Message-ID: <6539eli$9712181145@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers) Subject: Story: A Journey to the East (Part 2/7) [M/F,M/f, Japan, horticulture] 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 and should not be read by anyone under 18, or anyone offended by such material. Blah Blah Blah... The story is divided into seven parts, of which this is the first, describing a week-long stay in Japan. Readers only interested in graphic descriptions of sex acts should probably wait for some of the later parts, or better yet, skip this story entirely. The author does not mind constructive comments. I suppose: "This is a piece of crap!" is constructive on some level, but what I have in mind would be more along the lines of technical pointers or anything that might help future offerings attain a higher level of craft. Of course compliments are always welcome. Richard Rivers 12/97 A JOURNEY TO THE EAST Day 2, Monday: The night before, when we had stood side by side to each other and experienced a moment of closeness, Megumi's manner had changed abruptly, as if she had suddenly come to her senses. She quietly took her leave of me, almost before I knew what she was saying, and I found myself standing alone on the bridge watching the sun set, wishing she were still beside me. In the morning she had been all business, smiling and friendly but somehow distant, as if a shadowy veil had fallen between us; it was nothing I could pin down: I had only known her for two days. Now I sat on the low stone bench letting the sun warm me, resting my eyes after several hours work. Megumi was reviewing my progress as I waited. She would deliver my results to Mr Ogawa that afternoon and report back to me his opinions so I had no choice but to sit back and relax until that had taken place. Japan, I thought: how strange after thirty years to finally come here and not be able to see any of it outside this estate. As an American of Japanese descent, Japan had tantalized me all my life, yet I had never come. Opportunities had presented themselves many times but something always held me back: the time was never quite right, the trips were always deferred. The mythic quality of Japan grew out of the idyllic stories my father told me in childhood. They had been embellished in my imagination until the place came to represent everything that was unattainable and remote, at once desirable and hopelessly incomprehensible. Refusing to consummate my desire only strengthened it, like an erotic longing, becoming more poignant as its object receded before me as if in a dream. The day I arrived in Tokyo--only two nights ago--exhausted from the long flight but too excited to sleep I had simply wandered the city aimlessly, boarding the subway and getting off at random, losing myself in the crowds. How odd for the first time in my life to be surrounded by people the same race as myself, yet here I was truly the foreigner, out of place. Back home I thought of myself as an American, nothing more, and it bothered me when people assumed that I was a foreigner, asking me if I knew English, or where I came from. I felt as if I lived behind a mask, this Asian face, which hid a person underneath who was just like everybody else, or at least wanted to be. As I walked the crowded streets of Tokyo I felt like an impostor, a spy behind enemy lines with an almost perfect disguise. My only flaw is I don't speak a word of Japanese; it worried me that someone might stop and speak to me, ask for directions and expose me. My father had warned me too: not being able to speak the language was a great disadvantage to me, much greater than if I looked like a westerner; as an Americanized Japanese I would be regarded with scorn, as less than zero. *** Megumi made her way down the path towards where I sat; in her hand the briefcase she carried looked so out of place with her flowing robe and wooden sandals. "Good afternoon Mr Sato," she said as she sat beside me on the bench and lay the case on the ground. Folding her hands in her lap she drew in a deep breath. "You have made a very good start. I am just now on my way to Mr Ogawa to discuss your morning's work." She had her hair up. Escaping, a few downy wisps trailed against the white skin around her ears and along the side of her neck. I scarcely listened to her as she summarized my work, letting my attention wander over her body, down her graceful throat, delicate as a swan's, to the opening at the front of her robe where the two small collar bones peeked out at me, rising and falling as she spoke. "Mr Ogawa will surely be pleased," she said at length, bending to retrieve the briefcase. "Will you walk with me to the far end of the garden while I take this to him?" "Of course," I said. Rising, I offered her my hand. The touch of her warm soft skin against mine made me shiver. We took a different path from the one we had walked the evening before, one that skirted the far edge of the large pond and passed into a deeply shaded grove. After walking silently for some time Megumi stopped and held up her hand. "Look!" she whispered. I followed the direction of her gaze back through the trees towards the water. A young girl was slowly walking along the edge of the pond. Seemingly unaware of our presence she was looking the other way, out over the water. We watched her secretly, as if noticing us might send her scampering back into the forest like a wild fawn. She wore a dazzling white robe and her hair hung down the middle of her back in one long braid. "It is Satomi, Mr Ogawa's daughter," Megumi whispered. When the young girl had passed from our sight Megumi set off along the path again. "She is very shy," she said still in a half whisper. "She knows a stranger is here. Notice how she was not walking along the regular pathways: she is afraid of running into you. Only sixteen: in another year or two she will not be avoiding strange men in the garden any more, she will be seeking them out." She gave me a sideways glance and laughed. When we emerged from the shaded grove Megumi stopped. "I will go on alone from here Mr Sato. Mr Ogawa's house is just down the hill. When I have discussed your findings with him I will return to the library later this afternoon." She walked a few paces away before turning back to me. "Beware of the garden Nymph!" she laughed. I stood enjoying the sight of Megumi's form disappearing down the hill before turning back. Entering the shaded grove I slowed my pace, attentively searching for a sign of the young girl, afraid that I might easily miss her, but also nervous about meeting her suddenly face to face and startling her. The path drew near to the pond, still densely shaded by trees; when I was deepest in shadow I saw her again. With her back to me she knelt at the water's edge. Leaning out she was gathering the lilies which floated close to the shore. I watched as she grasped several of the plants and lay them on the ground beside her. Each time she leaned over the water the robe pulled more tightly about her lithe young body; the soft white bottoms of her bare feet emerged from below the curve of her hips, her small toes laying on the green grass like a string of pearls. I felt deeply aroused watching the girl, as if catching her in some secret, forbidden act. Her motions were delicate and purposeful, sensual in their femininity; as I saw her young hands curl and grasp the plants I imagined their softness, the feel of them on my own body, grasping, tugging, gently uprooting. Holding my breath I watched her gather as many of the lilies as she could reach before she rose and carried them away, back in the direction of her house. *** That evening the moon rose over the pond; its soft reflection danced on the rippling water. I leaned on the stone bridge looking down, thinking about my day's work: Mr Ogawa was an exacting employer. He had sent Megumi back with pages of revisions for me to do and I had worked long past supper time incorporating his new ideas. Megumi's demeanor had changed when she returned. Once again she seemed more distant, formal, not the same woman who had laughed with me in the garden earlier; I wondered if I had displeased her in some way, or if Mr Ogawa had spoken badly of me in their meeting. Without looking up I became aware of her beside me. "You are up late Mr Sato," she said. "Yes," I sighed. "I find it difficult to rest after hard work sometimes. Strange, isn't it?" "No, I don't think so," she answered. "The mind becomes agitated, entangled in the problems of the day. It is best to seek some peace before sleeping." "I hope I haven't displeased Mr Ogawa...or you...in any way," I said, looking away, embarrassed by my own words. "Not at all," she said, touching my arm, bringing my attention back to her. "Actually he was very pleased with your work so far, impressed even, and he is a difficult man to impress, or to please." She looked down at the water flowing beneath us. "Do not be troubled by all his changes and revisions to your work Mr Sato: that is simply his way. The more he respects you the more he will push you, test you. I know from personal experience how difficult he can be, how frustrating he can make things. You are only here for a week. I have been with him for years." "How do you manage?" I asked. "Oh, I manage," she smiled. "I never let him dominate me. He is a powerful man, and stubborn. He is used to getting what he wants, controlling whatever he sees; he scrutinizes meticulously whatever he notices. My secret is just that I don't let him see me, the real me, that is. I hide myself from his notice very carefully so that he thinks he knows me, thinks he controls me, and he is happy. I too am happy that way." "But who gets to see the real you?" I asked. She laughed. "Ah, Mr Sato, the American. How fast everything in America goes! You are...what do you call it...fishing, I believe." Suddenly the playful side of her had come the fore. I wondered which was really her; the serious businesswoman who had spent two hours leaning over my shoulder instructing me in the changes Mr Ogawa wanted implemented; or was it the serene one who spoke of beauty, peacefulness, breathing deeply the scents of the garden; or the playful creature who stood beside me now: perhaps all three, perhaps none. I longed to know her better, and I began to wonder if her real secret was that she hid nothing, living an honest and simple life, rising above the petty the deceits afflicting the rest of the world. Suddenly I felt foolish, like a child, unworthy of her. "You fascinate me Mr Sato," she said. "Americans do. They always have, but you even more so; you are so like us in some ways, when I look at you...but your thoughts, your actions are not quite of this place. Somehow your Americanness comes through. I don't know how to describe it." She looked at me intensely for an instant before returning her gaze to the water below. "I've never met such an un-Japanese Japanese person before." I had nothing to say to that: was she laughing at me? I wasn't sure. "I'm sorry she said," placing her hand on my shoulder, "I didn't mean to offend. I shouldn't make jokes like that." Her voiced dropped and she became serious. "Forgive me, Mr Sato." Her hand slid down my arm and I grasped it in mine, desperately hoping to maintain the tenuous contact we had established. I had glimpsed her, the real person, I thought, if only I was clever enough to figure her out. She had laid herself out in front of me; I only needed more time, a few minutes more with her and I might pull back the veil and understand something of who she was. "Megumi," I said. "Will you stay here with me? Just a little while longer." Her hand slipped from mine and she turned away. "No Mr Sato," she whispered. "I cannot. Not tonight, or any other night. I am sorry." Turning in my direction she brushed passed me leaving in her wake only her sweet fragrance, the soft rustling sounds of her robe, and the memory of her musical laughter. In my desolation I knew I was not worthy of her, too far beneath her to even hope. The words of my father came back to me at that moment and I was powerless to stop them from inundating my consciousness, repeating themselves over and over again: you will be less than zero. *** Fin, Part 2 of 7 Richard Rivers 12/97 -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |