Message-ID: <5783eli$9711222344@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers) Subject: Story: Her Name Was Yuki (Part 2) [Male, Female, Sex, Japan, Volleyball] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: This story contains graphic descriptions of sex, although you will have to read fairly far into it to find them, so if you are under 18, object to that sort of material, or just don't have any patience, stop now. This story also contains a plot, so if you don't know what that is, or are offended by the very idea, stop now. Without giving it away I should mention that all of the sex in this story is between consenting individuals, however some of the characters are below legal age and some not: draw your own conclusions from that and read on at your own risk. Part 1 serves as more or less an introduction to Part 2 but is hopefully enjoyable on its own. I wouldn't mind receiving constructive criticism of this story in order to insure that future efforts are of a higher quality. I suppose "It sucks!" is constructive on a certain level but I'd rather hear things that might eventually help the writing improve. The inverse does not apply to compliments. If you didn't see part one and want it before you read on, mail me, or wait: I will post it all together (somewhere: ASS?) when the final part (3) is finished. Synopsis of part one: A shy High school student, Richard, develops an infatuation for a transfer student from Japan, Yuki. He develops insomnia and nightmares about his father who has recently left the family, for which he seeks counseling from the school's new counselor, Mrs Tanaka, Yuki's mother. In exchange for the counseling Richard has to work in the gym a couple of days a week doing odd jobs for Mr Roberts, the slightly sleazy gym teacher. Back in Japan Yuki was a star volleyball player. Her first conversation with Richard is about how there is nobody at the school to help her practice. Richard finds her in the gym and helps her: they become friends. Yuki tells him that her father too has just left them. Meanwhile Richard starts to discover he is attracted to Mrs Tanaka as well: he now dreams about her every night. Part one ends at the end of the first semester of school, with Richard in much better spirits, vowing to take a more active role in pursuing Yuki. Richard Rivers HER NAME WAS YUKI Part 2: My holidays weren't bleak after all even though we didn't have much to celebrate in our house that year. My new found optimism saw me through what would have otherwise been a miserable vacation. Preoccupied with thoughts of Yuki and Kozue, it was as if I was only half there anyway. My poor mother must have felt as if she spent the holidays alone, or worse than alone since I spent most of my time in my room listening to the sleet and snow pelt my windows, waiting for the day when I could go back to school. But the first week of the semester tested my new years' resolutions sorely. Yuki smiled and nodded to me in home room but we never got a chance to talk; she always seemed to be hurrying off to class. Every day I passed the gym on may way home from school, sometimes standing in the biting cold for ten minutes until my feet froze, waiting for the sounds of her practicing that never came. The gym was empty when I looked inside. The morning of my session with Mrs Tanaka a bitter wind blew down from the North , chilling the air well below zero, the kind of cold that numbs you to the bone within seconds. The sky grew gray and ominous from noon onward, foreshadowing the coming storm. A few flakes were already falling as I made my way to her office. She greeted me in a subdued manner, wishing me a belated happy new year. The change in her shocked me: she seemed to have lost a lot of weight in the short winter recess, her eyes had dark circles under them, and her voice, once the beautiful, lilting, sing-song voice I had loved, sounded flat and tired. "How are you doing, Richard?" She managed a weak smile for me. "No more nightmares, I hope?" "I'm fine, Mrs Tanaka," I said. "How was Hawaii?" I asked, stupidly, regretting the words even as they left my mouth. "Hawaii..." She sighed. "Hawaii is such a beautiful place, Richard. Such a paradise." Her weary tone suggested a wasteland, not an island paradise at all; she looked as if she might start crying and I squirmed with discomfort. I hated being around crying women: I didn't know what to do, what to say, how I should act. Mom cried a lot when dad left and I had tried to console her in my own awkward fashion. The feelings of helplessness and despair that had come over me were still too fresh in my memory; I didn't want to go through anything like that again. But Mrs Tanaka didn't cry. She snapped into her professional persona. Asking me to sit down, we began the session. She was not herself; clearly distracted, her mind was far away from me and my little problems. She made me repeat myself several times, and her note pad, usually full of scribbled notes by the end of each session, lay on her lap, the top page empty except for my name and the date. I'm not even sure what she was driving at with her random questions; the whole session seemed so blasé, we both just went through the motions: she asking stock questions, me giving stock answers. Mrs Tanaka's mood seemed so dark, her emotions so fragile, I felt my main objective that session should be to simply avoid upsetting her. My mind wandered as we kept up the shell of a conversation. I couldn't stop thinking about Yuki: Why was she ignoring me? What had I done wrong? We both lost track of time. Eventually Mrs Tanaka snapped out of her daydream and looked at the clock on her desk. "Oh, no," she said in a low voice. "Look at the time, it's five o clock!" We should have finished by half past four. She offered me a ride home, after she made one quick phone call; she wanted to see if Yuki had made it home on her own. I saw her relax a little as Yuki answered. They spoke together in Japanese for a short time, Mrs Tanaka's expression growing serious as she hung up the phone. "It's really snowing out there, according to my daughter," she said pulling on her coat. "Many roads are closed already. She thought I was stuck somewhere. We had better hurry. Do you want to call home?" My mother would still be at work, I told her; no need to call yet. Once we stepped out of her well-insulated office we could hear the wind howling outside as we hurried down the empty hallways. The door to the outside wouldn't open when she pushed it. "It can't be locked from the inside?" She said, as if thinking aloud. We tried pushing together and finally got the door about half way open, letting out exclamations of amazement when we finally managed to unstick it: a waist high snow had blown against it. Snow blew into the hallway, in our faces, sending us staggering back inside. We could see her car in the distance, alone in the middle of the snow covered parking lot, a drift covering it to the door handles. "Oh," she said softly, wiping snow from her eyes. "This is terrible." We closed the door to shut out the biting cold. She leaned against the wall next to the doors, her shoulders slumped. "Mrs Tanaka," I said, "I think your car is stuck here. Even if we could shovel it out we'd never get it out of the lot. Did you see the drifts out there?" Nobody had been through to plow the school lot yet, if plows were even out in a storm like this. "How quickly it happened," she said with quiet astonishment. "It was clear this afternoon. We will have to find another way home I guess." Returning to her office she told me to call my mother right away. Mom sounded relieved to hear my voice, but worried: the TV news said that all the area roads were impassable, the plows couldn't even get out and the state police had advised everyone to stay indoors. When I relayed this news to Mrs Tanaka she got a little frantic, thumbing through the phone book she said she was going to call us a taxi. I sat and watched as she called every number in the book with no luck. No taxi driver in his right mind was going out in that storm. Finally, she fell into her chair, exasperated. "I'm going to call Mr Forbes," she said at last. She explained our predicament to Mr Forbes and then was silent as he spoke for a long time. His bright idea was to call the police, which she did right away, talking with several different people, growing more and more frustrated. It was obvious from her end that the police weren't going to come either. Their best advice was to stay put. The school had heat, it was safe, and we could get food and water if we needed, so why leave? Mrs Tanaka had a difficult time accepting it, and she kept demanding to speak to higher-ups. Eventually she got as high as she could before slowly hanging up the phone, sighing. "They are absolutely no help," she said, leaning back in her chair. "They are going to make us stay here over night. Nobody can come until tomorrow." I could see tears welling up in her eyes. I felt guilty because for me the whole thing had been exciting: the storm, getting stuck, maybe having to camp out at the school were all welcome breaks from my dreary life, but Mrs Tanaka seemed upset. Barely containing her tears she nervously twisted a pen between her fingers as she broke the news to me. She felt responsible for the whole mess we were in, and my assurances that I didn't mind had no effect on her at all. She showed me to the office next to hers and told me to call my mother. She had to make a few calls from her own office and would be back as soon as she finished. My mom expressed concern about me, but the fact I wasn't going to have to travel in the storm was some comfort to her. I assured her that I had all my warm clothes with me, I would try to find something to eat, and that everything would be fine. After I hung up it struck me how quiet these offices were, how insulated from the world. Outside, a savage storm was blowing while I sat warm and comfortable. Nothing could reach me. There was something appealing about it, like being in a cocoon, or in a deep warm underground cave. I sat back in the comfortable chair and enjoyed the feeling. Excitement had completely washed away all my worries; for the first time in weeks I was able to sit calmly, peacefully, as if I hadn't a care in the world. Mrs Tanaka stuck her head into the office. "Richard," she said, "are you hungry? It's almost seven o'clock. I think we should see if we can find something in the cafeteria, OK?" Her voice was much more relaxed; almost back to the way I remembered it. I think resigning herself to the situation she had finally stopped fighting and accepted our fate calmly. We walked in silence through the eerie dark of the deserted school, the muffled sounds of the howling wind accompanying our soft footsteps as we passed door after door of empty classrooms. A single fluorescent tube dimly lit the cafeteria, giving it an eerie, bluish glow. We walked carefully between the chairs and tables, through the heavy swinging metal doors and into the kitchen. The kitchen was pitch black and Mrs Tanaka fumbled for the light switch. With a crackle the lights came to life, making both of us blink at the sudden harsh brightness reflected off the stainless steel all around us. She turned to me. "This is going to be fun," she said with a smile that took me by surprise. She laughing, the soft, melodious laugh that I loved to hear as she surveyed the kitchen. "I've always wanted to do this," she said as if to herself. After perusing the shelves, she selected a can of tomato soup, enough to feed twenty people, but the smallest thing we could find. I worked on getting the can opened while she disappeared into the walk-in freezer. She emerged with a box in her hands and a triumphant, mischievous look on her face. "We are having tomato soup," she said putting the box on the counter, gesturing towards the now lidless can, "bologna sandwiches," she went on, pulling out bread, bologna and a huge bottle of mustard, "and, a special surprise! Cake." She pulled a chocolate cake still in its plastic tray out of the box with a mock flourish. "That's great," I couldn't help laughing. She busied herself making sandwiches and heating the soup, refusing my offers to help. I leaned on the counter and watched her. Although I had spent the first semester seeing her every week, other than the sound of her voice which I loved, it was as if I had never really paid attention to her before that moment. Now, watching her move about the kitchen I saw her, in a certain sense, for the first time. She had such a youthful quality to the way she moved, a playfulness, unlike any other adult I knew. Quick to laugh, her eyes sparkled with an impish glitter that delighted me. She took off her jacket, throwing it onto the counter. In her dark skirt and white blouse I realized how fine, how delicate her body looked; her slim waist and hips--not girlish and athletic like Yuki's--had a woman's mature fullness. Watching the movement of her delicate arms an shoulders thrilled me as she quickly and efficiently assembled sandwiches and ladled soup. In my dreams she had been an erotic presence for weeks, but more psychic than physical, arousing me entirely with the warm glow she radiated. Now the realization came, surprising me, almost as something I had been afraid to see: she was a beautiful woman. We ate our dinner mostly in silence making small talk about the weather, our strange situation, and other things. After we cleaned up, she looked at her watch, sighing. "It's not even eight thirty. Too early to go to bed. I've got work here I can do. How about you?" "I can always go to my locker and get some books or something," I said. "Good. Go get them. I'm sorry but there isn't anything else to do in here," she shrugged helplessly. "Study for a while before bedtime. Mr Forbes told me there is a bed in the nurse's office. You can sleep there. I'll sleep on the couch in my office." She set me up with my homework in the office next to hers where I listlessly flipped the pages of my textbooks for an hour while she worked next door. Suddenly the lights went out, leaving us in total darkness. I heard her bumping around in her office as I got to my feet and started feeling my way along the wall. We met in the doorway, bumping heads. "Ouch," she laughed. "Are you OK? We seem to have lost power." We stood for a moment, only a foot or two apart. It was so quiet I could hear her breath, feel it on my face. The constant rush of the heaters, in the background before, had stopped, leaving behind a sudden, noticeable void. "I think the heat is gone too," she said. I held my hand up in front of my eyes. "I can't believe how dark it is in here, I can't see my own hand." "I know," she said. "We should go back to my office." I felt her hand brush my arm. "Hold my hand," she said. Hand in hand we stumbled to her office. She let me go and fumbled around on the desk. "The phone is dead too." The room already felt a degree or two cooler because of the lack of constantly blowing warm air. We found our coats to use as blankets and Mrs Tanaka suggested that we sit on the couch and drape them over ourselves. Our bodies touched as we sat side by side. I could feel her warm thigh pressed against mine. We sat quietly for a while and then she began to tell me a story about her childhood, growing up in Japan. She had been a little girl, five or six years old, taking a train trip all the way to the north part of the island to see her grandparents, alone. Her parents had put her on a train that would go directly to the city where her grandparents lived. It was safe, and the stewards on the train would look out for her during the long trip. Somewhere the train had stopped in a dark tunnel for what seemed like hours to her. Terrified, she had started crying and crying, she said, and she wouldn't stop. A kindly old steward came and held her hand, calming her until the train was out of the tunnel. Later in the trip he had lead her up to the front of the train to meet the drivers and had held her hand again, taking her to the waiting arms of her grandparents at the station. At some point during the story she put her arm around my shoulder. I wanted to do the same, but felt too shy. It was getting noticeably colder and we sat in silence for a long time. As I started to drift off to sleep I thought I heard her crying softly. After some time I partially awoke. I could hear the heaters blowing and the room was warm again. The lights were off but now the dim green glow of a flashing digital clock lit the room. I had fallen asleep leaning on Mrs Tanaka's shoulder. My weight had pushed her over so that I almost lay on top of her. We were both more asleep than awake then, and what happened next seems still as if it were a dream: an unconscious whirl of motions, half remembered, half experienced, dipping in and out of waking and dreaming. Something from the depths of my unconscious stealthily surfaced and took control of the living body it had moved only in dreams before. Our faces were so close I could feel her warm breath streaming onto my cheek. Sensing my wakefulness, she stirred. Turning her head slightly towards me her lips softly grazed my face. I turned to meet them and our lips touched ever so softly: my first kiss. Our mouths lingered together without moving, prolonging the feathery gentle touch. I let myself sink down more deeply, feeling the soft fullness of her lips give way. Stirring again I heard the soft sharp hiss of her inhalation next to my ear. Parting further, her lips pulled my mouth more firmly onto her own. The little moan which issued from her throat passed as a vibration from her body into mine. Her velvet tongue reached into me and darted away again as if frightened then, teasing, playfully coaxed me to follow, deeper and deeper into her body; at the back of my neck her hands held me tightly to her. She pulled me down on top of her bringing our legs up onto the couch. I felt her skirt slide up over her spreading thighs. Our mouths were unable to stay apart; when she withdrew for a breath I hungrily sought after her lips, and her hands pulled my head back down to her again and again as our kisses grew in intensity. Her warm thighs moved along my body and she locked her legs around me, pulling my crotch against hers. She enveloped me completely; her legs and arms wrapped around me in a tight embrace, and wherever we touched the heat traveled between us completely saturating my nerves, making me tingle. I lowered all of my weight onto her, freeing my hands to caress her face and stroke her hair. Already hard and throbbing, the feel of her soft yielding flesh beneath me aroused me more; she pushed on me with her calves, showing me the thrusting movements I was too naive to know how to do on my own. The bulge in my pants burrowed into the soft flesh beneath her panties. But I yearned for more total, deeper contact with her and pushed myself against her with greater and greater force, rubbing myself against her faster and faster. Her kisses grew hungrier, more urgent and we stiffened, straining against each other. I began to feel as if I couldn't hold back any longer, as if my motions were no longer mine to control. I squeezed my crotch against her, straining every muscle in my body, wringing a moan from deep within her. Then I shuddered, coming. I throbbed against her, restricted and straining inside my pants as warm wet come soaked onto her panties, spreading to the insides of her thighs as she squeezed my shaking body between her legs. "I'm sorry," I started to speak. I felt guilty--the mess I'd just made--as if I had done something terrible. "Shh," she gently put a finger to my lips. "Shh, don't say anything. It's OK. Shh." She hugged me more tightly and I felt her warmth flood into me again. A peaceful calm came over me and I drifted back to sleep. I woke up some time later as she tried to wriggle out from under me. I sat upright, feeling the cold wet come soaking through my pants. In the dark I could see her standing up next to me. "I'm going to turn on the light, get ready," she whispered. The light was harsh after those hours of darkness. Her back was to me and I glimpsed her thighs as she smoothed her skirt, pulling it down over her knees as the lights came on. "Let's see what kind of a mess we've made," she said softly, a little smile at her lips. She looked herself up and down: "Not too bad. A little rumpled, I guess, but you..." She looked down at me and I felt ashamed: come completely soaked the front of my jeans. I looked as if I had wet my pants. "Mrs Tanaka, I'm sorry, I..." I started to say again. "Don't be sorry," she said softly but insistently. "Don't. You poor boy! This is nothing to be ashamed about." She gave me a pat on the shoulder. "Shh, don't say anything more right now." Looking at her watch, she went on: "It's three in the morning. We need to get cleaned up and ready for tomorrow. If you rinse those pants out and hang them in front of a heating vent, they'll be dry by morning." I was taken aback by her brisk, business-like manner: I'd just stained her with my come, and now she was going on about getting ready for tomorrow. "Mrs Tanaka," I began again, more insistently. "Look, I didn't mean..." "Shh, she interrupted me again. "Richard, we'll talk about this, I promise we will, but not now. Not right now." She spoke softly, as if scolding an errant child. "Please, don't feel guilty or ashamed. This should be a beautiful time, not a time for apology. Just be still now." Her gentle voice soothed me into submission. "Oh, and please, don't you think after that you can call me Kozue?" she added, with just a hint of mischief in her voice. We made our way to the bathrooms and each went to work cleaning up "our little mess" as she called it. I washed my pants and underwear in the sink and put them back on, wet. She led me to the darkened nurse's office and showed me the bed, then, kissing me on the forehead, left me, saying she would return when it was light outside. I lay awake for a long time that night in that stark hospital bed, listening to the wind whipping outside, wondering what Mrs Tanaka was doing at that moment, what she was thinking, and wondering too if my life had just gotten better, or, suddenly, a whole lot worse. *** Mrs Tanaka came to wake me up at eight o'clock the next morning. We went to the cafeteria again to eat some breakfast and wait for our rescue. She told me I should come to her office as soon as school resumed after the snow storm and we would have a little chat about what had happened. In her opinion, it would be a good idea to let our emotions cool down before we could deal with the situation in a rational way. With that, she reverted to her chatty, playful persona. She started telling me some story about living in New York city, and how a big snow storm had hit, but I wasn't listening. All I could do was look at her and think of how beautiful she was. Every move she made sent a shiver through me: the way she held her elbows close to her body when she buttered her toast; how her delicate fingers curled around her coffee mug; the face she made as she wrinkled her little nose at the bad school coffee. Her motions, so delicate, so thoroughly feminine, made me want her, but she had receded back to an unassailable distance again; the brief connection we had enjoyed the night before seemed lost. We were rescued about an hour later. Mr Forbes arrived along with a state policeman who checked to make sure we were OK and then left. Mr Forbes took us to the office so that we could call our homes, but before letting us use the phones he ushered us into his personal office and had us sit down. He told us that he would prefer it if we both kept quiet about our ordeal. We sat uncomfortably as he told us that he feared the local press might make "too much out of nothing" and blow the whole thing out of proportion if our story got out. Mrs Tanaka nervously crossed her legs as he went on about how some people might jump to "the wrong conclusions" about the "embarrassing situation" of a student and a teacher stuck alone together in the school over night. She asked him what he meant by that, but he hedged, hemming and hawing, not really answering the question. I remember guiltily wiping my sweaty palms on the thighs of my pants, still damp where I had washed my come off them as he droned on. School got canceled for the rest of the week due to the snow storm. The next Monday as I filed out of home room a hand on my arm surprised me. Yuki pulled along side of me in the hallway. "Richard," she hissed, whispering over the din. "I've got to talk to you! Can you meet me after school?" She had never initiated a conversation between us before, and after her aloof behavior recently this sudden approach completely took me by surprise. Something about her almost panicky tone worried me: I knew this had to be about her mother. My appointment with Mrs Tanaka was for that afternoon, but using that as an excuse for not seeing Yuki seemed risky and made me extremely nervous and defensive; I suggested we meet at lunch instead. Her mother went off campus for lunch, she said, so we could use the office for privacy. When we met, Yuki led me into the office and closed the door behind her. She didn't sit down but leaned her back against the closed door, hands folded behind her, almost as if she were barricading it, preventing my escape. In front of Yuki I couldn't bring myself to sit on the same couch where I had slept with her mother. Instead I hopped up on the desk, dangling my legs over the edge. "The criminal, brought back to the scene of the crime for interrogation," I thought. Yuki took a deep breath and looked me in the eye: "Richard, thank you for meeting me here. I'm so sorry to trouble you, but the reason I have to talk to you is because of what happened last week with you and my mother." Every muscle in my body tensed, it was all I could do to resist the urge to push her aside, fling open the door and run off madly down the hallway. She went on: "She is not herself anymore. She has been so sad lately, because she and my father didn't work out their differences over the winter break, in Hawaii. It was awful, the whole vacation was awful, and now she's acting as if something worse happened. She has been so preoccupied, so absent minded, like a different person since that night she spent here. I was wondering if he called her again, or, I don't know, if anything else bad happened. Did she talk about anything to you?" I relaxed. So she doesn't know... In my relief I had forgotten to answer the question. "Richard?" "Uh, no, she didn't," I said, blankly. Then, regaining composure: "She did seem very sad, but I think she wanted to put a good face on things, you know, for me, to keep my spirits up." "She didn't say anything? Did she act unusual in any way that night?" "This is heading in the wrong direction," I thought. "I don't know, I don't think so," I said. "You know, I don't really know her that well. It's usually me that does all the talking and she just listens...Come to think of it though," I interrupted myself, "she told some story about Japan, her childhood, and she seemed a little sad then, but I didn't think anything of it, you know, I didn't really notice. I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry." I shrugged, looking at my shoes swinging out from under the desk hoping my answer had been good enough to deflect her. Yuki was silent, thoughtful for a moment. She sighed. "Well, I'm worried about her and you are the only person who might be able to help me. You are the only person who knows us both." Her eyes flickered, then she looked down, fidgeting. "So, what was it like, the two of you trapped in here alone together all night?" "Careful," I thought. "Well, what did your mother say," I asked, trying desperately not to let my voice sound cagey. "Oh, she said it was boring. She made soup, then you guys just sat around reading books, or something. But she didn't tell me she told you stories about Japan. I wonder why she left that out?" "Oh, we were falling asleep by that point," I said. My heart skipped a beat. "I...I mean I was falling asleep. I had to go across the hall to the nurses room you know. I slept in there." I felt as if she had handed me a rope and was watching me tie it around my neck. "Can I ask you one more thing?" Her voice changed, softer now. She didn't look up as she spoke, instead fixing her gaze on the carpet at her feet. "Sure," I said. "Now she kicks the chair out from under me," I thought in despair. "Are you avoiding me for some reason?" She blushed, eyes still downward, knocking the backs of her legs nervously against the door. The wave of relief I felt blanketed me in joyful, ecstatic warmth. I could have leaped off the desk and hugged her. "I'm alive!" I thought. "Me avoiding you?" I stammered. The painful effort it had taken her to ask me that small question was obvious: she stood blushing, eyes downcast, as she had been the first time I ever saw her, and, suddenly, all the feelings I had for her came back, piercing me. She looked so desirable, battling against her own shyness, her modesty. In her unexpected brave act of self expression I glimpsed briefly the shadow of woman she would become: so like her mother. Her hold over me redoubled its power. I wanted to go to her, hold her, comfort her, but I stayed rooted to the desk. Glimpsing the mother through the daughter illuminated the dual, disquieting nature of my desire: I wanted them both. One person-- split into two independent, living, breathing, and desirable halves-- is how I saw them: the daughter the potential, the mother its fulfillment. Aching, impossible desire filled me, a heavy, sluggish fluid flowing through my veins. "I thought you were avoiding me," I said. "I've looked for you, after school, in the gym, but I've never seen you there." "Well I've been there, but I start practice later now," she said, defensively. "I have advanced chemistry, and the lab time is half an hour after last period. I don't even get to the gym until three thirty." "That explains it," I said, striking my forehead with the palm of my hand. "And I thought you were mad at me or something." We arranged to meet that Thursday, when I would start helping her practice again. I spent the rest of the day in a euphoric mood knowing that I had narrowly escaped an ugly scene, even coming out of the encounter having my friendship with Yuki on stronger footing than ever. Three hours later I returned to the same office for my meeting with Mrs Tanaka. She ushered me in, and as we took our seats on the couch she gave it a little pat. "Scene of the crime," she said, a smile flickering across her face. I sat in dumbfounded silence: was she a mind reader? "All right, Richard," she started, more formally. "We both know what happened in here the other day. I don't even think we need discuss the details. What I'm interested in are your feelings about it. I'll tell you mine too. Now the reason I kept shushing you up the other day was because I wanted you to have some time to reflect on it, before you just blurted something out, something you might regret later. I needed the time to reflect myself. It's not that I don't respect your thoughts, its just that I want them to be better formulated, OK?" I nodded. All I could think about was the last time we sat together on this couch. Her thigh had been touching mine, making me tingle. Now she sat a few inches a way, inches that felt like light years. "Why don't you tell me what you feel about it," she prodded. I didn't want to talk. I only wanted to reach out and stroke her thigh, run my hand over her skirt, under it, feeling her softness, and maybe finally see her unclothed body. There was no way I could tell her the feelings going through me at that moment. My feelings required actions not words, and I didn't have the courage. "Well, Mrs Tanaka," I began, hesitantly. "I feel really badly about what happened. I mean, I don't have much experience with girls, or women I mean, well I don't have any actually." I was blushing so hard my head was hot. "I'm not sure I knew what I was doing that night. Not really, anyway." "Did you enjoy it?" she asked quietly. "Uh, well, uh, I guess so..." My embarrassment grew more painful. "It's OK if you did. There's nothing wrong with that." "Well yeah, I enjoyed it," I said. I wanted to do it again so badly it hurt. To have to talk about it and not be able to do anything was like twisting a knife in me. "Do you think you took advantage of me," she asked. "Well yeah, sort of," I said more forcefully. "You were asleep. I kind of started things." "But I woke up at some point, didn't I?" She smiled knowingly. She was torturing me, absolutely torturing me, whether she knew it or not. "Yes, I think you must have," I admitted. "And, did I ever tell you to stop, at any point?" "No, you never did." "Then I think you should re evaluate whether or not you took advantage of me, OK?" I nodded. "Now, do you think I took advantage of you? Think about it carefully." He tone grew serious. "No way," I said adamantly. "I think I'm the one who really wanted to do it. You just went along with it. Anyway, I'm the one who, you know...who..." I couldn't bring myself to say it. "Came?" She said quietly. "You're the one who came?" "Yes," I exhaled, relieved that she had said it for me. "How do you know that, Richard? How do you know I didn't come too?" She had thoroughly flustered me. I sat stupidly, speechless. She relaxed and smiled. "Richard, you have a lot to learn about women, and about sex. First of all women don't just go along with it, or at least they shouldn't," she said forcefully. "I wasn't just going along with it for your sake. I enjoyed it too you know." She gave me a pat on the leg. "You men have the problem of thinking that sex is always for, and about yourselves. Well, women enjoy sex too. Never forget that. They don't just go along, or if they do and they don't tell you it's not your burden to feel guilty about later. Do you understand?" I nodded in assent, feeling a slight glimmer of hope: She enjoyed it! I longed for her to touch me again, but she kept talking. "My feelings are that it is something that happened, we were in a stressful situation, and sometimes that brings out a side of our personality we aren't even aware of ourselves. It happened, we both enjoyed it, now its over." As I listened she slowly broke my heart. "I don't have any regrets, and neither should you, but I think what happened wouldn't have happened except in that very unusual situation. Now there are people who would condemn me for what we did, not you, but me: I'm older. I should be responsible and so on and so forth. I don't share their views. I think we were both old enough and wise enough to decide for ourselves what was right and, personally, I don't think any real harm was done, to either of us. However, my position as your counselor has been compromised, and ethically I do think it is wrong for me to continue in that role. When a certain gap has been bridged between people it is hard, well impossible, to ever go back to the way things were before. We achieved a certain, let me say, familiarity, with each other the other night." She gave me a wistful smile. "Now we can't go back. I can't go back to the position I need to be in to counsel you effectively any more. Personally, as friends, I think we must be careful with each other as well. Once crossed, that bridge to intimacy is easier and easier to re cross, more and more tempting. I think we should not see each other at all for a while." Noticing my pained expression, her voice softened. "Don't assume you're the only one this is difficult for. I'm a human being too. I've got feeling that can be hurt, just like yours." She stopped abruptly, sounding close to tears. She got up and sat behind her desk, increasing the already painful distance between us. Her words dashed my hopes, and the last shards of my euphoric mood, finally dislodged, blew away. Mrs Tanaka gave me the names of some free counseling centers that might take up where she left off, but she didn't feel it was of vital importance that I keep going: I had made some progress, and we had accomplished the main goal of the sessions; my nightmares had gone away completely. She had no idea that I still dreamed about her almost every night instead. As she rose to let me out of her office she told me I could certainly drop by if something important came up then planted a little kiss on my forehead. Its impression burned for hours after I left. *** Over the next several weeks I got closer to Yuki, although being in her presence hardly cut through the deep melancholy I felt over my break up with Mrs Tanaka. We started meeting at the gym a few times a week as before. Yuki seemed to come out of her shell, talking and laughing with me more than she had in the past and sometimes we would sit on the bleachers together for a few minutes after she had tired out, just talking. She told me of the places she had toured all over Asia playing volleyball, or she would tell me things she and her girlfriends had done back in Japan or the comings and goings of life in her small town. Whenever she mentioned her mother in passing and I had to stifle the urge to ask her to tell me more. The sight of Yuki in her volleyball uniform never bored me. Soaked with sweat as she usually was after practice, she might as well have been naked. Without seeing her with her clothes off I already knew her body intimately: I could clearly see her nipples and the areolas around them through the sweat soaked fabric; I could count her ribs or see the small indentation of her navel in the middle of the soft rise of her belly. Sometimes the back of her outfit would ride up showing a small firm cheek of her behind. But looking at the small mound between her legs was my most guilty pleasure. The very essence of her femininity, its soft fullness constantly attracted my gaze, and if nothing else had already aroused me, looking there was sure to produce an erection, impossible to hide standing across the net from her. I had to ration my quick glances to times when we sat together and I could safely fold my hands in my lap, or hold the ball there, pressing it into me, pretending it was her body I held against mine. She became aware of how I looked at her, she had to, and I think she came to enjoy her role as the object of my desire. Her behavior became more playful, flirtatious even. Sometimes it almost seemed as if she posed for me, knowing how her body affected me. Before, when the back of her uniform had crept up she had pulled it down, modestly, furtively, only when facing me, but now she did it with her back to me, giving the elastic a little snap. Bending to retrieve the ball: did she do that more slowly now, holding the stretch for just a second longer than necessary, when I could see the muscles in her thighs flexing, her long pony tail sweeping the floor, or did I only imagine it? Whenever she spoke she looked me in the eye now and fewer things I said or did seemed to embarrass her. It was me, more often than not, who ended up looking away or at my feet when she would give me little pats on the shoulder thanking me at the end of each practice session, or a little punch if I told a particularly lame joke. I thrilled at her touches, wishing for more, but I restrained myself from pursuing her physically. The change in her delighted me, but my enjoyment always had a dark underside: so many of the little things she did reminded me of her mother. The closer I got to Yuki, the more I longed for Kozue. Memories of the night we spent together haunted me: the feel of her soft thighs against me, her hot, passionate kisses, the give of the flesh under her panties. Seeing some small thing in Yuki could trigger it at any time, setting off the whole painful cascade of recalled sensations again. I felt as if I walked along a razor's edge: if I got any closer to Yuki her mother would surely find out and she would be lost to me forever, so I maintained my frustrating distance, getting what enjoyment I could just by watching. As usual, Mr Roberts became the thorn in my side. I assumed that since my therapy sessions were over I could stop reporting for work at the gym, but he had a different idea: he telephoned my mom, telling her what a great help I had been to him, and that my work could turn into an after school job. My mom just couldn't turn down the offer of a little extra money coming in and I didn't have the heart to say no to her when she asked me to do it: we needed it. I would be working in the gym three afternoons a week, for minimum wage. Once I was an employee instead of a slave Mr Roberts began treating me a little better. He let me take breaks, when I could sit at the desk in the outer part of the office, put my feet up and kick back for a few minutes. I still hardly ever saw him: he always closed the door to his inner office and he would emerge every now and then to check on me or to do some other small errand. Sometimes I heard him talking on the phone through the door, just a word here and there of him joking around with some friend on the other. He evidently talked to this friend, or friends a lot about women and sex, maybe he gave the run down of his most recent conquests; I could only hear just enough to arouse my curiosity. What started as innocently overhearing bits of conversations slowly evolved into outright eavesdropping. I began looking for the little light on the telephone to go on, signaling me that he was on the line so I could tip toe into the outer office and listen at the door, but this was still frustrating; I could barely hear what he was saying through the door and the other half of the conversation was lost. One day, quite by accident, I discovered how to listen in from the other phone. I needed to call my mom for some reason and I picked up the phone without thinking to hit the button for the other line. I held the receiver to my ear but instead of a dial tone I heard an unfamiliar voice. "..and you're gonna tell me about it today I hope?" the voice said. I put my hand on the mouthpiece, waiting with bated breath to see if they had noticed me pick up another phone. Mr Roberts came on the line: "Yeah I'll tell you the whole thing, right now. You got a few minutes?" "Sure." "OK, its the same chick I told you about, with the big tits." "Big for a fourteen year old, I'm sure," the voice said with sarcasm. "No way," Mr Roberts answered emphatically. "No, these babies are just B.I.G. Big! But ripe, you know, not hanging down or anything. They stick straight at ya." "Uh, huh." "Anyway, I make her stay after school the other day. I make her stay late after class, alone. Making up some excuse, like I need to update my file, or something, so I just asked her her phone number, a bunch of shit like that, you know, just to kill time. I just wanted to keep her there." "So, did you fuck her?" The voice sounded eager. "No! No, I didn't fuck her, not yet anyway. She's not like the one last year. You remember the one I told you about. The one who was dying for it; who practically crawled down MY pants for it. Anyway, this one's different. Real conservative, sweet. It's going to take a lot of work if I'm going to stick it to her, you know, if ever. But for now I'm just watching." "You lucky prick!" Mr Roberts laughed: "You said it, my friend! To get on with my story: I keep her there until everyone else has cleared out, then I tell her to hit the showers. Just then that punk kid, that guy who works for me, he shows up, and he's asking me what to do and I'm panicking. I'm thinking: 'I've got to get going,' so I tell him to do some damn thing or other and I'm free. I'm just in time too. She's turning on the water in there, facing me. Facing me! Those big ripe high school tits are jiggling right in front of me, then they're all wet, and the water is running over 'em in these two little water falls that go down each tit and over the nipples. Her nipples are small, you know and tight." "Nothing like a small nipple on a big tit, I always say," the voice on the other end chimed in. "Right you are! They're like two brand new little pencil erasers." "What happened next?" "Well, I swear she knows I'm watching, because she puts on a show. Maybe being alone in the showers is a turn-on for her, but I think she knows I'm looking, or she senses it anyway. Whatever. She washes her hair, then soaps up those tits. I mean she's squeezing them with both hands, cupping them, and I can see how firm they are by the way they're moving." "You gotta love a girl who loves her own tits." "For sure. So I've got my cock out. I can't stand it any more, and I figure she's almost done. But she's not. She's just getting started. She takes the soap again and soaps up her bush. She's got a thin crop of pussy hair on her which she works into a lather. Now she's facing away from the water, sideways to me, but I can see clearly. She starts rubbing her pussy!" "No way!" "Yes way! Right there in front of me. I can see her middle finger stuck downwards between her thighs and she's making these slow side to side motions, then round and round she goes. She kept if up for a few minutes, and I joined her, you know, stroking my cock at the same time. I can tell she was coming. She arches her back, her whole body's spasoming and she lifts herself onto her toes. I can see her ass twitching, giving these little pelvic thrusts, and her thigh muscles clench up. Then her hand stops moving. I know she's coming right then, at that instant. Her whole body stopped for a second, then she started jerking, like she was riding an invisible bucking bronco. Holy shit! Her tits were shaking. Everything was shaking, and, man, I lost it. I shot my load right then, all aver the fucking wall. I didn't care." "That's amazing. Man you are one lucky dude!" "I know, I know. I'll have to have you come over again some time, when that kid isn't around, and you can check it out for yourself. It'll be better than last time. Remember that volleyball game. I sneaked you in there, didn't I, and while I glad handed all the parents you got to check the whole team out showering. I took care of, man. I'll do it again." "And I thank you for it," the voice said. "Listen," Mr Roberts went on. "I've got to go check up on that kid, OK? I...." That was all I heard. Putting down the receiver, I quickly tiptoed out of the office. I hadn't gone far when Mr Roberts came out. "Rivers!" he yelled at me as I was slinking through the locker room. "Are you finished, or what?" "No, I'm just taking a break," I told him. "OK then, but back at it, soon. All right?" With that returned to his office and shut the door behind him. As I listened to him talk on the phone I didn't feel shock, or even surprise; it only confirmed my feelings about him. I'd never liked him because I always thought he had a sleazy, corrupt side, but I had never been able to pin down specifically why. It no longer mattered: this was worse than anything I could have imagined. I knew what he was doing alone in that office all the time, and why he kept it locked up like Fort Knox, proving to me for once and for all time that he was a sleazy bastard. I could go on hating him with a clear conscience. When he mentioned the girl's volleyball team, and how he had let his friend spy on them, it filled me with a righteous, fiery anger. How dare he! Yuki was on that team, MY Yuki! And that creep had been letting his pals spy on her! I swore I would get even with Mr Roberts for that, and that alone. I needed some proof though, some concrete evidence against him other than a conversation I had spied on. I knew that as a student any little indiscretion I committed would be used against me, no matter how heinous a crime it served to expose, while Mr Roberts would always get the benefit of the doubt. If I wasn't very thorough, the bastard would wriggle out of it somehow. Before I could tell anyone I would have to get into his office and figure out exactly how he was doing it, then I could turn him in, armed with the knowledge that when the door finally opened Mr Robert's secret would be made plain for all to see. I needed to act soon. The thought that Yuki was getting undressed every day in front of him made me burn with hatred, and also with jealousy. If anyone deserved to see her with her clothes off it was me. *** The snow lay heavy on the ground as February wore on. I bided my time, watchful, ready to pounce whenever the opportunity presented itself, but Mr Roberts didn't slip up. He always closed and locked the door behind him when he left his office, even for a moment. I began to despair of ever getting in there and figuring out what was going on, resigning myself to the fact that I might have to go to Mr Forbes, armed only with flimsy evidence to hold up against the word of a teacher. Mr Roberts kept up his phone calls to the same friend and several others, so I got to hear some of his stories two or three times. His goal was to fuck the student I heard him describe before. According to him, he managed to pick out and fuck at least one student every year. He took smug satisfaction in describing the joys of deflowering fourteen and fifteen year-olds to his coterie of horny friends, to whom he was something of a hero. Listening to him talk that way enraged me; but my anger also thinly disguised jealousy, which I cloaked in the guise of moral indignation. As I sat in the office taking a break the phone rang. I could see the light go on when Mr Roberts picked up, and I was soon on the other extension. "...anything going on?" the voice said. "Nah, not at the moment," Mr Roberts answered, sounding bored. "Listen, are you coming out with us Friday, like we planned?" "Well, no. There's a change of plan, for me anyway." Mr Roberts laughed, sounding self satisfied. "What's up?" "I've got a date Friday night!" "You're shitting me. A date? You? What, are you wining and dining those little girls now before you plug them? That just doesn't sound like you, man." "No, no," Mr Roberts cut in. "This is a real date. Progress on that student is slow, too slow. In fact I'm wondering if I picked the right one or not. Anyway, I'm not getting any right now. A most dire situation. So I got myself fixed up with a date for Friday." "Somebody I know?" "Nope, no way. She works here at the school. You'd never have seen her." Somehow, before he said it, before he mentioned her name, I had the sinking feeling, the absolute, utter sinking to the bottom of the deepest pit of the ocean feeling that I knew exactly who he meant. The room around me seemed to reel; I grabbed the arm of the chair to keep from falling over backwards. "She's the counselor at the school, or something," he said. "I dunno exactly what the hell she does. Met her in the teacher's lounge over there a few weeks ago." "Well, is she a babe, or what? Inquiring minds want to know, buddy." "OK, lets see. Yeah she's a babe, but not in the traditional babe sense. She's Japanese, a little older. She's been to college, educated you know, done that whole scene, but she's hot. I can tell. Underneath all that book learnin' she wants it, bad. She just got a divorce, and you know what they say." "Hot to trot," they said in unison and laughed. "I know the type," he continued. "I feasted on chicks like that all through college: all prim and proper, so concerned about their image, their reputation, all that shit. But once you nail them, you know, once you break through that barrier, they turn out to be wild bitches in heat. They'll do anything. And they're grateful for it! That's the best part. You fuck them for a while and they start thanking you for bringing them outta their shell, you know, opening them up and all. But that's when you have to dump them. You have to be merciless with chicks like that. They're smart, and they get dependent, and that is fucking dangerous. Dangerous! Nothing more dangerous than having a horny, brainy chick dogging your ass." "Well, be careful. But it sounds like you're getting laid Friday night. I guess we'll let you off the hook..." "No!" Mr Roberts sounded angry. He had to lecture the guy some more. "You don't understand a fuckin' thing I tell you! With a chick like that you have to go slow. Maybe it'll take a couple of dates, I dunno, two or three. It's an investment. A chick like this one has to be comfortable with it. Both of you know what's going on here, exactly why you're asking her out. She knows, and you certainly know, but she needs a couple of drinks, a couple of dinners, maybe a kiss or two before she'll do it, so you play along. Once she breaks down and does it..." I had heard enough. More than enough. His descriptions of women, especially since they applied to Mrs Tanaka, sickened me. I placed the phone gently in the cradle and left the office. That bastard! It was bad enough that he spied on Yuki, but now he was going after Mrs Tanaka, and in a much more threatening way. I wondered what Mrs Tanaka could possibly see in a creep like Mr Roberts, such a low life pervert. Of course she didn't know he was a pervert, or a low life either, I realized. He must really turn on the charm when he's around women. They would have no idea about this side of him, until it was too late. Still, being a psychologist, I reasoned, she would have some insight into a character like this. She must know the type. Even I had seen through him right away: the vague sense that he was a sleaze had been there all along and all of this had only confirmed what I already knew. She must surely have an even keener sense than mine. Why couldn't she see it? Then a disturbing thought occurred to me, a thought that slowly gnawed away at me. I remembered Mrs Tanaka telling me how she had enjoyed our little moment on her couch. Images of her came to my mind: of her kissing and holding me passionately, the way she looked with her little half smile at my come soaked pants afterward. How much come had she seen in her life, I wondered? How many men had she been with? Somehow, although I knew better, I had deluded myself into thinking of her as being pure and innocent, like Yuki. The realization that she was a sexual being, a woman with her own sexual feelings and desires made me uncomfortable. Mrs Tanaka might 'need some' in the same way that Mr Roberts did. She indeed might see right through him, know his type. "She knows what's going on," he had said: maybe that was the reason she was going out with him. The fear that Mrs Tanaka and Mr Roberts might have sex threw me into a panic. I couldn't let her go out with him, possibly sleep with him. There was no way I could stand by and let that happen: she was mine! He didn't deserve her, that sleaze ball. I had to act, and before Friday, two days away. The rest of that day, and long into the night, images of Mr Roberts and Mrs Tanaka engaged in every possible of kind of sexual activity whirled around in my brain, tormenting me. *** The next day I had arranged to meet Yuki for more volleyball practice. I listlessly threw her the ball without much enthusiasm. I could hardly look at her any more after overhearing that phone call: it only made me more painfully aware of the fact Mr Roberts got his chances to look at her too, and he had seen her in ways that I could only dream about. Also, I had no idea yet how I could stop her mother from going out with him the next day and I knew that if he did sleep with her I would be forced--I would force myself--to listen to him describe it in lurid detail to his pals over the phone. Yuki, sensing my discomfort, suggested we have a seat in the bleachers. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You look sick, or something." "I'm fine," I said. "I've just got problems, big ones this time." "Poor Richard, always with problems. Can I help you in any way?" she asked, patting my arm. "Just keep doing that," I thought. "No, not really," I sighed. "Just talk to me. Help me take my mind off things, OK?" "Sure Richard. What do you want me to talk about?" "Well," I started cautiously, "how is your mom doing? You said she was really upset a while ago. I wondered if she was OK now." I had to be careful, very careful. I needed information about her mother but I knew that to get it I would have to tread on some very thin ice, risking possible exposure. "She seems to be better now. That's sweet of you to ask." "So far so good," I thought. "Do you guys talk much, about things, you know, personal stuff? Like, does she know about me. I mean us...I...I mean that we practice together and stuff?" She raised her eyebrows, normally an achingly cute gesture that made me long to reach out and grab her, but in this context it was alarming. "Hmm," she said slowly. "Richard, you have no idea what it is like having a psychologist for a mother. Every little thing you do gets dissected and analyzed. Every time you do something she is ready with an explanation. She is very good at getting her way too, because she knows all of the tricks you might use in advance. Don't misunderstand me: I'm very close to my mother. We share everything, and we talk about a lot, but there are some things, some personal and important things, now that I'm older, that I don't bring up with her any more. She respects my privacy now that I'm...developing...and so I haven't told her about you. It's too special." She blushed and looked down at her hands resting on her bare thighs. Her honesty floored me. She had never given any indication that she thought of me as someone special before, and now that she had I could only sit speechless and stare at her in blank amazement, wanting her more badly than ever. "You're so nice to ask about my mother." She lay her hand on my shoulder and let it rest there. "She's fine. Really good in fact. She has got some big secret date coming up that she is so happy and excited about, but she absolutely will not tell me who it is. It is all some big mystery: some mystery man. I think she is finally getting on with her life, you know, forgetting about my father and all of the awful things he did to her. She is ready to start enjoying life again." To me "enjoying life" meant only one thing: having sex with Mr Roberts. My dual obsession was killing me. Whenever something good happened on one front, the other front collapsed in disaster. Yuki had just told me that I was special to her. She had her hand on me, touching me at that very moment, something I had lain awake at night hoping for, yet all I could think about was her mother getting worked up and excited, ready to give herself to that creep Mr Roberts. I had to do something, and I had to do it, what ever it was, that day. "Richard, I bet you are coming down with something," she said. "You really look pale." We parted and she jogged off across the gym. Not long ago nothing could have torn my eyes off her retreating form, but that day I hardly noticed. I left the gym and ran headlong into Mr Roberts moving at a brisk pace along the walkway. "Whoa there Rivers," he said. "You're just the fellow I could use right now!" I told him I wasn't working that day, but he said that if I helped him out for fifteen or twenty minutes right now, I could have tomorrow off. All he needed me to do was watch the office while he ran an important errand: he had to deliver some flowers to a lady. I noticed the bouquet under his arm, for Mrs Tanaka no doubt. Just to kick myself, to add humiliation to the total defeat crashing down on me I assured him that I would be happy to help him out. We parted: he with a spring in his step, me dragging my heels back to the gym. Mr Roberts had turned off all the lights in the locker room. An eerie gray darkness greeted me when I opened the door. The lights to the outer office were the only illumination in the place. Moving carefully between the benches and lockers in that twilight I finally came to the office and threw myself into the chair. My resignation was total. He must be over there in Mrs Tanaka's office this very moment, sweet talking her. Maybe she had even invited him to have a seat on the couch: our couch! I couldn't stand it. I leaped to my feet and paced the room like a caged animal. Several minutes went by before I noticed with gleeful astonishment that Mr Roberts had left the door to his inner office ajar. In his haste to get to Mrs Tanaka he had finally slipped, finally made that one, fatal mistake. And like the caged animal seeing its last chance, I pounced. I hurried into the inner office and pushed the door almost all the way closed behind me. I didn't know how much time I had. Taking a quick look around I noted how ordinary it was: just a plain metal desk, littered with loose papers, a couple of file cabinets, posters of various athletes on the walls...But it was obvious right away how Mr Roberts concealed the secret of this office. He must have counted on the fact that no one would ever even get through the door. On the wall, right behind the desk, hung a large calendar with the title "Iron Women" emblazoned across the top. Miss February, a busty blonde flexing her biceps, with only two dumbbells for clothing, grinned at me. Lifting the calendar revealed a hole nearly three inches in diameter in the center of the wall. As I bent down to peer through the hole the sound of running water began abruptly. "Some one's in the locker room!" I thought. "Mr Roberts must have come back and he's taking a leak." I tip toed out of there as fast as I could, carefully replacing the calendar on the wall. In the outer office I paused to let the adrenaline rush pass. The sound of running water was fainter, almost inaudible from there: pipes must run through that wall, I reasoned, feeling ridiculous for jumping at the false alarm. I briefly considered not going back in to the office again; I had all the evidence I needed already. I could go to Mr Forbes, or whomever, and lead them right to the hole in the wall. But, in the grip of a compelling curiosity I couldn't turn back, I had to go in again and actually look through that hole myself. Back in the office I immediately went to the calendar. Taking it down I leaned to peer through the hole. As it passed through the wall it narrowed considerably so that on the other side it could have only been about the size of a dime, I guessed. As I expected, it opened into the girl's showers. Like ours, the girl's showers were simply a rectangular tiled room with a row of shower heads along one long wall. The hole was positioned so that it looked straight down the line of showers. The sound that had scared me was one of the showers running, splashing onto the empty floor. Just as I was about to pull my eye from the hole Yuki stepped into view, naked. I started. She was looking right at me, standing not even ten feet away but she showed no reaction: the hole must be well hidden on her side. Standing outside the stream of water, she held the hot-cold knob with one hand while making little jabbing motions with the other, testing the temperature. Her breasts shook slightly with the motion of her arm. I had only seen her in her uniform or school clothes before: her breasts always flattened tightly against her body by the little bras she wore or the tight volleyball outfit. Now standing out freely from her slight frame they looked surprisingly heavy, like small ripe fruits budding off a supple tree. My eyes traveled down her body, below her belly. Her pubic hair, already dotted with a few shiny water droplets, like pearls resting on a bed of the softest grass, grew sparsely so that I could see her pale white skin through it. Growing towards the center of her body it thickened, forming a small tuft, a dark line that passed between her legs. She stepped under the water, turning sideways to me; her jutting breasts proudly lifting their nipples upward; below her slim waist she swelled: the soft mound of her belly rising gently before plunging into the fine growth of hair below and disappearing between the soft outward curve of her thighs. The steamy water beat down on the small of her back and flowed over her in one graceful arc, down over her behind to the top of her thighs. In one hand she held a bar of soap which she used to quickly lather her arm pits and breasts. I could see her soft flesh give as she rubbed herself. She modestly applied soap between her legs, lathering up her pubic hair then made a slow full circle under the stream with her arms raised to rinse all the suds off. Turning off the water she suddenly stepped out of the shower and my field of view. The whole thing couldn't have lasted more than one or two minutes, but thinking about it later, going over and over every minute detail seemed to stretch it much longer. Something about that heightened state of perception, when it seemed as if my eyes and every pore of my body strained to absorb as much of her as I could, had the effect of obliterating the flow of time. I might have stood there looking at her for an hour, or all day, the impressions of those fleeting moments burned themselves into my memory so strongly. The feeling that I had to get out of that office abruptly cut off my thoughts of Yuki. Mr Roberts must be on his way back, or he would be very soon. Leaving everything as I had found it, I left. Mr Roberts came back from his visit to Mrs Tanaka smirking as he stood talking to me. I didn't even hear what he was saying I was so dazed by what I had just seen and enraged at the thought that he had just come from Mrs Tanaka's office. "I've got you now, you bastard," I thought. I ran to the main building after he finally let me go, trying to catch Mrs Tanaka before she went home for the night. I decided then that I had to tell her about Mr Roberts right away, to protect both herself and Yuki. Rounding the corner of the gym at a full run I saw the rear of her car as it left the parking lot and sped away. I had no idea where she lived or her phone number. Waiting for tomorrow would be too late. I sank down on the cold icy curb and cursed myself. Fin Part 2 Richard Rivers -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /