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From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers)
Subject: Story: Her Name Was Yuki (Part 3, of 3) [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 Parts 2 and 3 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 or two and want it before you 
read on, mail me, or wait: I will post it all together (somewhere: 
ASS?) after the final part (3) is finished.

Synopsis of parts one and two:
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.

Part two begins with the new year.  Richard is disappointed to find 
that Yuki treating him coolly; she seems to be avoiding him.  At his 
first session with Mrs Tanaka Richard notices that her mood is bleak.  
They are both preoccupied and lose track of time.  Meanwhile a 
snowstorm has blown up and trapped them alone in the school building, 
where they are forced to spend the night.  One thing leads to 
another...

Yuki confronts Richard.  He panics, thinking she has found out what 
has happened, but she is merely worried about her mother's mood, and 
about him: she thinks he has been avoiding her.  Richard is 
surprised to discover that he longs for both the mother and the 
daughter but is in despair over ever being able to consummate his dual 
desires when Mrs Tanaka tells him they cannot see each other any more.

While working in the gym Richard begins to eaves drop on Mr Robert's 
phone conversations, discovering that Mr Roberts has a taste for 
underage girls and is somehow spying on the girls showers from his 
office.  Richard is determined to find out how.  One day he discovers 
that Mr Roberts has arranged a date, with Mrs Tanaka.  Knowing what he 
knows about Mr Roberts, combined with his longing for her make him 
feel it is imperative that he stop them from going out.  Richard 
finally gains access to Mr Roberts inner office and discovers how he 
has been spying on the girls showers.  While investigating, Richard 
happens 
to see Yuki taking a shower.

Mrs Tanaka's date with Mr Roberts is to be the very next day.  Richard 
madly tries to catch her before she leaves the school that evening but 
just misses her...

Richard Rivers




HER NAME WAS YUKI
Part 3:



That evening, after sitting through a seemingly endless dinner with my 
mom, unable to eat anything, I started panicking as thoughts of Mr 
Roberts, Mrs Tanaka and Yuki all jumbled together in my fevered 
imagination.  The sweet memory of Yuki showering was completely ruined  
by my growing anxiety over what Mrs Tanaka might be getting herself 
into.  The longer I sat the more agitated I became.

When I could stand it no longer, I went to the phone in the basement 
and called directory assistance: only one K. Tanaka listed, it had to 
be her.  I decided that if Yuki answered I would hang up.  There was 
no way I could speak to her and then ask for her mother.  I couldn't 
face it.  

The phone rang twice before a  woman answered.  Or was it a girl?  I 
couldn't tell!  

"Hello? Is anyone there?"  The voice asked, again.

I froze.

"Who is this?"  She sounded angry now but  I recognized the voice: It 
was Mrs Tanaka!  I let out an audible sigh, but I had just made my job 
much harder.

"Mrs Tanaka?" I finally spoke up.

"Yes, now who is it?" she said angrily.

"I'm sorry, I didn't recognize your voice.  It's Richard...Rivers,  
Richard Rivers."

"Richard?" She sounded wary.

"Yes, Hi Mrs Tanaka!"  I laughed nervously.  Her end of the line was 
silent.  "I'm really sorry to bother you, but something important, 
well, bad, something bad has happened and I need to talk to you." 

"Do you want to set up an appointment?" she asked.

"No, no.  I need to talk to you right now."

"Well, all right.  But let me move to another phone.  Can you hold on 
a..."

"No!" I practically shouted, then lowered my voice. "Sorry.  No, I 
mean, no I can't talk on the phone.  This may sound weird, but I need 
to meet you at school, tonight."

"Tonight?  It's seven thirty!  This must be able to wait until 
tomorrow.  Can't it?"  Then her tone changed, her voice got very soft 
and she practically whispered:  "This isn't about, you know, the night 
of the snow storm, is it?"

It seemed to take an hour for her to agree to meet me at the school, 
and I don't think I ever convinced  her that this had nothing to do 
with our night together because, of course, it did; it had everything 
to do with it, and her reluctance only made me more nervous about the 
whole thing.  I slipped away from home and ran the entire way back to 
school in the dark.  

When I came panting into the parking lot she sat waiting for me in her 
car, suggesting we go to her office and have a seat before I said 
anything.  With her back to the door she stood before me just as Yuki 
had a few weeks ago.  

"What is this all about, Richard?" she asked, perturbed, but with a 
little concern in her voice.

I quickly ran down the details about Mr Roberts; his phone 
conversations, and what I had discovered that afternoon, without 
admitting I knew about her date with him or that I had seen Yuki 
taking a shower.  Her eyes widened as I told my story.  When I had 
finished, ending with a made up version of how I had looked 
through the hole into an empty shower room, she finally broke her 
silence.

"Richard, this is terrible, just terrible."  She shivered, folding her 
arms across her chest.  I knew it had just occurred to her that she 
still had a date with this guy set for tomorrow.  

"But why are you telling me?" she asked.  "Why didn't you just go to 
Mr Forbes with this?"

"You're the only person I really trust," I said lamely.  

She raised her eyebrows: so reminiscent of Yuki, I thought, but by her 
look it was clear she didn't believe me.

"Really?  Come on, there has to be more to it than that." 

I knew I had to give her the truth then, or at least part of it, and I 
knew it would hurt her.  I felt cornered

Slowly I recounted the phone conversation I had heard the day before, 
telling her all the things he had said about her indirectly.  Tears 
forced their way out the corners of her beautiful eyes, making them 
all bright and shiny as she stood silently listening.  Seeing the hurt 
my words did to her I stopped, but she told me to go on, to tell her 
everything.  I recounted all I could remember Mr Roberts saying, 
including having his friend watch the volleyball team shower. 

She covered her face in her hands and stood very still.  I could see 
the tears wetting her fingers, falling to the floor.  I didn't know 
what to do; somehow this is all my fault, I thought.  The pity I felt 
only inflamed my desire for her, and I began to tell her how I felt 
about her: I hadn't been able to get her out of my mind since the snow 
storm; how beautiful she was; by bringing her here and telling her all 
this I only wanted to protect her, and that even if we could never be 
together again it didn't matter: I cared about her so much, I would do 
anything for her.  

Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs and I immediately 
regretted telling her how I felt.  I thought I had gone to far, 
insulted her, and at a time when she had already suffered enough; but 
she looked up at me with her tear-streaked face, trying to smile.

"Why do all the men in my life have to turn out to be creeps, except 
you?" she said softly.

She told me about Mr Roberts then and how she had come to have a date 
with him.  He had been courting her for some time it turned out, 
almost since the night of the snow storm.  Showing up in the teacher's 
lounge he had acted so sweetly, so polite.  A few times he had brought 
her small gifts, flowers, chocolates, other things.  They had chatted 
after some of Yuki's volleyball games, and she had grown to like him.  
Since her husband had left her in the summer she had been alone, she 
explained.  The wounds from the bitter separation were still healing 
and Mr Robert's attentions had made her feel wanted, ready to share 
friendship and intimacy with a man again for the first time.  

"This must have been so hard for you," she said.  "I'm so sorry to 
have hurt your feelings.  I had no idea...You are so sweet to try and 
protect me.  No man has ever done anything like that for me."

She broke down again as I stood helplessly watching.

"Mrs Tanaka, what can I do?  I don't know what to say."  Seeing a 
grown woman cry like that broke my heart.  I felt on the verge of 
crying myself.

"Just give me a hug," she said.

I hugged her, feeling her small shoulders heaving under my arms, and I 
started crying too.  We stood that way for a long time, each lost to 
our own sorrows, and, almost exactly as it had the first time, our 
passion emerged from the depths, as if our bodies, knowing what they 
wanted from each other all along only had to bide their time until our 
minds, exhausted, could hold them back no longer.

She looked up.  "Oh, you're crying," she said, and softly kissed the 
tear running down my cheek.  Our lips met, suddenly, in a long deep 
kiss.  Just as she had said, once crossed, the bridge to intimacy was 
easier the second time.  She clung to me like a woman drowning.  Her 
tongue flickered in an out of my mouth, soft yet insistent, leaving 
behind a tingling sensation where it touched.  Her arms tightened 
around my shoulders pulling us together, pressing the soft contours of 
her body into me.  I massaged her shoulders, letting my hands slowly 
slide down her back, feeling the strap of her bra through her thin 
blouse.  Finding the ridge of her spine, I traced downward to the 
small of her back, and lower, over the top of her skirt to her behind.  
My palms flattened and grasped her firm body.  

Pulling her mouth from mine, her voice breathless, she said: "Grab me, 
harder."

I squeezed  her against me, surprised her firmness: the palpable feel 
of her body made me vividly aware that in my arms I held another human 
being, like myself made up of living flesh and bone, and muscle, 
throbbing with life.  My fingers sank into her, kneading her.  The 
bones of her pelvis dug into my thighs, and between them her warm 
feminine softness, yielding yet hungrily persistent, pressed against 
me.

She broke free from our kiss and lay her head on my shoulder, letting 
her hands travel up and down my back.  The sensations were incredibly 
sweet and vibrant.  Where her hands passed, they left in their wake 
a tingling sensation, and an empty yearning feeling that only the 
renewal of her touch could quench.

The pressure of the bulge in my pants against her made me a little 
self conscious.  As she pressed her hips against me I tried to pull 
back;  painfully aroused already, burrowing into her like that hurt.  
I released her and took a step back.  Her arms hung on my shoulders 
while I brought my hands up between them to her breasts.  A sound 
escaped from deep in her chest as my hands covered them completely, 
her hard nipples boring into the soft palms of my hands. 

"Softly.  Gently,"  she whispered.

"Sorry," I whispered back.

She put a finger to my lips. "No sorrys today, OK?"

I kissed her finger and she laughed, soundlessly.

"Mmm, that's it," she said in response to my lighter pressure.  "Just 
like that."

Ever so gently, I kneaded her breasts while she purred.  Her hands 
slid down to my chest and, searching, found my nipples.  It had never 
occurred to me that my nipples had any use whatsoever until that 
moment, when she gently pinched them, sending a wave of pleasure 
directly to my groin. I gasped.

"Ooh! too hard?" she asked, concerned, but without releasing me.

"No," I gasped.  "Oh, no."

"Do it to me, just like I'm doing to you," she whispered and gently 
twisted my nipples.

I found her stiff little knobs and twisted them, synchronizing my 
motions with hers, feeling them tighten and grow larger between my 
fingers.

"That's nice," she said.  Her head rolled back.  I could see her eyes 
sparkling.  "Keep doing that, for as long as you can.  Whatever I do 
to you OK?"

I nodded.  

She looked at me with the mischief that some times stole across her 
face, the faintest flicker of a smile that twinkled and vanished, 
almost a memory while still there.  She let her left hand rest on my 
chest while her right hand dropped down and I felt it rise between my 
legs.  Gently raking her finger tips across my jeans she found the 
soft spot where my balls were and stroked them.  I lost my grip on her 
nipples.  The pleasure was too much.

"Ah, how soon you forget," she laughed softly.

I started reaching for her again but she patted my hands down.

"That's OK.  It's your turn.  Just enjoy.  I think I know just what a 
young man like you needs," she said.
 
Now both her hands dropped down and she traced the along my straining 
shaft.  I let my eyes close as she continued stroking me.  

"Mm, such a strong boy, and eager too," she said under her breath.

The buttons to my jeans popped open one by one when she parted my fly.  
My straining underwear could hardly contain me.  She gave me a little 
pinch between her thumb and forefinger on my swollen head.  
Looking down I saw a patch of wetness spreading across the fabric.

"We have no time to lose," she said in a husky voice.  "We've got to 
get you out of these pants.  Shoes first."

She knelt and started unlacing my shoes.  I reached down to stroke her 
thick black hair and she nuzzled her cheek against my thigh while 
diligently helping me step out of my shoes.  

She asked me to take off my pants.  When I stood before her in my 
underpants she grabbed the elastic band and slowly slid them down.  
Finally free, I sprang outward, burning hot against the cool air of 
the 
room; and still more blood rushed in making me painfully erect.  She 
delicately put two fingers under the tip and pushed upward, pinning it 
against my belly.

"What a beautiful cock," she said.  "Is that what you call it? Cock?  
Or what word do you use?" 

She studied it carefully.

Even after everything that we had done so far, hearing her say the 
word 'cock' with that lilting, sing-song voice I loved was the most 
arousing thing I had ever experienced.  I closed my eyes.

"Well?" she persisted softly.  "What do you call this?" she asked, 
giving me a little pinch.

"I don't know," I mumbled.  "I guess I just call it 'it,' or 
something, or nothing, usually.  It's never come up, before," I 
stammered.

My unintentional pun made her laugh.  

"I doubt that," she said, giving me a few feathery soft strokes.

"It doesn't matter anyway," she said.  "I was just curious.  Why don't 
you sit down?"

She had me sit on the couch with my legs spread and she knelt between 
them.  Grasping me lightly again she began a series of quick upward 
strokes from base to the tip, alternating hands like someone climbing 
down a rope.  Her hands felt as if they were clad in silk gloves and 
her quick motions coaxed me upward, stiffer.  I let my head roll back 
over the top of the couch.  I had  never felt anything like what she 
was doing to me.

She grasped me firmly with one hand.

"Don't you want to watch?" she asked.

I opened my eyes and looked down: protruding from her small hand, my 
wine-dark color stood out against the whiteness of her skin.  She 
started stroking me again, now more firmly while her other hand found 
my balls and cradled them.  

"Richard," she said.  "Look at me.  I want you to look into my eyes 
when you come."

Her gaze fixed on  mine; the serene look of concentration softened by 
the faintest trace of a smile never wavered as she continued her firm, 
inexorable strokes.

The pleasure had stopped coming over me in waves: now I vibrated with 
continuous ecstasy.  The pressure building up in me was becoming 
overwhelming. My body start jerking erratically and I let out an 
involuntary sound.

"Oh, how hard you are, how big you're getting.  Are you going to come 
for me?" she asked.

"Mmhmm," is all I could manage.

"Then pull up your shirt," she whispered.  "I don't want you staining 
your clothes again."

The way she said that, her motherly tone of concern, sent me over the 
edge.  I barely got my shirt tails pulled up out of the way in time.  
The first wet splash landed on my chest and I groaned.  She timed her 
strokes perfectly between my throbbing spurts.  I drained myself 
completely onto my chest and belly as she expertly milked out every 
drop.  All the while her eyes stayed locked on me, softly boring into 
mine, serene, unwavering.

"Ooh, so much," she cooed as she continued stroking, slowly easing the 
last few shudders from my body.  

"Have you ever tasted it?" she asked, wide eyed.

I shook my head, no.  She dipped her finger in the pool of come on my 
belly and drew it up to my mouth, sliding her finger inside.  I tasted 
the sweet salty drop.

Fishing in her purse next to me on the couch she produced a small 
handkerchief and started to clean me up.

"No messy clothes this time," she said with a conspiratorial smile.  
Raising herself to the couch she sat next to me and kissed me deeply.  

"Thank you, Mrs Tanaka," I said.

"Kozue, please.  After all that you still can't say my name?"  She 
gave me another little kiss.

"All right Kozue," I said.  It felt awkward.  She would always be Mrs 
Tanaka to me no matter what we did.

"What about you?" I asked.  "I mean...don't you want?...I mean...I 
could...We could...you know."  I was trying to ask her to have sex 
with me, still too embarrassed to say the words.

"Of course 'I want,' but just rest now for a minute.  I want to show 
you how to please a woman, just like I pleased you."

Turning off all the lights except her desk lamp she lit the room with 
a soft yellow glow.

"I'm a little shy," she said.  "I'm not sixteen any more you know."

She stood with her back to me and slowly undid her blouse.  Unzipping 
her skirt she let it fall to the floor at her ankles.  My eyes 
hungrily roamed over her soft round breasts, her narrow waist, and 
full behind.  She came and sat next to me on the couch in her bra and 
panties and I ran my hands over her slender body, from her slight 
shoulders down to her waist.  She didn't have anything to be shy 
about, I thought.  Her body was firm to the touch, yet soft, her skin 
smooth, silky and warm as my hands glided over her.  She turned 
towards me.

"Undo me," she said in a soft voice, bringing her hands up to touch 
her breasts.  "The clasp is in the front."

"Twist, and then pull apart," she advised my fumbling fingers, and 
when the two cups separated to expose her small round breasts:  "Ah, 
that's it!" 

"Now touch me...lightly...gently...just your finger tips.  Make little 
circles."  

She was telling me exactly how to touch her, in a voice soft and 
smooth, like a hypnotist's.

"Now pinch me, like before, just the nipples.  Softly."

Her nipples felt firm and warm between my fingers.

"Ahhh...twist, gently...back and forth."

I felt them stiffen.

"Now pull, softly," she said, her voice husky with pleasure.  "Yes, 
oh, yes."

She let herself fall back on the couch.

"Kiss me, here," she gently tapped between her breasts."

I leaned over her and gently placed my lips in the space between them, 
smelling the sweet fragrance of her body as my face descended into the 
cleft between her breasts.  She smelled like sandalwood, or some 
exotic spice.  

"Now suck on me, softly, like a little baby.  That's right...just the 
nipple.  Close your lips around it and pull."

I tasted her and felt her breast swelling between my lips.  She let me 
take more of her into my mouth: I hungrily opened wide, I couldn't get 
enough.  I filled my mouth with first one, then the other of her 
breasts.  Back and forth she guided me between them, with soft words 
and the gentle touch of her hand.

"Now its time for these to come off," she said running her thumbs 
under the waistband of her plain cotton 
panties.  

"Help me."  

She raised her bottom off the couch and I helped her ease them off, 
over her behind and thighs, around the bend in her knees, to her 
ankles where she kicked them off playfully.

My eyes went right to the small triangular patch of downy hair.

"Have you ever seen a woman's body before?" she asked.  "I mean all of 
it..."

"No," I answered in a whisper.

"I'll show you.  Get on your knees in front of me."

She slid forward on the couch, almost lying on her back as I knelt 
before her.

"Push my knees apart, slowly."

I eased her legs apart and watched as her body unfolded before me.  
Her small full thighs parted revealing more of the downy hair, and 
pushing her knees further apart caused her to unfold, the outer lips 
parting, revealing the soft bare skin, and her tiny lips, still 
clinging together at her center.

I looked, captivated by the sight of her: there was more to this than 
I had imagined.

"Give me your hand," she said and guided me to her soft outer lips.  

"Stroke me here first.  Softly...up and down."

She took a deep breath as my fingers grazed through her curly hairs 
and found the soft swelling mound of skin beneath, stroking up one 
side and down the other.  I found the tiny crease, where the top of 
her thigh joined her body and ran my fingers along it, then outward, 
down  the inside of her leg.  The sight of her lips still folded 
together fascinated me.  I couldn't keep my hands away and I let my 
fingertips graze that soft skin, slowly pushing them from side to 
side.

"That's nice," she whispered.  "Now open me.  Be gentle, so soft with 
your fingers; like you would open the wings of a butterfly."

With the fingers of two hands a parted her and saw tender pink flesh 
exposed.  She took my hand and bringing my finger up to her mouth she 
sucked on it.

"Now stroke me.  Right down the center...Yes...just that way.  Up and 
down.  As softly as you can."

I looked up to her face: with her eyes closed tightly she looked like 
a little girl, asleep, so beautiful.  I spread the moisture from her 
mouth across her delicate skin.  My finger began to glide more easily 
up and down as she produced wetness of her own.

"Do you know what a woman's clitoris is?" she asked.

"I think so," I said, even though I really had only a vague notion.

"Do you know where it is?"

"Isn't it really hard to find?"  At least that's what reading all 
those Playboy magazines of my Dad's made me think.

"Not hardly," she laughed and took my hand, guiding my finger.  
"It's...right...here!  Mmm."

I felt a little nub, like a tiny nipple under my finger.

"How hard was that?" she asked, laughing softly at her own little 
joke.  "Now, rub me there, but ever so gently.  Spread some of my 
moisture to it...yes.  Go round and round it."

I did as she asked and felt it stiffen under my finger.  She let out a 
small gasp.

She lay silently except for little gasps or sharp inhalations while I 
continued stroking her.  I tried different motions, seeing if I could 
get her to make a sound or take another deep breath.  She seemed to 
particularly like a rapid side to side motion with just my finger tip 
touching her.  Her thighs began clenching and unclenching as she moved 
her pelvis up and down.

"I want you to taste me," she said under her breath but with urgency.  
"Lick me."

I lowered my face between her legs: I could smell the deep fragrance 
of her body as she stood open, glistening in front of me.  Bringing my 
tongue against her, I tasted her: salty, tangy, a musky-damp, like 
nothing I had ever tasted before or imagined.

Holding the sides of my head she guided me in long strokes from bottom 
to top, lingering there to circle the little bud of her clitoris 
before gliding back down.

"Grab me!" she said, and raised herself off the couch so that I could 
slide my hands under her behind.  Then her soft voice grew more 
insistent.  "Squeeze me with your hands.  Harder.  Hold me against 
you."  She was rocking her pelvis against me and in my hands I felt 
the muscles in her behind working  pushing herself against me with 
each little thrust.

"Now stay there," she commanded in a whisper, placing her hands at my 
temples, holding me at her clitoris.  

I began slowly circling the little bud with my tongue and immediately 
a felt her muscles tighten.  She stopped moving and held herself 
rigidly still.

"Just like that.  Keep doing it just like that," she implored, her 
voice a ragged whisper.  Bringing her legs over my shoulders she 
clamped my head tightly between her thighs.  I could hardly breathe 
but she kept on telling me not to stop; I went on, gasping for what 
air I could get.

At last she let out a long low wail and lifted my face away from her.

"I'm coming," she gasped and clamped her thighs together.  Her body 
writhed and squirmed.  With her eyes still closed she reached for me, 
grasping my shoulders.

"Come up here.  Kiss me."  She pulled my mouth, wet with her juices, 
to her own and kissed me deeply.  Still in the throes of her orgasm, 
she writhed and I had to hold her tightly to keep my mouth on hers.

When she had calmed down we lay back on the couch side by side looking 
up at the ceiling.  I was aroused and hard again, I wanted her so 
badly.

"Mrs...I mean Kozue," I said.  "Can we, you know, have sex."  I was 
still embarrassed to even ask.

Noticing my condition, she gave my thigh a little pat. 

"No Richard.  No we can't.  I mean I can't.  That's something I just 
can't do, OK?"  She looked away and I though she might start crying.  
"We have to talk about this Richard.  But, in this state you're not 
going to hear a thing I say, are you?"  

Her voice brightened.

"OK, just this one last thing, then we have to talk," she said as she 
grasped me in her hand.  "I don't think I could keep up with you, 
anyway."

She quickly stroked me to another climax.  Almost as quick as I could 
have done it myself I thought, but how much more enjoyable to feel 
someone else's hand do it.

We both pulled our clothes on in silence.  My post orgasm melancholia 
was made worse by the fact that I knew that she was going to tell me 
we shouldn't have done what we just did, that it was wrong, and we 
could never do it again.

"Now we have to talk," she said as we settled back onto the couch. 
"Let me tell you a little story, OK?

"You remind me of the first man I was ever with, the first man who 
ever made love to me.  From the minute I met you I thought of him, in 
the back of my mind at first, but now I remember it more strongly.  
Not that I planned any of this to happen," she waved her hand and let 
it fall back to her lap.  "But something about the way you act, the 
way you react to things, to life, reminds me of him, strongly.

"I was sixteen, still in high school, living in Tokyo with my parents.  
My mother and I had a terrible argument.  I don't even remember what 
it was about now, something small, stupid, that doesn't even 
matter any more. I left our apartment that evening and took a train 
across town just to get away from home.  I didn't even know where I 
was going.  I guess I thought I could stay with a friend or something, 
but ended up just walking the streets in the Shinjuku area.  I just 
walked blindly, I was so mad at my mother I didn't even see the world 
around me any more.  It got late, dark outside, before I calmed down 
and I realized that I still hadn't called anybody.  I still didn't 
know what to do, but I knew I wasn't going home.  That was certain.

"Finally, at about eleven at night, I started getting worried.  It 
might be too late to call any of my friends if I waited longer, so I 
found a small restaurant and went in just to use the phone.  Someone 
was using it and I sat and waited my turn.  The restaurant was one of 
those sushi places where they put the ready made sushi on a conveyor 
belt and it goes round and round.  Anyway, I sat down and realizing I 
was hungry, grabbed the first thing that came along.  It was then that 
I noticed him sitting at the end of the counter: an American, maybe in 
his early thirties, I guess.  I hadn't seen that many westerners at 
that time to really know.  But I knew he was handsome in an exotic 
kind of way, with his bushy hair and beard.

"I'm not sure what came over me then, but I could see he was confused,  
he obviously didn't know Japanese and he didn't know how that type of 
restaurant worked.  I got up and sat next to him.  It was a crazy 
thing to do.  I hardly knew English at the time, and to just go up to 
a stranger, a foreigner like that was crazy, very bold, because I was 
a shy school-girl, but I did it.  I think being angry, defiant against 
my mother just loosened something in me, some wildness I never knew 
was there.  In my bad English I explained how he should just take 
whatever he wanted and pay when he was finished: they calculated the 
bill by counting the different colored plates.  He thanked me and 
offered to buy me whatever I wanted.  I was grateful for the offer 
since I didn't have much money with me and I was starving.

"He treated me to many pieces of sushi and we talked as best we could.  
I forgot all about my parents, the phone call I was supposed to make.  
He explained that this was his first trip to Japan.  He was a 
musician, playing in an orchestra that was on tour; he was a little 
jet lagged and bewildered by everything at the moment.  I remember 
asking him about where he came from.  He described his home town, some 
large city in America that was only a fairly tail to me.  As he told 
me about his life, where he lived,  what it was like to play in the 
orchestra, I grew more and more attracted to him in my school-girl 
way.  As I said he was foreign, exotic, but I think handsome by any 
standard.  I developed an instant crush on him.  Well, more than a 
crush.  At that age sex, romance, and boys were the only things I 
thought about.  Like a lot of young girls I longed for some prince 
charming type to come along, and he fit the bill perfectly.

"I don't think his intention was to roam Tokyo looking for little 
girls to pick up.  He was a gentle soul, far from home and lonely.  I 
mentioned that I had run away, that I needed a place to stay, and he 
offered to let me stay in his hotel, one of the best in Tokyo.  I know 
the request on my part was mostly innocent, naive, and maybe I'm 
kidding myself, but I think it was on his part too.  Or at least it 
started out that way.

"Well, we got to his room.  At first it was awkward.  We watched TV, 
he was very polite and formal with me, so it was I who made the first 
move, showing him that I wanted more than just a place to stay.  I  
got up and sat on the bed next to him, and before long we were kissing 
passionately.  I'd never kissed a boy before so it was quite a new and 
exciting feeling for me.  When he started getting more physical with 
me, touching my breasts and running his hands under my dress, I got 
scared.  I stopped him and explained that I had never done this 
before: I was still a virgin and I was really nervous.  He asked me if 
I wanted him to stop.  He was so sweet then, and it made me want him 
more than before, so I said no, he didn't have to stop, but I didn't 
know what to do, and I was afraid he would hurt me.

"Then the most wonderful thing happened.  He turned out to be so 
gentle, the perfect first lover in fact.  He put on some music, 
something slow and sad, music that started with a faint murmuring from 
the low instruments of the orchestra and grew like a long sighing 
breath, it was such deep music and so moving.  He undressed me and 
spent hours on foreplay, touching me everywhere with his hands, his 
tongue, kissing me deeply.  He explored my whole body, and he made me 
feel so safe under his gentle, patient touch, so aroused,  that when 
he finally entered me I was ready, I couldn't wait in fact.  It was 
such a beautiful thing.

"I stayed with him for the next three days until he went back to 
America.  It was like a dream.  I phoned my father at his office and 
told him I was staying with a friend so they wouldn't go looking for 
me.  Then we made love; in the morning, after breakfast, and again in 
the afternoon.  We took long hot baths together.  He gave me a ticket 
to hear his orchestra play.  It cost over a hundred dollars I think: 
and there I was, so self conscious, sitting amongst all those people 
in their formal evening dress, me in my little school-girl outfit.  
But I loved watching him play.  They played the same slow sad piece he 
had put on in his hotel room.  During the applause he gave me a tiny 
wave that made me so proud, and made me shiver with desire for him.  
After the concert we went back to his hotel room, ordered the most  
lavish and expensive room service meal I had ever imagined, and then 
made love again all night.    

"I spent two more days like that with him and then he left for home.  
We never exchanged addresses or anything.  I know where he lives, I've 
even seen his orchestra on television and caught glimpses of him 
several times, but I've never thought to look him up again: by then I 
was married, and the memory of those days is so perfect, my first 
experience with love was so wonderful, I think that seeing him again 
could never live up to that.  Since then my luck with men hasn't 
always been so good anyway.  But I got off to such a good start I 
think I've never lost my idealism about it. I'm thankful to him.

She stopped to wipe tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"The reason I'm telling you all this is that you reminded me of him.  
Something about you, the way you react to things, your gentle nature, 
it struck me almost right away.  I think that's why things happened 
between us.  It's my fault, I know, but I suppose it was almost 
inevitable.  I'm telling you because I think, like him, you would make 
some young girl a wonderful lover.  You just need a little experience, 
the tenderness is already there, and the thought of you groping around 
in the back seat of a car in some furtive, guilt ridden fashion just 
seems wrong to me.  America is such a puritanical country, so old 
fashioned.  I'll never get over it.  It's the one thing I dislike 
about your society.  You have so much freedom here, so much vibrancy 
and life: then why all these backward hang-ups, this fear about sex? 

"I guess in some way I'm just trying to be for you what he was for me: 
someone to teach you gently, kindly.  But like that experience this --
I mean you and me-- this can't last.  It shouldn't.  We can share 
something special, but then I have to go away; maybe not literally, 
but we have to end it.  There's no future between us.  Do you see 
that?  

"Surely there is some young girl, someone your own age you are 
interested in?  Isn't there?  You can tell me.  You don't have to 
worry about my feelings.  I don't care who it is.  Just tell me: is 
there someone you long for?  Someone whom the mere sight of sets your 
heart pounding, makes your head swim?"

I felt like she had just looked right into my soul.  After what she 
had told me I couldn't lie to her, hold anything back.

"Yes," I said.

"Good," she whispered.  "Good.  That's who you should be spending your 
energy on.  I make it too easy for you, too comfortable.  With me 
there's no challenge.  The pursuit of love shouldn't be comfortable, 
not at your age.  At your age it should be making you lose sleep, not 
be able to eat, driving you a little crazy.  This young girl, whoever 
she is, should be the one you spend your days and nights longing for, 
not me.  Do you understand?"

I nodded.  As she told me her story the image of the young girl in my 
mind wasn't her, it was Yuki: the young girl that I could see shedding  
her shyness and innocence, letting them give way slowly to her 
emerging womanhood.  I longed for that innocence, hers and mine 
together, and that we might grow closer to one another as we came to 
share more and more intimacy together.  Perhaps being satiated as I 
was then helped, but the rightness of what Mrs Tanaka was telling me 
was undeniable.  My desire for her faded and I thought more and more 
of Yuki.

"You're right," I said. "Of course you are.  But I love you..." She 
started to speak, but I stopped her.  "I mean I love you in the way 
you love that man you met long ago, who was kind and gentle with you, 
who set you on the right track.  But there's one thing I have to say.  
I can't keep this from you another day, not any more.  I do long for 
someone.  There is someone who makes my heart pound, who keeps me up 
at night, makes me not able to eat or sleep: it's your daughter, 
Yuki."



***



The ball nicked the top of the net and spun there precariously for 
what seemed like a gravity defying  moment until it dropped on the far 
side.  Yuki came running headlong, diving, one arm outstretched  as 
she twisted her body in mid air trying desperately to get a hand under 
before it hit the ground.  Just barely missing it she landed with a 
little yelp and slid under the net on her belly, winding up almost at 
my feet.

"What a rotten thing to do," she said, smiling up at me, panting like 
an eager dog returning his master's 
stick.

We had been practicing what she called in her still sometimes funny 
English, 'the desperation save.'  I would throw the ball far away from 
her and she practiced running it down, diving for it, doing anything 
she could to keep it in play.  She had crashed to the ground so many 
times over the last half hour I marveled that her delicate body wasn't 
black and blue.

"Richard, are you going to help me up?" she asked, still smiling, 
holding out her hand.

I grasped her midway down the forearm, as I'd seen professional 
athletes do, but she slipped her arm through mine so that our palms 
came together as I pulled her to her feet.  She stood close to me for 
a 
moment, still grasping my hand, before releasing it.

"This floor is dirty," she said with a grimace, brushing herself off. 
"Whoever does the floors in here doesn't do a very good job.  He must 
be a day dreamer, I guess."  She smiled and gave me a playful punch 
on the arm.

Cleaning the floors was my job but I hadn't done it once in the three 
weeks since Mr Robert's sudden departure.  I'd spent all that time 
helping Mr Davis, the new gym teacher, sort through files in the 
office.

Sudden departure:  that was the official line, what almost everyone in 
the school knew about what happened to Mr Roberts.  Only Mr Forbes, 
Mrs Tanaka  and myself knew the truth.  The morning after I 
had been with her in her office Mrs Tanaka contacted Mr Forbes and 
together they had met Mr Roberts when he arrived at school.  That's 
all I knew.  Mr Forbes had called me in later that morning, where I 
had once again sat beside Mrs Tanaka as he lectured us on the need to 
keep everything quiet.  He assured me that Mr Roberts had no idea who 
had found him out.  'A student' turned him in is what he had been 
told.  I wasn't filled with confidence that my anonymity would last 
long.  It must have been obvious right away who had turned him in.  
For the moment though he was gone, out of a job, and as Mr Forbes 
explained, in some legal trouble as well.  That meeting was the last 
time I had spoken to Mrs Tanaka. 

Yuki turned her back to me.

"There is dust all over me," she said. "Can you do my back."  

She pulled her pony tail over her shoulders exposing the nape of her 
neck.  A few wispy strands of hair too short to be caught up in the 
pony tail grew in a tiny line down her neck, a small downy line 
marking the center of her body.

I gently brushed non existent dust from her neck and shoulders.  She 
stood motionless as my hand crossed the small ridge where the uniform 
traversed her back, a long shallow arc that dipped just low enough to 
reveal the tops of her shoulder blades.  My hands slid up and down 
over the smooth fabric, along her firm slender body to the small of 
her back.  

"Lower," she whispered.  Suddenly everything went still.  The air 
seemed to thicken and coagulate around us, as if we were suddenly at 
the bottom of the ocean, moving as if in a dream.

I let my hands slowly trace from the small of her back, and below; 
over that rise where the firmness of her body turned to softness.  I 
grazed the top of her behind with two hands now pausing at that line, 
the line that existed in my mind alone, the act of crossing which 
would take me beyond friendship and towards sensuality.  Pausing, 
suspending time briefly, my hands wavered then retreated up her back. 

She started saying something to me but I didn't hear it.  All I could 
think about was Kozue, how much I had hurt her.  The wry little smile 
she gave me when I told her my feelings for Yuki remained frozen in 
my mind.  She hadn't said anything else about it, not directly, but 
the subtle change in her tone of voice, her body language and all of a 
sudden we were like strangers again.  After being so close it felt 
like having ice water dumped on me.  The next day she had been 
friendly, but distant and formal in front of Mr Forbes.  When we left 
his office she had just said good-bye and walked away.  Anyone seeing 
our exchange might have thought it friendly: only I knew how much pain 
my deception had caused, how difficult to bear it was, and the guilt 
of it crushed me.  Now, poised at the brink with Yuki, I could not 
bring myself to take the next step, add to the injury I had already 
done

"...?"

The silence, the look on her face told me Yuki had just asked me a 
question but I had no idea what she said.  

"Richard!"  Her shoulders rose and fell in exasperation.  "Are you are 
day dreaming again?  What is your problem?"

"I'm sorry Yuki, what were you saying?"

She stamped her foot.  

"You don't listen to a thing I say, do you?  You just stare at me all 
the time.  It makes me uneasy.  Is something wrong?  Is it me?"

She looked away for a moment.  I thought she was going to leave, trot 
away coolly as she had done many times before.     

"Can I talk to you?  I mean really talk to you, when you will listen 
to what I have to say?"

"Sure, Yuki," I said.

"Richard, why are you here?" she asked, sitting on the bottom row of 
the bleachers.  "I mean what makes you come to the gym all these times 
to help me?"

She stopped me from answering, holding up a hand as I sat down next to 
her.

"No, I'm sorry.  I should say it differently."  She looked up at the 
ceiling in search of the right words, her eyes wide and beautiful.

"I mean, you have been so nice this year, to help me, to come here so 
many times.  You have been so patient with me.  I'm grateful to you 
for your dedication.

"Other than my mother you are my best friend here in America.  I feel 
we have gotten close to each other through all of the time we spend 
together.  But then there are times, like today, when I talk to you 
and you don't seem to hear what I say.  You seem to be so far off, 
somewhere else, and I wonder if there is somewhere else you would 
rather be.  I feel as if I'm wasting your time, keeping you from 
something important, maybe someone else more important...I want to be 
your friend.  I'm trying to, but sometimes I feel as if my words just 
float away, unheard.

She sighed.  

"Before I came here from Japan, my friends back home teased me about 
what America would be like.  None of us had ever been here, it was 
like a dream and I think they were jealous of me.  They told me how 
horrible it was here, how the people are so violent, and the schools 
are terrible; but they said the worst things about American boys.  I 
went to an all girl's school since the elementary grades and so I've 
been isolated from boys my age most of the time.  All my friends were 
too.  It's scary for most of us to think about going off to University 
where we will mingle with boys for the first time; it's scary, but 
exciting too.  Boys are all we talk about, all we think about.  Since 
we don't know many they frighten us;  but they excite us too.  My 
friends teased me about American boys a lot.  They said that none of 
the American girls my age were...I don't even know the word in 
English.  What do you call a girl who never, you know, did anything 
with a boy before, slept together?"

"Uh, a virgin, I guess," I said past the lump in my throat.  We were 
both blushing profusely, but she seemed to be handling it better than 
I was.

"Well that's what they told me:  American girls all did it before we 
did, and any American boy would expect it.  If I got to know any of 
them and maybe wanted to go on a date, my friends told me I would 
have to be ready for it, to do it, because that is what American boys 
would expect.  That's how they teased me, because I...well...I'm 
a...virgin... I've never done it.

A shiver went through me, hearing her say that word.

"When they teased me like that, it got to me, it really made me 
scared.  But it made me excited too, to think that I would leave my 
small town behind, experience new things...I have seen more of the 
world than my friends, because of volleyball.  I travel a lot and I 
mingle with some of the older girls, college girls who are players.  
I've overheard them talking: some of them have boyfriends, and they've 
done things.  When we go on tours, at the hotels we stay in, the team 
chaperones have to work overtime.  There are always men around, 
westerners mostly --they seem to know just where we stay-- and some of 
the players sneak away and go off with them sometimes.  I  hear them 
talking about it later.  Hearing the older girls talk that way used to 
scare me, I was afraid of those men, but now that I'm older I think 
that I want to have some of the experiences that they have: I don't 
want to be scared of boys any more.  When my friends teased me about 
American boys, one part of me really was still scared, but secretly, 
another part of me was excited by it, hoped that what they said would 
come true.

"But that was back in Japan.  When I first started school here the 
scared part of me took over.  Getting along here wasn't simple like I 
though it would be.  As for boys, I stopped even thinking about them; 
I was so nervous all the time.  But then you came along, you were so 
nice, so kind and polite, and I realized that there was nothing to be 
scared about, at least not with you.  I really started to like you.  
And it seemed as if you liked me too.  Why else were you spending so 
much time with me, I wondered?  But you never...did anything, never 
went any farther, even though I started to wish you would.  I thought 
it was because you were so polite, so kind, that you didn't want to 
offend me.  I've tried my best to show you that...I like you...a lot, 
not just as a friend, but as...maybe more than a friend, closer...But 
lately, I don't know, the last several weeks, you are so distant.  It 
hurts me, the way you act.  It's like everything I say or do doesn't 
matter to you.  You have no idea what it feels like to gather up all 
your strength, all your courage, just to make one small step, to try 
and reach out to someone and have them not even notice.  You have no 
idea because you never do it yourself.  You're so quiet, so watchful.  
At first I though you were just shy, but now I wonder...I think you 
are watchful, waiting all the time for someone else to do something.  
I don't want to seem ungrateful for all your help, but the way you act 
sometimes...it hurts me..."

She bowed her head, staring at her hands resting on her thighs.  A 
single tear splashed onto her leg.

Her words went straight to my heart.  Finally things were clear to me, 
and I realized how all my efforts to remain cool, calm, and uninvolved 
had gone astray.  I had let myself be tossed like a bit of flotsam on 
the stormy seas of other people's emotions.  Never intending to hurt 
anyone, my inaction, and the evasions, and the deceptions it had 
caused me to take had all achieved exactly the opposite result of my 
intentions.  Without trying I had let myself become entangled in a web 
of emotions, hurting both mother and daughter in the process.  It had 
taken Yuki's pained expression, and before that her mother's, to make 
me see how stupidly, how cowardly I had acted.

Sitting beside Yuki alone together in the silent cavernous gym, I felt 
more keenly than ever the delicate balance which I had been 
maintaining, a weight bearing down on me, immobilizing me under its 
force.  I had borne that weight for months at the fulcrum, the balance 
point, maintaining the delicate equilibrium for as long as I could, 
but now it had started to slip out of my control.  I didn't have the 
strength to hold everything in place any longer.  It was time for 
action before it all came crashing around me, and I could only see one 
possible way out.

I lay my hand lightly on Yuki's arm.  She raised her eyes, bright with 
tears as I leaned towards her, sliding my hand under her chin, raising 
her face to mine. 

"Richard, I'm sorry..." she started to say.

"No Yuki, shh.  No sorrys today.  No more words now," I whispered.

"Forgive me Mrs Tanaka," I thought as our lips met, softly, trembling: 
our first kiss.




Fin

Richard Rivers
11/29/97

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