearing between the soft outward curve of her 
thighs.  The steamy water beat down on the small of her back and 
flowed over her in one graceful arc, down over her behind to the top 
of her thighs.

In one hand she held a bar of soap which she used to quickly lather 
her arm pits and breasts.  I could see her soft flesh give as she 
rubbed herself. She modestly applied soap between her legs, lathering 
up her pubic hair then made a slow full circle under the stream with 
her arms raised to rinse all the suds off.  Turning off the water she 
suddenly stepped out of the shower and my field of view.

The whole thing couldn't have lasted more than one or two minutes, but  
thinking about it later, going over and over every minute detail 
seemed to stretch it much longer.  Something about that heightened 
state of perception, when it seemed as if my eyes and every pore of my 
body strained to absorb as much of her as I could, had the effect of 
obliterating the flow of time.  I might  have stood there looking at 
her for an hour, or all day, the impressions of those fleeting moments 
burned themselves into my memory so strongly.

The feeling that I had to get out of that office abruptly cut off my 
thoughts of Yuki.  Mr Roberts must be on his way back, or he would be 
very soon.  Leaving everything as I had found it, I left.

Mr Roberts came back from his visit to Mrs Tanaka smirking as he stood 
talking to me.  I didn't even hear what he was saying I was so dazed 
by what I had just seen and enraged at the thought that he had just 
come from Mrs Tanaka's office.

"I've got you now, you bastard," I thought.  

I ran to the main building after he finally let me go, trying to catch 
Mrs Tanaka before she went home for the night.  I decided then that I 
had to tell her about Mr Roberts right away, to protect both herself 
and Yuki.  Rounding the corner of the gym at a full run I saw the rear 
of her car as it left the parking lot and sped away.  I had no idea 
where she lived or her phone number.  Waiting for tomorrow would be 
too late.  I sank down on the cold icy curb and cursed myself.



Fin
Part 2

Richard Rivers

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