by Zane
The action reminded him of a potter pushing up her sleeves, or a doctor snapping his gloves—a simple ritual to prepare herself for whatever it was that she did.
She began to blow.
The air from her pursed lips felt warm and alive.
Deep breath; the rain came down in torrents.
“Huffwhooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.”
She blew again.
He looked down at his humming dick and was astonished to see that with each gust of air that she pushed from her lungs he seemed to grow another inch.
Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…
Tammi wiggled over and slipped his khakis off while Sherilyn came up behind him and ran her hands over his shoulders and down his chest—nails teasing nipples over his polo shirt.
Tammi tugged at his shoes and socks, then rolled her pointy nipples between his toes.
Twenty-one, twenty-two…
Mimi kept blowing.
His dick was thirty-seven inches of quivering pink flesh by the time the blowing stopped and the festivities began.
The girls began to dance and sing:
Giant dick, giant dick, no let in
Girl never know where it been
Lick it, suck it, juice it give
Save it, swallow it, long we live
The tourist was just beginning to think that their strange song reminded him of the Three Little Pigs when Tammi turned her back to him and swung a mile-long leg over the base of his cock. Arching her back into an exaggerated curve, she nestled her warm, wet, sticky pussy down onto his shaft.
Get ass and Fuck pussy were two of the few phrases that he was currently capable of processing.
He gripped her hips and slid her, face forward, toward the tip of his cock.
He pulled her back until her round butt was flush against his pubic hair.
He pushed her forward again—her pussy glided down his shaft, her thighs squeezed.
Sherilyn faced Tammi and straddled his cock—when he pulled Tammi back she would push her ass out behind her, pussy lips spreading and swallowing the upper half of his head. When he pushed Tammi forward, Sherilyn would thrust her powerful hips forward and grind her mound against the other woman’s.
Again and again, over and over, until all three of them were covered in sweat—the only sounds coming from their throats were growls, gasping, and the occasional “Aiyee.”
When he thought that no sensation on earth could possibly be more pleasurable than two naked Asian women riding your three-foot-long dick, it got better.
Mimi undid her hair and spun it around her wrist until she held a feather-duster-like spray of it in her hand. She knelt in front of him and began to lick at his head, steamy, pink tongue slipping and darting and caressing him, while she stroked the underside of his cock with hair that felt like silk.
Fuck was now the only word that he was capable of processing.
His eyes rolled around the room. Every cell in his body buzzed and vibrated with a supernatural frequency.
His eyes found Tina in the corner. She was still filing her nails, but now she had her feet propped up and her knees spread wide. Her skirt was hiked to her hips, panties pushed aside. The old woman fucked her hard with a curved, black dildo.
He watched as Tina’s cunt took the ominous-looking sex toy. He groaned as he saw the wetness drip out of her cunt and pool onto her seat.
She yawned.
Tammi and Sherilyn cried out in orgasm. The rain slapped at the roof with the sound of a hundred thousand metal pellets hitting their target. George Michael got louder and louder—a crescendo of pleasure and sound and water and…
He exploded. It felt as though his body would shrivel in on itself as the most intense climax that any man has ever experienced hit him. His body shot off the bench as gallon after gallon of semen launched like a group of missiles from his cock.
The rain stopped.
The women were drenched in his sticky, hot, living cum. They licked it from one another’s body and poured what they could into dark glass bottles.
He struggled to remain conscious as he watched Tina stand and take one of the filled bottles from the girls. She knelt before the old woman, kissing her craggily old toes, and held the bottle up in what looked like an offering.
The old woman grasped it in trembling hands. While gently uncorking it, she began to chant:
Yook-chae eui mool,
Young-hin eui mool,
Keum Ji dwen mool.
Water of your flesh, water of your soul, forbidden water.
The old woman repeated her chant three times, then took his cum down her throat like one would swallow a shot of bourbon.
She clutched her stomach and fell to her knees. A transformation was taking place. A beautiful, blinding transformation.
The last thing that he remembered seeing before he passed out into a sea of blackness was Tina’s eyes soften and her teeth flash behind a smile.
She had a beautiful smile.
The sun burned right through the tourist’s eyelids. Dehydrated, he felt extremely dehydrated. He opened crusty eyes and found himself sprawled in a small, overgrown lot behind a ramshackle building.
Where in the hell am I? he thought.
He struggled to his feet—his head pounded, and his loafers were missing.
He stumbled to the front of the building and read the splintery sign that hung above the door.
WAIKAPU WASHERETTE was painted in neon-pink, flaking letters.
An uneasy feeling washed over him. He tapped his forehead with his palm to try to jar the memory that was causing anxiety to well up in him from his brain.
He jumped when the door to the washerette creaked open and a beautiful young Asian girl with black eyes and a playful smile opened the door. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
She threw his loafers at his feet.
He stood there, stunned and confused.
She took a long drag off a thin, black cigarette and eyed his filthy khakis.
“You like wash clothes?” she asked in a voice that was too raspy for her flawless body.
Vivid flashbacks of the Wicked Wahine slammed into him like a linebacker.
He remembered. He remembered it all.
His mouth opened and closed without forming words. The flashbacks had left him as mute as a guppy.
She gave him a rough pat on the shoulder as if she appreciated that he proved to be so amusing.
He shivered.
An old woman came up behind him carrying a load of laundry. She muttered incoherently as she bumped her way past him into the building.
The beautiful girl nodded an acknowledgment to the old woman and slammed the door in his face. He could hear her laugh travel throughout the washerette.
In a panic, he unzipped his fly to validate that his penis was still there—that everything was normal and alright—to prove to himself that he was just temporarily insane.
Last night was just a weird hallucination that is lingering, he told himself. I have a normal-size dick and had an allergic reaction to the alcohol, that’s all.
He pulled out his cock and had a moment of immense relief when he saw that, yes, everything was okay.
He looked closer and began to feel dizzy. Very, very dizzy. The whole world spun around him.
His flaccid penis was covered in thousands of silver stretch marks.
He heard the cackling laugh behind the washerette door become hysterical.
He zipped up his pants.
Inside, a girl named Tina and the beautiful girl who threw him his shoes began to make love…
The old woman knelt beside them and prayed for rain.
Geisha Girl
KISSA STARLING
1
“I TOLD YOU WHEN I was sixteen and I’m telling you again, Mother—I’m a lesbian. I’m attracted to girls, get it? Not boys.” It was exasperating to go over this again and again. It was 2008, not 1940.
Takumi was the daughter of a f
emale advertising agent. Such a position was unusual for a woman in a country as conventional as Japan. Traditional Japanese women were thought to be stale if they didn’t marry by the age of twenty-five—Takumi was twenty-four and had a birthday coming up quick. Her mother simply did not understand her.
“I blame myself for this. You didn’t have a father around, and now you don’t know how to relate to men.”
“That isn’t it, Mother. I just relate better to women. I like the way their bodies curve, the sweet smell of their hair, and the way they moan when—”
“Enough! You’re not normal, Takumi. You will go to a teahouse in Kyoto. It is decided.” Takumi’s mother was one Japanese woman who broke the standard mold. She’d gotten pregnant at thirty, never married, and still had a successful and thriving career. She’d flipped when she found the adult movie in the disc player that morning.
“I can’t believe you. Just because Takumi means ‘artisan’ in Japanese doesn’t mean that I can become a traditional geisha, Mother. I wasn’t meant to become a person of the arts. I prefer other things. You can’t send me to one of those places. It’s like prison.”
“You won’t be working with some slimy businessman in today’s society. If you learn the old ways, you’ll be able to entice a very wealthy man to marry you. That, my daughter, is your only hope. You’re going and that’s final!”
Takumi had thought her mother would understand. “I guess you’re more old-world than either of us realized!”
Neither of them spoke another word.
2
TAKUMI’S MOTHER SENT HER off to a teahouse in Kyoto despite the begging and pleading. Takumi found, after several months, that she enjoyed the teahouse very much. She’d become an excellent player of the shakuhachi, which her newfound friends referred to as her “singing bamboo flute.”
“Play it again, Takumi. I have such a hard time with this instrument.” Sometimes she helped the other girls practice. Sendai was a simple-minded girl named after the city in which she was born. Her rich aunt had sent her to the okiya hoping she could learn the tea ceremony, but years of practice had proved fruitless. She would never become a geisha or even assist one. Her aunt paid a monthly stipend for her to stay with the girls she’d come to love.
“You have so much more patience than Madam Oy.” Comments such as those made Takumi smile and enjoy her penance even more. She still didn’t want to be here, but the friends she’d acquired made life better than she could have hoped for.
All of the teachers admired her performances of the classical Japanese dance. They tried to enter her in competitions in town, but Madam Oy thought they were cheap and frivolous.
A few select patrons would ask for her. “Who is this lovely young girl, Madam Oy?” they would say. “I wish for her to assist in the tea ceremony this evening.”
These requests became so regular that the human encounter referred to as a tea ceremony became second nature for Takumi. She liked it best when the ceremonies were held in the garden.
“Don’t forget that you are merely a hanto, Takumi. I am the teishu.”
Madam Oy never wanted her girls to shimmer more than her. All the guests were aware that she was the house master, and they treated her as such. Takumi led the guests to the dewy ground so they could “rid themselves of the dust of the world.”
After purifying her hands and mouth with a ladle of fresh water, Madam Oy would walk wordlessly through the gate and bow to her guests. Takumi stepped in behind her to guide the guests from the coarse physical world to the spiritual tea world. All present entered the garden through a sliding door that forced them to bow their heads down.
Takumi’s eyes admired the Buddhist picture scroll hanging on the wall of the tearoom. The kettle and hearth took a few seconds of her attention next. She felt like it was her duty to guide the patrons who didn’t know their role in the ceremony. Madam Oy saw this as one of Takumi’s faults.
Madam Oy sat first and greeted each guest as he/she sat down. Sandalwood incense was dropped into the fire. Takumi had prepared all three courses for the meal and added fresh cedar chopsticks to the serving tray. White rice filled the small ceramic bowls.
Sake was served first to the guests and then to Madam Oy. Each guest took a turn serving her. This gave each person a chance to be the host, which is the most honored position. After the meal the guests departed so that the host could prepare the tea.
Takumi whispered to those gathered, once they’d departed from the tearoom, “Madam Oy will strike a gong five times to signal our return to the tearoom. I do hope you all are having fun.” The group smiled and nodded their heads, afraid to speak too loudly and spoil the moment.
Gooooooooong, goooooong…the sounds reverberated throughout the gardens and stunned the guests at first. Gooooooooong, goooooooooong, gooooooong. Five echoing vibrations brought the guests silently into the tearoom.
The last steps of the ritual of cleaning and preparing the tea are witnessed by the guests. Madam Oy poured three scoops of tea into a bowl for each person. The steamy fragrance drifted up and tantalized the noses of the guests.
The guests know their time in the tearoom is almost at an end when they are offered thin tea. This tea rinses their palate and prepares them for leaving the spiritual tea world. The cushions and hand warmers were indications of relaxation. Several minutes passed before the guests rose to leave.
“Thank you so much, Madam Oy. The tea was quite good, and your art for the ceremony was comparable to none. We shall certainly return.” The principal guest spoke and left first. The other guests complimented her profusely.
“Another beautiful and fulfilling tea ceremony, Madam Oy,” said Takumi.
“Yes, my child. You have become quite adept at making my guests feel comfortable, and for that I thank you. Your studies are coming along nicely.”
3
SOME CLIENTS THOUGHT SHE was an oiran, or Japanese prostitute, but that wasn’t the case at all. It took talent to entertain the kind of men that she came in contact with.
It was unusual for an apprentice geisha to live, and work under, a madam who owned a teahouse. Takumi’s mother knew the owner well; in fact she’d grown up with her. It would take many years to be a geisha. The three years Takumi had spent at the teahouse were a fraction of the time she would need to perfect her skills.
For now Takumi was having more fun than she had ever had in her entire life. She was surrounded by beautiful women day in and day out. She helped them dress. She played music for them. Some nights she climbed out onto the roof and dreamed of becoming one of them. She would look up at the stars and wonder when she would find her own true love. Little did she know that she had already met the one destined to be her soul mate.
Aiko, meaning “love child” in Japanese, was the name of Takumi’s roommate at the teahouse. She took no classes and didn’t know the ways of the geisha. She’d been given to the madam, by her family, to repay a debt. She earned her keep by cleaning up after the parties, tea ceremonies, and many regulars who frequented the establishment.
She’d been a great help to Takumi in the beginning. She guided her where she needed to go and helped her stay out of trouble. Aiko was also a great listener. She quickly became the one Takumi could turn to no matter what her problem.
Takumi loved hearing Aiko talk about her family back home. One night, when neither of them could sleep, Aiko shared the story of how she came to live at the teahouse.
“My brother used to frequent teahouses just like this one every evening. He liked listening to the stories the geisha told. He observed the fan dances, the tea ceremonies, and reveled in the attention. The consideration he loved most of all. I come from a poor family, and my brother just wasn’t meant to be a fishmonger’s son. He was so drawn to the excitement and the lure of sexual promise.”
“Most of them are, Aiko. According to my mother, men are good for only one thing.”
Aiko smiled and continued her tale. “Tadako liked to throw his m
oney around, what little he had of it. He started selling opium to support his socializing. Before we knew it, he was running a tab at every teahouse in this area. He disgraced our family but my parents could not shun him. He was the firstborn son. They held such store in him.
“Your madam offered to help. She paid his debts and asked for nothing in return. It was whispered around the village that she and my father were once together. I volunteered to come here. It was the only way to save the family honor and stop the gossips. I did not want my mother to be shamed. My brother goes out on the fishing boat every morning now and seems resigned to his destiny. He has even started seeing a local village girl.”
It surprised Takumi that Aiko didn’t sound bitter; in fact, the love in her voice could be heard when she spoke about her family.
“I’m so sorry, little Aiko. It’s not right that you were meant to take the burden of an entire family. You should be free to live and love as you wish.”
“Do not worry, Takumi. I am where I need to be, where I want to be more than anyplace else. I was not so sure about my decision before you came. You have become my best friend and I cherish you. Let’s get you ready. I’ll be right back.”
Takumi realized how much Aiko had come to mean to her. As soon as Aiko returned, Takumi was calling her name.
“Aiko, I need my face paint. Have you seen it? Please help me, Aiko. I can’t be late. Chika will kill me if I am not there to help with her kimono.”
Aiko rushed into the room from the outside. “I am here, Takumi. Here is your face paint, right where you left it, behind your silly fan.”
