The Blonde Samurai

by Jina Bacarr

  I took the kimono from her but didn’t put it on, preferring to linger in the nude, my passion for the simplicity of things here overwhelming anything else, a recklessness in me I couldn’t let go. “I shall wash first, Nami, then eat. Will you come and sit with me? I have so much to tell you about last night, his laugh, his burning touch, his deep sense of self I find so irresistible.”

  “I, too, wish to share your happiness on this bright morning.” She turned to me, and with a smile I will always remember, she said innocently, “I am most grateful to the gods that my husband has found pleasure with you.”

  Yes, dear lady reader, she said husband. Shintaro, the man of my heart, this strong, fearless samurai was married to this shy creature, a woman I had come to admire and whose friendship I depended upon to help me. I shall not linger too long on this revelation as the idea of coupling with another woman’s husband is not an uncommon state to many of you, since the upper classes ignore adultery unless exposed. That will never happen to you. You are too careful with your indiscretions and are unlikely to suffer the consequences because you do not belong to the culpable class. But I digress, simply to point out guilt where guilt lies.

  That my samurai was wedded to Nami was a surprise to me and it took me some time to adjust to it. She was human, fragile, tolerant and had shared with me how she’d lost her own child, but then I had no idea Shintaro was the father.

  Nami assured me it was the way of samurai for her husband to go to the futon of another woman if she was unable to bear him more children. In a similar manner, she said, he also found physical pleasure in the company of Akira.

  Akira.

  A curious chill rippled over me then as it does now, my pen wobbling as the stirring of this memory excites me. How can I flesh out on paper the deep colors of that union against a black-and-white page? Kimonos red and deep purple swirling, golden muscular bodies wrestling on the ground, rolling, pushing and pulling, fighting for position. Panting and sweating, then smooth, bare chests touching, breathing fast…the air heavy with their desire. ’Tis twilight as I write this, but then the morning was bold and bright and filled with a promise that shook the sensibilities of my mind in a provocative way I have never known since.

  I pulled the kimono closer around me, running my fingers over the white chrysanthemums. The symbol of the anus. Nami’s subtle way to remind me I had competition for Shintaro and it was not the slender willow. Woman.

  I must explain, dear lady reader, that the honored practice of male love was encouraged within the samurai class to teach young men virtue, honesty and above all, the appreciation of beauty. It was an elite discourse slowly fading away since western influence frowned upon anal intercourse within the fixed framework of the older warrior who loved, and the younger apprentice who was loved. When the event I am about to relate took place, such an act was more than a sin in the sainted green of my fathers. It was against the law in the land of the shogun. But as he was wont to do when he deemed a law unjust, Shintaro ignored it. Here in the samurai village, the erotic bond flourished in “the beautiful way,” as it was called. I can bear witness to the truth of it, for love between two samurai was looked upon as simply turning to a different page in the book of love. Unlike olden days, when such love was purest when undeclared, I saw revealed to me how these two men were very much in sync with their mutual desire.

  I must stop…allow you to think, remember all that has transpired in my story…Shintaro admiring me as a young man in Yoshiwara…his tenderness toward Akira in a natural way…why didn’t I see it before?

  Like you, dear lady reader, the notion shocked my staid sensibilities, but I was also intrigued by the idea of the two men locked together in a physical embrace. ’Tis not a flagrant sin in every culture, as I’d read in a very old tome about the training of warriors in ancient Greece. From what I understood, the relationship between the warrior and his squire involved fornicating between men where the younger submitted, though not as an equal. Such animal energy titillated me and stimulated a different sensual desire within me, wondering as I did about how I would react when aroused by the odor of two different men.

  I anxiously awaited the return of my samurai and, at Nami’s behest, I burned incense as native women do to ease the burden of waiting the return of a lover, all the while thinking: how different was Shintaro’s smell over that of the younger man? Heavier, muskier? A vivid curiosity consumed me for days, contemplating which scent would draw up my desire first, imagining offering them my pussy, like the pistil of a flower tempting them with my smell. I thought of this scenario often when Shintaro returned to the village, though I said nothing about what Nami had confided to me.

  As the days passed, I found him watching me but saying little. You are most likely wondering if we had a sexual encounter upon his return. We did not. The news Shintaro brought back with him angered many samurai and fueled their desire to take up arms. Reports of corruption in the mikado’s government and warrior unrest in the southwest created an anxious edge and uncertainty that would later bring tragedy to the clan. But in that late summer of 1874, I found joy and sensuality in my enchanted land and you shall, too, dear lady reader. There will be plenty of time to grieve, its sorrow sacred to the heart, the farewell gesture necessary to the soul.

  Curious about how Shintaro could find his own sex as intriguing as the female body, I watched him for signs when he was with Akira. The touch of an arm upon his shoulder, the private laughter they shared. I was jealous and did not hide my emotions around him. Sensing my feelings, Shintaro invited me to participate in the tea ceremony with them as a way of putting me at ease within their society, since rank and status did not exist within its framework. I found the idea fascinating, having watched them practice their battle moves with precision and dexterity. Archery and riding, wrestling and fencing.

  I found the same pattern in their consumption of tea. ’Tis not the feminine ritual enjoyed by you, dear lady reader, lifting a teacup filled with sweetness from a fat sugar bowl to your lips with your gloved hand. The tea ceremony evolved in the most distinctive masculine world of samurai and imperial abbots. I was enchanted not only by the beauty of the way of tea, but also by the physical beauty of these two men engaged in an erotic sexual act that piqued my curiosity and made me yearn for their embrace. Do not be angry with me for keeping the secret of my two samurai from you, for I am not guilty of duplicity in my memoir. The answer has been there all the time for you to see. I have used the term “my samurai” since in the native language the same word is used for plural as well as singular. You shall forgive me, won’t you?

  And now for tea. Shintaro welcomed me to enjoy the pleasures of two men, both as a voyeur as they aroused each other, then the two of them satisfying my every desire. I found Shintaro dominant yet tender, Akira impetuous yet eager to please. This was but the first of many times I engaged in this provocative ménage…I shall recount here that event for your pleasure.

  You are familiar with the taste of a man’s cock, are you not, dear lady reader? If not, I request you do so before you continue and partake of that salty smoothness that makes your tongue tingle as you take his member into your mouth. This is the first step to understanding “tea taste,” which has nothing to do with dissolving the foaming green elixir on your tongue. It involves the simplicity, muted colors and contrasts of rough and smooth. As in a man’s cock. Such was how Shintaro introduced me to the art of tea, we three wearing simple silk kimonos in mauve, peach and olive, open and revealing, my nude body smooth, my skin so luminescent it was the only accessory I needed, Akira’s hands spreading my legs, his fingers probing inside me, Shintaro’s battle-roughened hands pinching my nipples as I lay upon the futon in my quarters. We indulged in this sensual tea ceremony in the concentrated privacy afforded us by closing sliding doors, our nude bodies bathed in a pearl light filtering through the paper panes. Here one accepts nature’s flaws and in doing so finding pleasure and harmony within oneself. When you are able to accep
t his lordship’s flaws as well as your own, I suggest you continue. Until then, I shall brew a cup of ginger tea, for I shall need to keep my focus clearly on the impassioned scene about to unfold.

  I partook of the tea and sweetmeat offered to me as I observed Akira, his beautiful pectoral muscles with erect nipples on his hairless chest bronzed from the summer sun, his large muscular thighs making me ache to find myself between them, yet I perceived a certain innocence about him and wondered if he had been with a woman. He was a romantic, presenting me with a willow-leaf arrowhead and telling me I had pierced his heart. His flirtatious manner toward me intrigued me, but his allegiance to Shintaro no doubt surpassed any romantic love, since they believed love rooted in human feelings brought about distrust and was considered a dangerous emotion among samurai. No, love associated with duty courted his cock. I could see that clearly in Akira’s way of standing against the paper door, hips out-thrust, looking at his lord, all setting up unseen communication between them that vibrated with energy when he wrapped his arms around the large pillar, his kimono hiked up around his waist and revealing his tight nude buttocks gleaming in the muted light of the bronze andon. Tiny pricks of fire erupted on my arms, so acute was I to his sensual energy reaching across the room to me. Heated, excited, I sat upon a large silk brocade pillow, the effect heightening my unconscious response when Shintaro fed a sweetmeat dripping with honey into Akira’s laughing mouth, the stickiness sliding down the side of his jaw. I pulled in my breath, waiting, when Shintaro scooped up the honey on the younger man’s face and licked it off his fingers, his cock hard and erect, then grunted. He wiped his fingers with a moist cloth then covered them with a pleasant-smelling oil from a small red lacquered bowl before thrusting them into his squire’s anal hole. Looking at me, his gaze never wavering, Shintaro lubricated the younger samurai’s anus before he thrust his cock into the puckered opening. I must comment on the size of Shintaro’s cock as I remember it, its naked crown spread above its shaft, much thicker than the younger man’s cock swinging from his navel to his thigh, then the other way, in union with his lord’s thrusts. An illusion? Or the hapless dream of a lonely woman, since I shall not have the opportunity to compare them when I return to Japan…but ’tis a grand time I promised you, dear lady reader, and you shall have it. I have made known to you my private pleasure of having Shintaro’s cock inside me and design here to enlighten you with the wicked pleasures of these two men together and Akira’s beauty as I watched them at play. I squeezed my pubic muscles together, riveted to them as I was like a sodden clover matted down with heavy dew, my concentration so complete I swore I also felt the hot pain shooting through Akira’s body then the flash of sweet burning as he gasped for breath, his body yielding to Shintaro’s thrusts over and over…the young warrior grinding his arse against Shintaro’s groin when he pressed against him…his lord clenching his buttock muscles as he forged in and out…grunting loudly, he fucked Akira as incense burned, its heady scent mixing with the smell of sex, arousing me as much as the evocative sight of the two men engaged in coupling. Shintaro putting him in numerous positions, pulling his strong muscular legs apart to gain greater access into him, tipping his buttocks higher, then bursting into him with a surge of power that shook the wooden building like a thunder god emptying his fury into the heavens. I cried out when I saw Akira throw his head back in orgiastic ecstasy like a tortured saint in the throes of godliness, his forehead half covered with sweaty dark hair come loose from his braided top knot, his role as submissive no less powerful than that of Shintaro, his elegance in the nuance of surrender startling to watch. For no stigma was attached to his role since age rather than social position defined the act that brought him to such a blissful state. His alliance with such a high-ranking samurai as Shintaro conferred considerable status upon him as he shuddered in rapture as my samurai went deeper and deeper into his entrails.

  I had scant idea then my moist pussy and dark puckered hole were next to be pleasured, not by one but two men, though tradition dictated only Shintaro emptied his seed into me, as he did in Akira.

  They say an Irish writer commands the same fear as the priest because of the power of her words to make the soul tremble. Or titillate it, as I have done here by arousing the heat in you, dear lady reader, and satisfying your appetite for a new sexual experience. But I must not disappoint those readers who find the tea ceremony a provocative ritual and are curious about its sensuality. Here then is the tea ceremony with its power of suggestion, its meditation on the virility of life and art. It was a sanctuary where we three took solace in the tranquillity of the spirit before experiencing the pleasures of the flesh.

  “The tea is the least important part of the ceremony,” Shintaro said, explaining that purity of gesture, silence or spoken words were all a form of tea discipline. Tea utensils were washed and arranged, then powdered green tea prepared in a single bowl from which we all drank. Instead of asking permission to examine the tea items as ritual dictated, I requested to examine the cocks of these two samurai. Bowing slightly, they stood before me and placed their members before me on square silken pillows, and after I expressed admiration of their beauty, Shintaro continued.

  “Rigorous order is observed with elegance,” he said. “The only disorder sought is that of nature in her naked form.” He ran his hands over my bare belly, then parted my thighs. “A living flower can be the sole ornament in the alcove,” he continued, parting my pussy lips; upon finding moisture upon his finger pads, he inserted two fingers inside me, as if parting the petals of a blossom. The ceremony consisted of precise choreographed movements performed in a spirit of stillness and concentration. “Without hurry,” he said, “then each guest is served tea and silently drains his cup.” To demonstrate, he eased his tongue into me and nibbled on my burning bud, my excitement growing…growing until I couldn’t stop myself from twisting about as if I were caught in a trap. But oh, what a lovely trap.

  “You drink with gusto, my lord,” I said, letting go with a loud moan, my newfound pleasure setting off an echoing in my lower body that produced glittering sensations within me, such delights making me squirm to and fro without embarrassment. The intensity of his nibbling increased when I pushed out my hips, urging him to continue with his playful game. “I pray you find me pleasing to your taste.”

  He laughed. “Your juices are sweet and refreshing,” he said, then he continued licking my clit back and forth with long, satisfying strokes. Apparently I wiggled with too much enthusiasm. He stopped. “Hold still,” he said, “I have not yet quenched my thirst.”

  I tried to speak, a silly thought to continue our banter, but before I could utter a word, Shintaro put his strong arms around my hips, gripping my bare arse with his hands and pulling me closer to him. I gasped loudly when he pressed the wet tip of his tongue deeper into me, making me cry out. I jerked forward with such passion that he let me go, making me wonder if our game had ended.

  No, no, I begged inwardly.

  “I shall assist you in restraining her, my lord,” I heard Akira say behind me as if he answered my silent plea, his presence so close I could feel the heat of his breath on my cheeks. If I had expected him to grab my wrists, I was wrong. Akira wrapped his hands around my nude breasts and played with my nipples, pulling and tugging on the hard nubs. Pleasing contractions raced through me, sparking in parallel with the wanton desire radiating through my lower pubic region.

  I could never have anticipated what happened next. Shintaro also became playful, his tongue darting between the moist folds of my lower lips, tickling my clit with short licks, then exploring the sensitive piece of skin near my anus and making my body jerk with tiny spasms. My legs trembled, my thighs quivered, but never once did he fall out of rhythm during this delicious taste of the tea ceremony designed to please his most anxious guest. Appetizers were often served, he explained—in this case, me—along with sake. Then he proceeded to demonstrate. Shintaro’s provocative use of his tongue-tip reminded me of the
art of making sake from rich, fertile rice, such as the polishing of the rice until it shone as lustrous as a cultured pearl. Here it was my samurai sucking and polishing my tiny kernel, then fluffing my pubic hair with his long fingers before pouring sake from a small porcelain cup into my navel until it overflowed, tickling me. I wiggled my hips, tingling all over as the tepid liquid trickled down over my pussy to the crack between my buttocks. Shintaro put his head between my thighs and lapped up the sweet rice wine from my throbbing pussy to satisfy his palate. I let out a long moan.

  “You torment me, my lord, with your busy tongue,” I said, breathless, “when it is your cock that I wish.”

  “And you shall have it,” he promised, delighting in teaching me this most provocative aspect of the tea ceremony no foreign guest had deigned to experience. “But not before I present to you a gift from the gods bestowed only upon a woman.”

  “Is that jealousy I detect in your voice, my lord?”

  He shook his head. “Only if I were not the first to pleasure you in such a manner.” He continued licking me, then paused to tease me with, “I knew by your reaction the first time I tasted you that I have that honor.”

  “And what about Akira?” I dared to venture. “As your most trusted squire, should he not be the second man to pleasure me so?”

  Shintaro threw back his head and laughed. “Such impertinence from a woman I have never experienced.” He became serious again. “But never before have I taken a woman so beautiful to my futon.” He nodded to Akira, who grinned widely, then he said to me, “You shall have your wish.”