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