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From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers)
Subject: {Rivers} Summer Story: Part 2 (M/f Sex, Asians, Seasonal Affective Disorder)
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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.



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 
































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