by JR King
“Hold my arm, don’t let go,” I commanded her over the intercom.
“Wowzers. This is scary-exciting,” she said, clasping my hand.
When her body temperature stabilized, the pressing of buttons to deflate harnesses began. To ensure her safety, we all stayed in a circle, our eyes fixed on the newbie among us. A mini-submarine had been scouring the surrounding reefs since two days. There were two whale sharks within our chosen perimeter, and we had enough oxygen to last forty minutes. For me, the pinnacle of an underwater escapade was the encounter with this pelagic giant. Over ninety percent of big fish were predators, and whale sharks fit into the minority. Their majestic presence, their gentle, tractable nature—they were submissive, peaceful creatures that brought joy to me.
Elena was courageous. I felt her tense up, the pressure crushing her skull and bones, but she remained calm and followed my every command without delay. As a means of support, the divemaster went extra slow during the gradient descent, aiding her with encouragement to keep equalizing air pressure, so as to not damage her ears. My left hand stayed cuffed to her right at all times; guiding, calming, reenergizing her.
The reef was comrade to some of the most colorful corals, nacreous flashes of shells, micro treats, and pelagic giants. From the start, an assemblage of curious rainbow runners, hungry chevron barracudas, juvenile trevallies, and speeding jacks surrounded us. Sharp-finned schools of bannerfish, snapperfish and Moorish idols passed us by, desiring to caress the siren on my hand. A venomous lionfish and titan triggerfish stopped by to greet us, and among pliable mushroom-fire-corals, we perceived a prickly pufferfish. Shy rainbow butterfly fish hid behind majestic gorgonian sea fans. The cuter, exclusive chases were proud peacock mantis shrimps, reserved harlequin shrimps, adorned ghost pipefish, arrogant tiger tail horses, lewd nudibranchs, and we even encountered a creepy looking batfish.
“What’s that ugly one, Alex?”
“Not ugly, he’s different and still very pretty, a bearded scorpionfish,” I huffed at Elena, admiring the timid shovelnose rays and ugly stonefish at sea bottom.
“I’ve a surprise for you.”
“What is it?”
“Patience.”
While Ray tracked the large vertebrate with the radar to pinpoint us in the right direction, I allowed Elena to play with innocent lancelets. She was living out her magical dream, possibly forgetting me in this brave new world.
Fifteen minutes of underwater flirting with nature’s indigenous creations later, we spotted the large fish steering gracefully throughout a thronged reef. The enormity had spotted ridges with inky smudges, and abstract patterns of luminiferous dots and stripes on the dorsal surface. Its gill slits flapped like jibs in a crosswind, casting a gush of ripples, which seemed to frighten Elena.
“I give you—tada—Mobius.”
“They are non-violent, right?” she croaked with a hint of anxiety.
“Yes, he’s a filter feeder. As long as we don’t provoke him, he will let us swim along and enjoy our presence as much as we enjoy his. Stay right behind me, love. I’ll go close, don’t be afraid,” I responded.
We approached the sea giant steadily to swim alongside, and when it noticed our presence in the playground, it kindly swam with us during the feeding.
Ray enjoyed Elena’s presence as much as I did. “What do you think, Elena?”
“He’s mine. I almost soloed him!”
“He belongs to all of us. But I think he likes you best,” he teased.
Though I’m tempted to admit that this outing was entirely for me, it seemed to please Elena just as much. When our friend swam away into a murky expanse, it was time to go home.
“This is awesomer than WoW. The real deal!” Elena concluded, drawing out laughter from all of us.
Back on the yacht’s deck, our captain—Hamilton—announced that dinner would be served in an hour. I helped heaping the pieces of gear in a straight line to be picked up.
There was a wicked twist around the corners of my mouth when I hemmed Elena in. “You look good in that straw fedora.” I whipped if off her head and since it was undersized, I settled it on my own in a rakish angle. “Does it look half as good on me?”
She fidgeted beside me, a questionable smile on her face. I picked her up. After she’d slung her legs around my waist and wrapped her hands around my shoulders, she relaxed.
“Tell me,” I urged.
“This is so overwhelming, Alex. Hold me.”
Obeying, I paused, watched the anxiety in her eyes dissipate.
“How about a swim? Let’s ease into more comfortable attire,” I suggested. Trumpeting evil laughter, I toyed with throwing the floundering mermaid over board.
“NO!” Her bloodcurdling scream had no quality of panic, it was overtly redundant.
As I muscled her out of the wet suit, her long locks streamed down her back and arms, partially covering her. I touched her shoulders and brushed the hair back over them, outlining, “It’s high tide. You must wear a life vest.”
“I swim well enough and there’s no spindrift.”
“This isn’t the Mediterranean. If you want to thank me for meeting a whale shark, here’s your chance.”
The words worked like a child’s pacifier.
“Little Elena,” I murmured, my hands caressing her skin, “it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Definitely, of course, yes—daddy.” I know, what a bitch.
We jettisoned from the deck, splashing and teasing each other amid the tousled viridian waves. I loved nibbling her earlobe while having her in my arms.
She cocked her head and wrapped her legs around me. “I’m hungry.”
“I, too, have a hankering for something sweet and salty. That tight little cunt of yours.”
“Have you no shame? How many times do I have to repeat that it’s not seemly to talk about such things? Don’t promulgate coarse language.”
“Sticks and stones, love. Don’t spread the word.”
She wrested herself out of my grip.
I closed my eyes and threw my head backward, and floated with little aim. What a day: Elena went diving with me on my birthday. My face was turned up to the sky, the smile baking off it worth a bookful of words.
“What are you smiling on about?” she asked.
When I opened my eyes, the sky was a gradient of purple, and the giant reddish orange disk had started its descent. Sticking out my tongue, I waved her question away.
“Aww, do that again.”
“Watch the sunset at sea, then we go for food.” I pointed at the horizon where the bottom of the sun hit the edge of the water. The fiery orange ball was drowning, searing red rays glimmering rakishly against the silvery indigo of the early evening. Within the vastness of the ocean, the sky was painted with warmth, and the fragrance that came off was salt and fresh dirt after the rain. Elena and I held each other tightly, watching the colors of the rainbow reflecting off the sea as sun and water became one.
She used a finger to trace the effervescent halo of the disappearing orb, and I mouthed I love you against her head.
I felt her nod.
To watch her soaked to the skin in a bathing suit was hard, which meant a lot coming from a man who was always in control. Saline water was melting into her skin, miniature spherical orbs taunting me, telling me they’d erased the sweet languor of the kisses I implanted all over her earlier today.
“Come, pet. I’m hungry.” She pulled on my hand as if it were a dog’s leash.
I liked seeing her this way. Overtly dominant.
*
Glancing across the luxurious bed in my cabin, I found myself staring at Elena. Watching her cannibalize her dinner was comical. I was thrown, even. She ate as if she hadn’t touched food for weeks. This was a common result when diving for the first time. The loss of body temperature, the triple consumption of energy in the density, and the fatigue from an elevated heartbeat and dissolved nitrogen caused starvation.
“Did I do well?” she mumbled with her mouth full.
“You’ve demonstrated exceptional bravery today, surpassing my expectations.”
“I’ll be a fully fledged diver soon,” she declared, tossing her luscious hair. “You speak highly of the unshakable interest you have in scuba diving. Tell me more, you must have some favorite underwater experiences.”
I’m glad you asked.
I sat up straight and stuffed another pillow behind my back. “Moonless night-diving in the Maldives, where I witnessed bioluminescent phytoplankton and phosphorescent marine crustaceans secrete basic survival and mating technique. Magical constellation.”
“Night? Isn’t that dangerous? What about sharks? Oh, and piranhas, and barracudas, and needlefish, and sea anemones. Did I mention draconian white sharks?” she chattered, licking her fingers.
“Never let superstitious folklore impress your judgment. Day or night, any kind of diving is dangerous, I just proceed with care. Bioluminescence scares predators away, the unique light impels supremacy and disrupts predatory feeding. It’s also about the mating season of cephalopods. Critters like firefly squid light up their whole body to attract a mate. So far, I’ve never encountered trouble.” I was out-and-out charmed by the erotic feeding spectacle. Soundlessly, I finished my burger and attacked my fries, topping off our glasses with extra-brut champagne. “Twinkling stars, fruit flavored cocktails, and powdery lagoons with specks of glowing light. The aurora borealis from the Maldives is very romantic. I can safely bet my life that you’ll never forget such an evening.”
She and I passionately conversed my hobby. As I spoke, a faintly serious expression fell across her face. At times, her mouth settled into a pout, a slight uplift of her upper lip resting on the pink plumpness of the lower, which she worried with her front teeth while listening.
Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without, I pointed out. Now sipping on demi-sec bubbly, she dipped and scoffed the last of her fries with a big smile. Only when she finished she noticed my sensual stare. Then she rolled over to my side of the bed and crudely tugged on my bathrobe to wrangle a hug from me. I sat up against the improvised pillow-bedstead, allowing her to crest on top of me. Her fingers, which were still a little wrinkled, drew circles on the naked flesh of my chest, and her feet were lifted in the air as she wiggled her toes.
I pressed my lips against the ticklish edge of her jaw. “How was the burger? Has this humble meal regaled my girl?”
“Orgasmically delicious, absolutely the top, best, greatest, most delicious burger I’ve ever feasted on,” she rattled with a sated smile.
“Feasted on? Wolfed down is more appropriate,” I taunted her, swiping the tip of my tongue across her cheek.
Her tiny fists drubbed my chest. “Villain. You’re a bad man.”
Her observation ignited a slow laugh to rumble upward my throat. “Guilty as charged.”
Clinching her eyes shut, “You cannot,” she squealed when I proceeded to tickle her feet.
“Yes, I can. I own your body as only a man can own a woman. It will always react to me, don’t fool yourself.”
“Ugh.” She rolled away, limbs hugging the mattress like a tranquilized octopus. “What now, birthday boy?”
“Now we go to Kyoto.”
Elena Anderson
The Geisha Reincarnation
Prior to visiting Zürich, Alexander and I devoted one day to visiting religious sites in Kyoto. For millennia, Kyoto was the imperial capital of Japan, which, in the 19th century, moved to Edo—now known as Tokyo. As if that’s not enough to entice you to visit it, Kyoto also had seventeen UNESCO World Heritage Sites.
We rented a tour guide to accompany us to several Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines. With its quaint bridges, miniature waterfalls, and silvery streams, royal architecture looming stoically in the background, Kyoto was quite the magical city. The flamboyantly decorated Golden Pavilion, or Kinkaku-ji, together with the cherry blossoms and wabi-sabi way of design was most memorable, but my favorite was the secluded Silver Pavilion, or Ginkaku-ji. It had much less foot traffic, probably because it was a little less showy since its construction had been halted during the Ōnin War; a civil war that lasted ten years.
Ochayas were teahouses, and this was my second visit to one. Ken Takahashi, a retired CEO, and his son—Juro—had invited used. Geishas accompanied both, but that’s not why we were seated at a table in a private room. Contrary to popular belief, geishas weren’t prostitutes. They were formally trained to strictly entertain clients through their ability of artistic performance. Juro explained to me that they did not specialize in tantric massages and sexual artistry. They did, however, specialize in communication arts, such as classical music; visual arts, such as painting and flower arranging; and sensual arts, such as creating a sexually charged atmosphere with the client during a tea ceremony, and maintaining it. Both girls were fairly well versed in English and very knowledgeable about current affairs, Western world and otherwise. They told me that after years of living as a maiko—a geisha in training, so picture a heavy makeup coating, a flashy kimono, a high hairdo, and click-clacking platform sandals—they graduated by performing what they’d learned. Once they attained the mature geisha status, they simplified—or subdued—their appearance and started to get hired to entertain and keep clients company. This, Alexander smugly threw in, comes at extremely high prices, which is why their clients are almost always wealthy heirs and businessmen.
I gave the geishas a scrutinizing glance. Let’s be real, they were the exact opposite of ingénues full of angst. Satin obi belts confirmed they were slender, their curves precisely hidden, but I was sure their figure would look good in anything. Purposed to intimidate, their inky black hair was coiled in an elaborate bun. Their signature pose in the kimono robe was perfect by society’s standards, naturally graceful. Although the striking translucence of their dark eyes seemed unfocused, their heads tilted cleverly with the articulate purpose of exposing the length of their porcelain-skinned necks. We weren’t seated seiza-style on tatami matting, but the girls sat up so straight in their chairs that I felt inadequate.
Geishas and businessmen came as no surprise, the fact that Japanese businessmen liked British tailoring, Savile Row suits, to the point of giving it a proper Japanese name, Saburo, did. I think I giggled too loudly, because Alexander grabbed me by the nape of the neck. Even trimmed short as they were, I felt his nails scouring my flesh. When I leaned in against him, he tightened his hold on my neck and turned my head to focus my attention back to the table. It was a great PDA moment. His fingertips ran from the nape of my neck down the centerline of my back to the spot between my shoulder blades.
Once again, Alexander demonstrated he was truly an epicurist. Just like in Thailand where he’d used a spoon and a fork during meals, simply using the fork to push the food onto the spoon, he drank the miso soup by lifting the bowl to the mouth with both hands, and used chopsticks to pick up little bits.
For rest, after the charming and informative meet, we went to a penthouse that belonged to the powerful Takahashi family. A quick call assured me my grandparents were fine, having a lazy Saturday morning. Alexander was waiting near the bank of elevators, his iPhone up to his ear.
“If I may ask, where is this coming from?” he asked to the person on the other side of the line, sounding annoyingly playful. “I’ll have to call you back, sweetheart.”
I stood beside him in near-silence for more than a minute, my curiosity gradually assuaged by my irritation. What insecure, broken people we are, at the end of the day. Trying to say it without sounding like some nagging shrew, I asked, “Who was that on the phone, sweetheart?”
He laughed, saying nothing. Long, elegant fingers twirled his phone, his eyes inscrutable as he fixed them on me.
“That’s it?” I glared at him as though I found the reaction personally offensive.
His eyes danced, soldiering on. I had the disconcerting feeling that our conversation was taki
ng place on two levels, although I was only aware of one level. Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you. I decided not to press the matter further.
The floor of the sleek, modern penthouse was littered with camellia blossoms, a flask of Suntory brandy, two snifters, and a selection of French pastries blushing on a low table in the living room. Lucky bamboo grew in glass vases, and ostrich eggshells were decorated with Persian art.
One by one, we relieved ourselves. Being the last one to use the toilet, I searched for Alexander. Found him—and the bottle of brandy—in the master bath beside the largest Jacuzzi I’d ever seen. Someone had drawn us a midnight bath with incense and candles. He was already down to his underwear, peeling it off without ceremony before he stepped toward the tub. The glimpse of his heavy cock hanging between his thighs sent a flood of warmth through me, intensifying the dull throb between my legs.
As he climbed in, his cock bobbed and jiggled. Lowering himself, “It’s very hot,” he stated, “but it feels wonderful after all the walking.” He turned back to the centre of the Jacuzzi and lurched forward, submerging himself in the water. When he burst through the surface, his face glistened, his eyes twinkling. A lank flop of hair hung over his face, and he cocked his head so he could sweep it away. “Aren’t you coming in, my pet?” Wiggling his eyebrows, he shook his head, sending droplets of water everywhere.
I began to undress, folding my clothes into a neat pile, and placed them on a vanity cabinet. I wondered who lived here. I hesitated as I reached behind myself for the brassiere’s clip.
“Faster, Elena!”
“Y-yes, sir.” Holy Lord, please help me. I quickly unclipped the bra and bent over to remove my panties in a fluid stroke. I dropped the lingerie atop his clothes, and went to the tub.
