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It is drizzling. In the dark, the flickering bar signs
emits a melancholy aura. I am in town by myself; I like
being by myself. I walk to the railroad station. Catch
a train? Nah. I'll explore new horizons.
I make a right turn, going up the street, parallel to
the rails. I have never explored this area before. I
move through the dark narrow foreign terrain, carefully
stepping over mud holes and rocks. Halfway down the
block, almost at the side of the road, illuminated by
the anemic glow of a bar sign, I spot a one thousand
yen bill on the ground. I stop and quickly bend to
snatch it up; as my fingers grasp it, a small hand also
touches the bill.
I straighten up, the bill clutched tightly in my hand
and look down into the face, the pretty but petulant
faced young Japanese girl. She is maybe 4'10", almost
chubby, maybe 105 pounds She is wearing *geta*, which
indicates to me that she is probably not a bar girl.
Bar girls usually don't wear wooden *geta* shoes,
during business hours.
The young girl is wearing a short tight gray and black
checkered skirt which just tops her bare knees, and a
blue American style blouse, with buttons down the
front. Her attire, except for the *geta*, tells me that
she is influenced by American things. She may have a GI
boyfriend, I reason.
"I'm sorry. Maybe you saw it first," I say to her,
hoping that she understands English.
"No. You get first," she responds, in a tough, young
voice.
I look into her eyes. They are bright, complementing
her slightly cocky manner; the boldness of youth.
"I split with you," I say, affecting bar English,
hoping to start a relationship with possibilities.
"No, no. You find. You keep."
"Can I buy you a drink?" I ask her.
"I don't drink."
I pause for a moment, looking at her with interest.
Maybe, it wasn't meant to be. "Well, sayonara then," I
say and turn to leave.
"You want drink?" She calls to me.
I hesitate. I look back, meeting her eyes, gauging her
sincerity.
"You buy and bring my place?" she offers, affecting a
more submissive pose, cocking her head slightly,
glancing at the ground, then back up, meeting my eyes
again, with a questioning gaze.
I am startled. Am I being picked up by a regular woman,
a non-bar hostess? I surmise that she has relationships
with Americans but, otherwise, she is a respectable
Japanese girl I have encountered over a muddy bill
laying in the street.
"Okay," I respond.
We find a Japanese liquor store and I buy five large
bottles of beer.
We're back at her place, she watches me drink. She is
on the futon, on her side. Her body is nice and
compact, I notice, as the Asahi cools my throat. I sit
quietly, watching her watch me. We try to make small
talk, but it goes nowhere. We are intent on looking at
each other's bodies.
"You want make love?" She asks me.
I reach for my belt; she helps me unbuckle and pulls my
zipper down. I lay back on the *tatami* floor, and she
yanks my denims off. I sit up and remove my shirt,
socks and underwear.
She sits back on her ass and takes off her top. She is
not wearing a brassiere. Her tits stick straight out.
Her body is chubby, but compact. She is built. She
leans slightly back, unzips her skirt, and quickly tugs
it off and down, revealing two fine full thighed,
roundly calved, legs. She is meaty fine! She quickly
pulls off her panties and her silky black cunt hairs
are revealed.
I move over to her. She lays back and I climb on top of
her. Her small, but thick, thighs spread so nicely; her
legs pull up, her heels hook over my shoulders. I slide
easily into her target, looking at her smooth skinned
face, feeling her calves squashing my ears.
She looks like she just got out of school! I picture
her in one of those Japanese school girl sailor suit
uniforms, navy blue, almost black, the broad sailor
collar with the white border stripes falling over her
shoulders, the blue tie knotted thickly in the front. I
get harder and whip into her like it is the best pussy
I had ever had. It really is good.
She is no virgin. She has picked me up because she
wants to fuck. She may have even dropped the thousand
yen note on the street as a ploy. That way she could
have her pick of who she wanted. I suspect that I have
been selected like a vegetable at the green grocer, but
I do not care. Use me, slice and dice me, steam me,
butter me, I don't care. I am her sustenance.
I fuck into her hard, holding onto her firm buttocks,
bending my head down to lick her protruding young
girl's nipples. I am a "fuggin' machine," I think,
thoughts of Mailer's Naked and the Dead racing through
my brain, as her full hips whirl under me.
With the alcohol in me, I know that I can last a
reasonably long time. After about half an hour of good
fucking, with both of us gasping and making lovers'
noises, I finally gush into her. She grips me tightly,
grinding her sturdiness against me. I consider asking
her to marry me, but the irrationality passes as I feel
my cock losing its firmness in her.
I fall off of her. She lays there for a moment, her
firm young woman thighs spread wide. Then, she rolls
over, reaches for my pants, pulls out my wallet,
quickly extracts the five hundred yen note left over
from the beer purchase, and boldly sticks it into her
purse.
"That's mine!" I protest.
"No, mine!" she protests back, confirming that I have
been used as a living dildo.
"Well, the beer is mine," I shoot back at her, reaching
for the last Asahi. I pop it open and swig directly
from the bottle as I dress. I glare at her.
She remains naked on the floor, watching me, glaring
back at me, defiantly.
END
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