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From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers)
Subject: REPOST {Rivers} Summer Story: Part 2  (M/f Sex, Asians, Seasonal Affective Disorder)
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I am re posting parts 2 and 3 after receiving the rather nasty
surprise that my newsreader was garbling all posts of more than about
4k words.  Hopefully the problem has been solved: my apologies to
anyone who bothered to read three quarters of the way through only to
have the text disintegrate.  Please let me know if there is still a
problem.

This story contains graphic descriptions of sex.  It is intended for
adults only.  

This is more or less a sequel to another story I wrote: Her Name Was
Yuki.  There is not much overlap between the two, and reading of the
previous story should not be necessary for the appreciation of this
one.  As a warning, some readers, perhaps many, may find the ratio of
sex to plot unfavorable.  The story will be posted as written with the
intention of making each part, while a piece of a larger whole,
interesting enough to stand on its own.  As always, the author
welcomes any constructive criticism.


The other parts to this story can be found on the Asian Sex Stories
Archive
/~Asian_Sex_Stories/Stories/newer/Rivers/summerstory/summerstorypt1.html

Some other of my stories are on that site as well.



Summer Story
By Richard Rivers
Part 2





Kozue looked at herself in the hall mirror, pausing to straighten her
skirt and push a loose strand of hair back into place.  In the
kitchen, she opened the refrigerator to be sure the wine was cooling.
A spring thunderstorm was rumbling in the distance making the air feel
thick and humid. 

"Mom, you just did that, three minutes ago," her daughter complained
from the kitchen table where she was doodling over her homework,
unable to contain her annoyance watching her mother's nervous comings
and goings.

"Can't you do that someplace else," Kozue snapped, watching as the
girl sullenly scooped up her things and headed to her room.
Immediately she felt guilty for her outburst but said nothing as she
listened to the soft footsteps of her daughter in the hall.

She was surprised at how nervous she had become waiting for Carla to
arrive.  She told herself that it was because she wasn't sure Carla
would behave herself at the symphony concert they planned to attend -
she could be loud and abrasive in public at times, embarrassing to be
around - but there was more to it; Kozue realized she wanted things to
be just right, for Carla to enjoy the concert as much as she would.
The symphony was her private sanctuary, her refuge from the problems
that weighed her down the rest of the week.  For her it was a large
step, inviting Carla to share such an important part of her life.
They had known each other for almost a month, and this was their first
evening together, a departure from the regular schedule of lunch dates
they had maintained since becoming acquainted.

Kozue remembered the day they met with vivid clarity.  She had
attended the lecture as a means to possibly meet some new people.
Since the divorce, her social life had dwindled to almost nothing and
she needed something to take her mind off the terrible secret she was
burdened with.  The memory of it was walled up within her, like an
oyster covering the painful thing with layer upon layer, and it was
growing heavier by the day.  Confronted by the crowd of unfamiliar
people, she had panicked, feeling as if she was suddenly standing
among them exposed, naked, the truth about her plainly visible.  She
had lost her nerve completely, unable to take the few steps that would
carry her to the nearest knot of people, remaining instead alone at
the edge of the group, trying to blink back the rising tears of
frustration.  When Carla touched her arm, Kozue was startled, finding
herself locked in the intense gaze of her blue eyes.  Her slender,
wiry frame and short blonde hair made her look tough, even a little
intimidating, but her expression was friendly and Kozue was quickly
relieved to have someone to talk to.

Although they had certain superficial things in common which eased the
two together into friendship, their personalities could not have been
more opposite.  Carla moved through life with an open ease that Kozue
could only envy.  Beside Carla, Kozue felt slow and plodding, the way
she measured every action and considered each word carefully.  Carla's
life was overflowing; she was full of stories about her exploits and
loved going into graphic detail about her experiences.  Kozue soon
discovered that Carla's life seemed to revolve around men and sex.  At
first she found herself squirming to hear to such personal and
intimate details, however once she became more comfortable around
Carla she found herself becoming interested in what she had to say.
Kozue found the things Carla told her mildly titillating and she often
found herself hanging on her every word.  The vicarious pleasure she
derived through Carla had its bittersweet edge, reminding Kozue of how
empty her own life seemed in comparison.

Carla surprised her by showing up on time.  She was even dressed up,
wearing a sleek looking pair of black pants and matching top.

Seeing Kozue in her familiar dark skirt and white blouse Carla
remarked:  "People are going to think we're a couple of dykes, the way
we dress."

Kozue blushed, to Carla's secret delight.  She loved needling Kozue
with sexual talk.  Early on in their friendship Carla became aware
that although Kozue might blush, she actually enjoyed the racy little
asides and the dirty talk.

Carla let herself down into one of the Kitchen chairs as Kozue opened
the wine.  "I went out with Jerry again," she said to her back.

"Really?" Kozue half turned around with the corkscrew halfway in.  "I
thought you said you were through with him Carla," she said.

"That was last week," Carla shrugged.  "He keeps calling and calling;
it wears me down.  I finally gave in and went out with him again.  We
had a real nice date: dinner, a movie, the works.  I felt like I was
back in high school again, but I can't help feeling that there was
something phony about the whole thing."

Kozue was pouring wine into the glasses.  "What do you mean?" she
asked, bringing the glasses to the table and sitting opposite Carla.

"Well, it just seems so phony, you know, going through the whole
traditional date thing.  I mean there's usually that uncomfortable
moment after a date like that, when you're deciding if you should DO
IT or not.  In some ways, it's like the whole dinner and movie thing
is leading up to that moment: that's what makes all that other stuff
fun.  But Jerry and I fucked the first day we met.  There just isn't
any of that romantic tension left.  Hell, it was never there to begin
with.  I didn't even remember his name the first time we fucked: I had
to sneak a peek at his wallet for god's sake."

Kozue was horrified, imagining her daughter Yuki had probably crept
down the hallway to listen in on them.  She cleared her throat.
"Carla, my daughter..."

Carla cringed.  "Jeez, I'm sorry."  She gulped her wine.  "Well, what
I mean is that the whole relationship seems kind of phony.  I mean
we're good...you know..." she stuck her right forefinger into the
circled fingers of her left and drew it out "but everything else
between us fills me with ennui.  I don't dislike the guy; I just don't
have much in common with him.  I'm looking for someone who has
something else.  I'm not even sure what it is.  But I know I'm not
happy the way things are."

"Then why do you keep seeing him?" Kozue asked.  

"Good question," Carla shrugged.  "We're comfortable together.  Being
with him is kind of warm and cozy, like and old shoe, but when we're
together I can't help but feel I'm missing out on something.  Know
what I mean?"

"Your life is so much more complicated than mine," Kozue sighed.
"Maybe you should be happy with what is right in front of you."  She
got up and poured more wine.

Carla shrugged again and let it drop.  She had never been to a
symphony concert before and she had a lot of questions to ask Kozue
about what to expect.  Kozue was only too happy to oblige her, and she
tried to impress on Carla how much she enjoyed going to concerts.  Her
husband had disliked music, so she had almost always gone alone;
attending a concert with a friend was a special occasion.

At last, she looked at her watch.  "Carla, we should be going soon,"
she said, "but first I think you should meet my daughter."

Kozue left the kitchen and returned a moment later pushing a shy
teenager in front of her.  Carla was immediately struck by the
resemblance between mother and daughter.  Yuki was a taller, more
angular version of the mother.  Her youthful, athletic body showed
more sinew and bone, but the two shared the same round face with its
impassive expression, the same delicate feminine features.  Standing
before them Carla felt large and bulky.  She knew her own body was
slender, taut, and much appreciated by men, but in front of these two,
she suddenly felt self-conscious.  

"Yuki, I would like you to meet my friend Carla.  Carla this is my
daughter Yuki."  Kozue made the introductions.  

"Pleased to meet you."  Carla extended a hand, trying to mask her
feelings with a blustery response.  Still, she felt an electrical
shiver pass up her arm as her fingers curled around the girl's soft
hand.

"How do you do," Yuki said softly.

After Kozue excused herself and led her daughter away Carla poured
another glass of wine and wandered into the living room.  She wanted
to get enough of a buzz on to be able to make it through the concert
in a mellow stupor.  Waiting for Kozue to reappear, she sauntered
around picking up knickknacks from the bookcase and replacing them.
She came across a photograph of Kozue, her daughter and a man,
presumably the ex husband.  They were standing outdoors, leaning on a
wooden railing and smiling at the camera, in the background was a
snow-capped mountain.  Carla looked about her.  There was no other
sign of a man in Kozue's life, certainly no photographs or any other
articles that spoke of a male presence.  Kozue never talked about
herself, her personal life.  Everything Carla knew about her she had
deciphered from scraps of information Kozue had let slip in the course
of their casual conversations.  Her reticence, the way she held
herself so distant could be maddening at times.   Carla knew something
was up with her, some inner turmoil was eating away at her, but in
spite of her best efforts Kozue remained an enigma.

She moved further along the bookcase to where Kozue kept her music.
Below a row of CDs was a substantial collection of old vinyl records.
Carla was impressed: it must have cost a fortune to ship them all the
way from Japan.  She pulled one out at random and looked at the
picture on the cover before pushing it back into place.  Pulling the
next LP out, Carla realized it was of the same music, performed by a
different musician.  Both were cello concertos.  She absently pulled
out another record and discovered a collection of cello sonatas.  The
next two LPs she selected at random were also of cello music.  Even
with her limited knowledge of classical music, Carla knew there was
something odd about such a collection.  With a purpose in mind she
pulled out a CD from the middle of the shelf.  This one had to belong
to the daughter: the picture was of some pop group with indecipherable
Japanese lettering scrawled across the top.  The next two disks
however proved to be more cello music.  Carla didn't have time to
ponder the meaning of what she had just discovered; Kozue emerged from
the hallway, apologizing for making her wait while she said goodnight
to her daughter.

In the car, Carla turned to Kozue.  "Your daughter is so adorable,"
she said.  "How old is she?"

"Sixteen," Kozue answered.

"Ah, sweet sixteen," Carla sighed.  "Does she have a boyfriend?" she
asked.

Kozue stiffened.  "Oh, I don't know, maybe."  Trying to sound casual
and unconcerned, she was grateful to be in the darkened car where
Carla couldn't see her directly.

"Well, you had better watch out Koz," she said.  "That's a ripe age."

Kozue was prepared to veer the conversation onto a different course,
but to her great relief, Carla fell silent, concentrating on the
traffic, or something else on her mind.

With the lights still up in the concert hall the musicians were
sauntering on stage in a casual, disorganized manner while Carla kept
up a running string of comments about them into Kozue's ear.  As it
turned out, she had dated one of the trumpet players briefly and knew
a few of the players by name.

"Now that guy is handsome," Carla said as a cellist walk to his seat
carrying his instrument in one hand.  "What do you think?"  She gave
Kozue a nudge.  

"Who's that?" Kozue said, pretending to be reading her program.
Carla's running commentary was embarrassing her.  What were the people
around them thinking - two grown women giggling over boys like a
couple of teenagers...?

"That one, the guy just sitting down, the cello-ist," Carla said,
exasperated by Kozue's show of indifference. 

"You say cellist Carla, not cello-ist," Kozue corrected her, still
peering into her program book.

Carla groaned.  "WHATEVER Koz.  But don't you think he's good
looking?"

"Oh, I don't know..." Kozue mumbled, embarrassed.

The player Carla pointed out had already caught her attention, weeks
ago at the very first concert she attended.  Kozue had never admitted
it to anyone, but her first lover had played the cello.  It had been a
brief, secret encounter when she was very young and from that time on
she had always had a weakness for the instrument and especially any
handsome man who played it.   Throughout her marriage it had been her
little secret; as far as she knew no one ever suspected why her tastes
tended towards the one instrument.  Certainly not her husband: he
disliked music and never bothered to look through her record
collection.  The cello had a soulful sound, Kozue thought, plaintive,
like the human voice, and listening to cello music always moved her.
The musician who caught her eye had a superficial resemblance to the
lover she remember from long ago, enough to set in motion the
familiar, bittersweet pangs of memory.

Carla kept up a string of chatter until the lights went down but Kozue
had stopped hearing her.  She was back in Tokyo, living with her
parents, a shy high-school student, full of romantic ideas about love.
Like a fever, the unnamable yearning wracked her.  Lying awake long
into the night, she felt her heartbeat pushing the heated blood into
the deepest recesses of her body.  Reaching her brain, she became
giddy with it, drunk on it.

The evening was hot.  Even though the sun had gone down, she could
feel the stored heat rising from the dusty pavement.  A small bead of
sweat tickled her neck.

This was an unfamiliar part of Tokyo, an area where foot traffic along
the streets was sparse.  There seemed to be a lot of banks or office
buildings around with a few small shops and restaurants sandwiched in
the leftover spaces: a real contrast between rich and poor, she
thought.

The subway stop was a few blocks back.  She couldn't recall the name
of the station, or even the line she had come from.  After quarreling
with her mother, she had run out of the house, blind with anger.  For
hours, she had ridden the trains, joining the crush of evening
commuters, getting off her train at random and boarding another, not
caring where it was headed.

When her anger finally cooled, leaving behind a smoldering defiance,
she abandoned the subway.   Still upset, and too proud to go home, she
wasn't sure what to do next.  She wandered the strange neighborhood as
the light of evening faded, looking into the windows of small shops,
smelling the aromas wafting out of the little restaurants tucked into
the alleys off the main street.

A group of drunken salarymen came lurching out of a bar, making her
jump.  They shouted something after her and broke into laughter.  She
began to feel alone and a little afraid, but she was resolved not to
go home and face her mother.  

She walked for a while longer, turning off the main thoroughfare and
winding her way among the twisted little streets that branched off it.
She left the house with only the clothes she was wearing and her purse
containing a few yen.  Stopping to look at her watch in the light of a
small shop window, she was surprised to see that it was after nine.
She searched her purse for some gum, candy, anything to eat, suddenly
aware of how hungry she had become.  Inside, she found only her little
address book: perhaps one of her friends would take her in for the
night.

She continued up the small street, looking for a pay phone, but there
didn't seem to be any around.  Her feet began to hurt and she wondered
how much farther she would have to walk to find a phone and then the
subway again.  Ahead, in the middle of the next block, she noticed a
restaurant, a small place that looked like it might only have a few
tables, but they had to have a phone she could use. 

The restaurant was cozy: a dimly lit, wood paneled place.  There was
bar along one wall and a few tables along the other.  Although the
place was small, the atmosphere was inviting.  At the tables, a few
couples sat leaning close together in private conversations.  One man,
a foreigner, was sitting by himself at the bar with a large bottle of
sake in front of him.

Kozue asked about the telephone and was directed to the back.  Poking
her head through the hanging cloths that separated the back of the
restaurant from the seating area, she found the phone in use.  A man
was talking on the phone while a woman stood beside him, listening.
Kozue waited for a moment, undecided as to what to do, before the
woman gave her an acid look that told her she had best leave them
alone.  

Standing in the middle of the restaurant, she was unsure whether she
should leave or wait, until the man behind the bar smiled and told her
she could wait there.  Grateful for the chance to get off her tired
feet, she settled onto one of the chairs.

The smell of food made her empty stomach protest and she glanced
furtively at the meals of the people sitting near her.  She knew she
couldn't afford to get anything to eat here and she tried not to think
about how hungry she was.  All the money she had in her purse would
barely cover train fare.

The lone person at the counter wasn't eating Kozue noticed, and she
watched him out of the corner of her eye.   A foreigner, he was
obviously confused by the menu, peering at it and shaking his head.
He asked for some soup, in English, but the man behind the counter
didn't understand.

Kozue felt guilty for listening in, especially since he seemed to be
having trouble.  Even though she spoke English very well for her grade
level - both her parents had lived abroad - it still surprised her to
discover she could understand much of what he was saying.  She paid
closer attention as he again tried to order something without making
himself understood.

He was older, but as with all foreigners it was hard to tell his age
exactly.  Kozue decided he must be around thirty or so, but that was
just a guess.  Like all foreigners, he was tall.  His hair was
unusually long for a man; it seemed messy to Kozue, and he had a curly
beard that added to his unkempt appearance.  She found herself looking
at him more openly, deciding he was handsome in an exotic kind of way,
like the star of one of the American movies she had seen.

He was speaking again, still trying to order, and Kozue surprised
herself by getting up and moving down the bar to a chair next to him.
She told him, in English, that she could help him order if he liked.
Perhaps it was her rebellious mood or the rush of adrenaline from the
fight with her mother, but she felt disconnected, as if she was
watching someone else take control of her body.  Normally she was shy
and reserved, even around her peers, and approaching a stranger was
something she would never dream of.  But at that moment it seemed the
most natural, easy thing to do.

Surprised at first, the man was grateful for her help.  He told her
what he wanted and she ordered it for him.  Then he asked her
something, maybe if she was waiting for someone, but her English
wasn't quite advanced enough to understand what he was saying.  She
waited beside him while his food was being prepared, asking all of the
questions she had been taught to ask of foreigners in school: what is
your name, where are you from, is this your first trip to Japan?

His told her his name, and the name of the city came from, which she
had never heard of.  This was his first trip to Japan; he had only
arrived yesterday.

When his food was ready, he immediately saw how hungrily Kozue looked
at it and asked if she would like to join him.  Kozue was too
embarrassed to say yes, but it was obvious that she was starving.  He
pushed his bowl of soup towards her and asked her to order another for
him, plus whatever she wanted; it would be his payment for her help,
he said.  Finally her hunger overpowered her sense of politeness and
she ordered the same thing he was having.

As they ate together, Kozue enjoyed telling him the names of all the
different foods.  He made her laugh with his awkward attempts at
pronouncing the words she taught him and the faces he made when he
found out what some of the dishes consisted of were funny too.  Kozue
was concentrating so hard on her English that she didn't notice when
the couple using the phone emerged from the back of the restaurant and
left.  Talking with the foreigner gave her a strange rush of
excitement.  Maybe speaking in English had something to do with it:
she felt sophisticated and important, not like a high-school girl
anymore.  The man was so much more considerate and mature than the
boys she knew at school.  He never interrupted her when she was
talking, and he seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying.
Even when he was being silly or telling a joke there was a sense of
calm about him, a depth that was missing from all the boys her own
age. 

He told her about himself.  She had a hard time keeping up with his
English but she didn't want to stop him for every other word.  The way
he looked at her, with eyes that seemed to penetrate right down into
her heart and set her body trembling, made Kozue focus all of her
attention on him, the sound of his voice.  He told her was a musician,
and that he was in Japan to play some concerts.  Tokyo was such a big
city; he found it overwhelming, and he was having a lot of problems
with the language.  After one day, he was already feeling homesick.

She told him her own story as best she could: about the fight with her
mother, and how she had left the house, traveling through the city
aimlessly with nowhere to go.  He looked at his watch with concern.
It was after ten already; was she going to be able to get home all
right?  He offered to pay for a taxi but she refused, saying it would
cost too much.

While they were talking, the waiter informed them that the restaurant
had closed.  He paid the bill and they found themselves standing out
on the small street.  Kozue was surprised to see how dark it had
become as they stood together for a moment without saying anything to
each other.  She could see that he was concerned, not wanting to leave
her alone in the city at night.  

Kozue didn't want to leave either.  She wanted to find another
restaurant or someplace where they could go and spend the rest of the
night talking.  Standing close to him, so close she could feel the
warmth of his body and hear his breathing, made her tingle all over.
She had forgotten all about her mother, going to her friend's house,
everything else.  The only thing that mattered was the man beside her
and the strange trembling in her body.  She wanted to touch him to
make it stop, or to make it more intense, she wasn't sure: one way or
the other the urge was almost too great to resist. 
 
He told her his hotel was not far and suggested she accompany him
there so he could see about arranging a ride home for her.  They set
off, climbing a long shallow sloping hill, winding their way through
twisting alleys and side streets.  The night air had grown cooler and
a light breeze was gently blowing the hanging lanterns along the way,
sending arcs of deep crimson light across their path.  The scent of
flowers was in the air, as if they were near a garden.  The atmosphere
was so calming that Kozue found it hard to imagine such tranquility in
the heart of a great city.  

She was elated to have a few more minutes with the foreigner.  The
thought that they would soon be parting was suddenly oppressive.  When
the hotel came into view she began to grow desperate.  She didn't want
to go home, she couldn't; she wanted to stay with this man, whatever
might happen.  She knew it was crazy to even think those thoughts.
And yet everything about this night had an unreal, crazy quality,
unreal but also more real than anything that had ever happened to her
before.  She felt poised on the verge an unnamable, yawning abyss;
traversing it would forever change her.  On the other side was
beckoning the answer to the yearning, the discontent that had invaded
her waking thoughts, colored her feverish dreams.  All she had to do
was summon enough courage to reach out and pull herself across and she
would be saved.

As they came to the last block before reaching the hotel, Kozue's
sense of desperation grew.  If she didn't act soon he would be gone
forever and the magic of this night would be lost.  Steeling herself,
she shyly placed her hand into his as they continued to walk up the
gentle slope.

In his room, they were both tense; Kozue could feel her legs
trembling.  He seemed not to know what to do either.  He turned on the
television and sat on the bed, motioning for Kozue to have a seat in
the armchair.  An American movie was on: something with a car chase in
it followed by a long conversation between two men holding guns.
Kozue felt trapped, unsure what to do next.  She wanted to keep
talking to him, to sit beside him, hold his hand again, but now he was
so far away, and silent.  The warm comfortable feeling of the
restaurant and the walk to the hotel was gone.  A sick, nervous
feeling in the pit of her stomach had taken its place.

Naive as she was, Kozue realized they were both in the grip of that
same powerful, unnamable thing.  Even though he was older, a man, so
much stronger than she, the power of this thing affected him in the
same way.  He was nervous and afraid too.  The revelation was
liberating to Kozue.  Suddenly she knew what she wanted and there
seemed to be no reason to wait any longer.  Leaving her chair, she
went to the bed and sat beside him.  With both hands she held onto his
arm and squeezed tightly, letting her head fall against his shoulder.


At first she felt his body grow tense, then he began stroking her hair
and she felt the muscles in her grasp soften.  He was kissing her,
soft tender kisses that only intensified the strange fluttery
sensation in her body.  Touching him did nothing to quiet her
trembling limbs: it made her want more and more of him.  Something
wild, yet tender and achingly sweet invaded her, overwhelmed her
senses, her thoughts.  She was losing herself.  Only the points where
her body touched his seemed alive, vibrating, humming with a pleasure
more intense than anything she had imagined.

When he touched her breasts, the broad warm palms of his hands
covering them completely, she felt as if her breath had stopped.  A
pulse throbbed there and she didn't know anymore if it was his, or her
own.  She wanted those hands, those strong arms to encircle her, cover
her entire body and make it move with that same rhythm.

His arms slid under her and he lifted her so that he could gently undo
her blouse.  She helped him slide it off her shoulders, feeling the
cool air of the room against her bare skin for the first time.  The
straps to her bra he pulled down over her shoulders before undoing the
clasp, and when it fell away, her breasts felt as if they were
swelling, tingling with warmth and coolness at the same time.

Her first instinct was to cover herself, hide her nakedness from him.
He lowered her back to the bed and began kissing her again, now moving
down to her throat and over her collarbone.  With a gentle insistence,
he parted her arms and let his kisses fall on her breasts.  Kozue
closed her eyes.  The soft warmth of his mouth set all of her nerves
humming with an electrical intensity; her nipples had grown almost
painfully tight.  They were throbbing, and when he touched them, the
feeling spread throughout her entire body.

When his hands moved lower, between her legs, caressing the insides of
her thighs, she felt a rush of fear.  Suddenly she felt as if she was
hurtling forward, out of control.  The feeling was exhilarating, she
wanted more of it, but she was afraid of what was going to happen
next.  She grasped his wrists and held tightly, telling him that she
was afraid; she had never done this before.

He seemed taken aback for a moment, and Kozue feared she had said the
wrong thing, that he would stop, ask her to leave; she didn't know
what to expect.  Her voice was almost unrecognizable, the way she was
trembling, but she told him she didn't want him to stop, only that he
should be patient with her.

After that, he went more slowly, as he took off the rest of her
clothes and let his hands play over her entire body.  Guiding her to
roll over, he let his fingers drift softly up and down her spine
before massaging her shoulders and back.

Kozue felt embarrassed to be completely naked in front him.  When she
asked, he took off all of his clothes and she saw his body for the
first time.  The sight of him sent a strange mixture of fear and
excitement into her blood.  She felt how vulnerable she was, and in
her moment of uncertainty the image of her parents, her mother
frowning with disapproval, flashed before her eyes.

He kissed her legs, just beside the knees, moving upward along the
insides of her thighs, switching from one to the other.  Kozue had
never imagined being kissed 'there', and when he reached the spot, she
wriggled away from him, holding his head back with the palm of he
hand.  Seeing the fear and confusion in her eyes, he told her that
there was nothing wrong; she would enjoy it, and it would make things
easier for both of them if she let him continue.

She lay back, covering her eyes with her hands: she was embarrassed to
see his face between her legs that way.  When his tongue touched her,
she felt it in every nerve of her body.  It was the softest, most
sweet feeling she had ever experienced, and as he continued, she found
her body relaxing, opening to his touch.

He spent such a long time, preparing her so patiently, that when he
was ready, Kozue thought she was dying of pleasure.  Her body was
hungry for him; she longed to wrap herself around him and hold him as
close to her as she could.  He let her grasp him with her hands and
she felt his hardness, hot and throbbing, velvety smooth in her hand.
When he entered her, she felt a strange pressure, and then a moment of
pain.  He lay still on top of her, and she clung tightly to him,
waiting for the next sensation to envelop her.

He moved gently, and their lovemaking was tender.  When they had
finished, Kozue lay beside him, listening to his deep breathing,
feeling the fast beat of her own heart.  She felt a strange sadness,
as if something incredibly happy had just occurred and she was only
now realizing that it would never be the same again.  She would leave
the room a different person from the one who had arrived.  One door of
her life had been closed and locked behind her: her childhood.  She
had just barely crossed the threshold to the rest of her life.  All of
the mysteries, the sorrows, and the challenges lay ahead of her in the
unknowable future.

Kozue stayed the night with him, and the next time they made love her
enjoyment was greater.  In the morning she called her father at his
office and made up a lie about how she had stayed with a friend.
Hearing the unsuspecting concern in his voice made Kozue cry.  A gulf
had opened between them she realized, and it would only grow wider
through the rest of their lives.

She spent the day with her new lover, showing him around the city.  He
bought her a few small gifts, inconsequential things, but objects she
still treasured and kept, filed away in a box somewhere in her house
back in Japan.  That night he brought her to his concert.  He was a
member of a great orchestra, playing at one of the finest concert
halls in the country.  She had been so embarrassed, sitting in the
audience, wearing her simple gray school dress in the midst of all
those people in their evening finery.  But when he came onto the
stage, she had seen him scanning the crowd for her, smiling when their
eyes met.

Kozue remembered the hush that came over the hall and the sounds when
the orchestra began to play.  The music began softly, like a faint
sighing.  It started and then stopped again, at first barely audible.
She thought it sounded like the first stirrings of some sleeping
giant, far under the earth, groaning as he reluctantly rose from his
slumber.  When the music ended the applause had been thunderous.  As
he stood with the other musicians, he gave her a small wave that sent
a thrill of excitement through her.  She wanted him, and unlike the
vague yearnings that had been tormenting her until only yesterday, she
knew in exactly what way.

They had taken a bath together after the concert, stinging hot, making
love amidst the steam and splashing water.  Ordering room service -
nothing but the most exquisite, expensive things - they ate before
making love again in bed.  He taught her many of the ways she knew how
a man and a woman could please each other. 

The next day she went home, holding in her mind the glowing memory of
those days and nights.  She never saw him in person again.  Years
later, after she had married, she had caught a glimpse of him on
television.  As it had been since the day they parted, the flood of
almost unbearably sweet memories had moved her to smile in wistful
remembrance while at the same time her eyes filled with tears.

After the concert, as the applause died away, Carla turned to her.
"You certainly get a dreamy look on your face when you hear that
music, don't you Koz?  Me, I could hardly keep awake."

Kozue smiled. "It just reminds me of happier times, that's all," she
said.



Fin
Part 2
Richard Rivers
12/98


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