Michi

(JUST A NOTE:  I WROTE THIS EXCERPT TO DETERMINE HOW WELL MY SENSUAL AND SEXUAL WRITING IS. PLEASE DON'T HOLD BACK THE CRITISISM!)

The first thing that he thought of when he saw her was how small she looked. This didn't look like a woman that was able to bear children. He gave no note to her exquisite beauty, but to her stature, to her hips. She had narrow hips. What good was any woman with narrow hips? She had little breasts. What good was any woman with little breasts?

She glanced up at him, meeting his gaze. Her beautiful curved eyes held a glimmer of hope, of possibility, of the desire to be accepted; he scowled at her. What good was she going to be for him? What could she possibly be capable of doing?

He led her inside, bidding her to close the door behind herself, and leave her shoes on, regardless of ancient customs. He left her to gather her own belongings. Such a gentleman he was, wasn't he? She lowered her head again; this wasn't going to be easy. Here she was all by herself in a tiny district in the United States, well over two-thousand miles away from her home and the only person she saw with any trace of similar heritage was tightlipped and seemingly unkind.

She gathered her three tightly woven wool bags and followed him through the door. The house was dark, and had the faint smell of age. Or was it mold? She didn't know the difference. They came to a door after passing through a rather narrow hallway. He turned the knob, swung the door open and stepped aside so she could walk through. She glanced up at him, expecting instructions of some sort. He didn't even look at her, but stood there. She ushered herself in quickly. Before she could turn back to face him he shut the door, leaving her with an ominous silence. She let out a small sigh and set her belongings down.

Did this mean this was her room? Was she going to actually stay here, or were some arrangements being made at that very moment for her to leave his sight? Sunlight peeked beneath the shade to the single window. A neatly made futon sat in the middle of the floor. A brown wooden chest rested against one wall, and a transportable closet near it. Across the room was a  worn antique table that held a washing basin and a mirror. White towels sat atop the little matching bench that sat below. The room was neat enough, but it held no life. She doubted she could make much of a difference. She crossed to the window and fully raised the shade, allowing light to flood in, transforming the space. Outside stood a massive oak tree in the side yard. There were no flowers to make this place feel like a home. There were no children about, no movement.

She sighed again, looking up at the sky. The sun was beginning to set, casting out its deep colors, preparing to sleep as the moon took its place. Would she be able to make it along here? She was tired, but it was much too early to turn to bed. It was only 7:00 p.m. She had not had dinner, and certainly wasn't about to leave the room. Maybe he would return later and inform her of something. She slipped her shoes off and made her way to the small bench. Sitting on it she carefully picked up the small mirror and looked at her reflection. Her curved brown eyes looked sad, and her full lips looked turned down at the corners, with no signs of laughter. 

She returned the mirror to its place the same moment that the door opened. Startled she jerked around. Hiroshima stood there holding a small tray. He came in swiftly and set it down on the tabletop beside the basin. She started to thank him, but was stopped as he grabbed her face in his hand, turning it towards him, causing her lips to remain puckered in the word that they had been in the midst of forming. He scrutinized her closely. Her eyes didn't hold fear in them, instead there was wonderment. She was quite pretty indeed, he had to admit to that. Her straight black hair was pulled back away from her face, and arranged neatly on the top of her head.

He pulled her to her feet, finally letting go of her face and circled her, viewing her body. Embarrassment forced her to restrain her tongue as he turned her round. Her face flush when she felt him grasp her hips, feeling her through her clothing. Perhaps there was more to her, but multiple layers revealed nothing of the kind to him. Finally he let go of her and quietly left the room. Michi remained where she stood, surprised that her heart had stepped up a notch. Was he going to be this unpredictable and silent all the time? Was he going to return later that night? She sat down, feeling flustered. She addressed the tray. It held three types of sushi, steamed salmon, vegetables, chopsticks, sake, water and a sweet. Suddenly feeling ravished, and realizing that she hadn't eaten since seven that morning she didn't hesitate.

After she finishing she rearranged the various dishes and waited some more, resting her head on the table top. It was dark now and she was tempted to lie on the futon and sleep. Once more the door was opened suddenly. Hiroshima flicked the lights on and found Michi staring wide eyed at the doorway, a starlted expression on her face. Again he had an item with him. He sat them on the floor, crossed to her, and removed the tray. His new items were a pot of hot steaming water and a bucket. How thoughtful of him, she would see a bath tonight. But couldn't she use the bathhouse? There had to be one here, right? He looked at her a little less scornfully and silently left the room. Michi slowly rose, went to the window, lowered the shade and began to undress. She removed her obi, the dressings for it, her kimono, undergarments, and finally her underwear. It felt strange to be nude and not in a bathhouse.

She laid a carefully folded towel on the bench, and poured half of the water into the porcelain basin. She first washed her face, then moved on to her arms and so on and so forth. The dilemma was how she was going to care for her back. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind when there was a soft knock at the door. The door opened, and in stepped Hiroshima. He closed it behind him and crossed over to her. She kept her head down, thoroughly embarrassed. 'Does he intend to watch me?' she questioned within herself.

"I will wash your back for you." He said quietly, speaking to her for the second time that day. He took the cloth from her, lathered it and began to scrub her back in long sweeping strokes. He went up to her neck and then down to her buttocks. He went up to her shoulder and then down to her hip. After repeating such motions he returned the cloth to the basin, and picked up another one. He dipped it in the fresh water, wrung it out and wiped the soap from her body. He leaned down, and inhaled her fresh scent, enticed to kiss her peachy skin. Why such an overwhelming desire came over him to do such a thing to a woman who was slight of hip he did not know.

He closed his eyes and kissed the back center of her neck, catching her off guard again. She let out a tiny gasp of surprise, which only deepened his desire. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since he'd had the chance to be with a woman again. That did not mean he should have the right to be drawn to a woman that he had no use for though, did it? He questioned himself, wondering if he was bitter.

His late wife, Rosanna, had been an American-Japanese woman. She was not the childbearing type. Although she was strong her strength did not see her through the birth of their child, which died along with her. Was he bitter? More than likely, yes. He wanted a woman with wide hips. Wide hips meant the ability to bear children, yes? This woman before him was not wide hipped; this woman before him didn't look strong enough. As thoughts circled his mind he found his hands on her back, kneading her up and down, slowly, yet forcefully, having dropped the cloth. His hands held a need, a need that anyone could recognize, even a virgin. He breathed slowly and with what seemed to be a concentrated effort, wanting her so badly now, remembering what it was like. He shouldn't want her though, should he? She might die on him too.

He touched his tongue to her skin, lowering his forehead from the base of her neck. He let the tip run up the vertebrae of her curved back. He then mindlessly reached around and touched her breasts, which still had soap on them. Maybe they had seemed small before, but now they filled his surprisingly gentle palms. She let out a cry of surprise mixed with pleasure, suddenly flushed with heat. This man certainly was unpredictable and bold. But she belonged to him now, did she not? She was here as his new wife, and married men did such things to their wives, did they not? She reveled in this new sensation, feeling vulnerable,and slightly afraid.

He traveled one of his hands down her flat belly to her freshly cleansed womanhood, pressing his hand between her clossed thighs, pulling her back against his chest. He kissed her neck gently; waiting to hear a sound of pleasure in response to the strokes his fingers gave her. She hinted at a gasp but suppressed it as soon as it rose from her throat. Her head fell back over his shoulder and she arched forward involuntarily and inhaled sharply through clinched teeth, fighting the desire to call out.

"Do not hold back from me," he whispered in her ear, his voice very gentle, yet commanding at the same time. "I need to know that I will have the ability to please you even though I am not a sociable gentleman. Let me know if it pleases you. Tell me," he whispered beseechingly, sliding further within the folds of her, pressing his finger flat against her uncovered bud.

She could restrain herself no longer and finally released a sound that she had never heard come from herself before. It was a breathless sound with a high short pitch that sounded airy and grew into a loud cry. She continued to call out uncontrolably until she felt knots in her stomach, which forced her voice out in heavy moans. Caught in rapture and coming so close but not having quite enough to soar, she thoughtlessly grabbed his arm, lifting her body from its place, crying out his name. "Hiroshima!"

He touched her harder and faster, and then even harder and even faster until she was shuddering in ecstatic pleasure, sailing on a current she had never experienced, never knew existed, her eyes squeezed shut, her neck fully arched back and her neat nails digging into the skin of his strong upper arm.

"Oh, Hiroshima! Hiroshima! Please!" She begged, stretched out, her hips arched up against his hand, her breathing in deep trembling gasps. He touched her still, sliding his stroke inside her with ease. She trembled viciously, thrusting up to deepen his caresses, welcoming the intrusion he had placed within her. He continued even after she had stopped, until she shook her head from side to side, crying for no more, until she recoiled, until she shook violently, until she climaxed again and once more for good measure, until she could not breathe, her face pinched and red, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

Then he stopped, slowly slipping his touch from within the comforting liquid fire of her body. She lay limply against him, her thighs spread, her breasts rising rapidly with strained breathing, and her eyes closed, her skin damp with sweat. After a moment she lowered her head from off his shoulder, took in deep breaths and began to cry. Startled he grasped her by the shoulders and jerked her so that she was facing him.

"Why are you crying?" He asked roughly, his breathing a bit uneven, as was hers. "Did I not treat you well? Did I not bestow a pleasure upon you? Answer me!" He said, yanking her blushed face up.

"Yes," she whispered, tears running down her cheeks.

"Then, why do you cry? I did not hurt you, did I?"

"No." She answered softly.

"Then why?" He questioned again, more gently, wiping her tears away.

"It was, wonderful." She responded, refuseing to met his gaze.

"Oh." He sounded surprised. After a moment he leaned forward and kissed her, her mouth was supple and soft. He drew her closer and resisted the urge to ask her to lie with him.

"Oh, Hiroshima," she whispered. "Will I have the chance to please you? I do want you to feel as pleased as I do."

He pulled away from her. "Iie, no," was his only answer. Her flushed face turned sad but she restrained the desire to ask him why. It was not her place to question, was it? He stood, seeming to turn cold again and left the room. Michi looked at the closed door in sad puzzlement. Did she do something wrong? Did he not find her attractive? After wondering for some time she addressed herself, surprised to discover the wet slick substance that had seeped out of her during her delirious time. She washed again, dressed in her undergarments, crossed the room to turn out the light and finally retired on the futon, wondering what the next day would bring.

Hiroshima sat on his bed cross-legged. Why did he say no to her? He was well aware of the burning desire that he was suffering from. Was he trying to remain faithful to Rosanna even though she was gone? He looked over at his dresser where her picture was. She would want him to move on with his life, wouldn't she? He sighed and rubbed his ankles. Maybe he should go to her. No, no, he shouldn't. But why shouldn't he? She was rightfully his now, was she not? He deserved some fulfillment too, didn't he? Or maybe he didn't, what if she was to come with child? What if it killed her too? He sighed again, got up, turned the light off and returned to his futon with a heavy heart and a distracting erection.

Michi awoke the following morning to the sound of Hiroshima opening the door. She continued to lay still, her eyes closed. He kneeled down beside her and kissed her cheek. "Hello my little Michi," he whispered, brushing a lock of her hair away from her face. She wondered if he would become upset if she turned her head and kissed him back, seeing that she was faking sleep. As he leaned down to kiss her again, his cool breath caressing her skin she turned her head suddenly and met him full on the lips. He was surprised, but he did not recoil or scowl as expected. Instead he smiled against her mouth and returned her gesture. Suddenly embarrassed she pulled back.

"What's wrong?" He questioned.

She looked bashful as she responded. "My mouth can't possibly taste well, having slept all night."

He laughed. "I'm not concerned about that, come, get up. We will go out for breakfast."

She was surprised; he seemed so different this morning. Yesterday he seemed a little bit removed and unfriendly, but today he was lively and chirpy. He stood and helped her up.

"If I give you something," he said, "will you wear it?"

"If it will make you happy."

"It would very much. My wife used to wear it."

"Wife?" She questioned, confused, trying to smooth her disheveled hair.

"Yes, I was married before you, but she died."

"Oh," was all she said, a look of surprise on her face.

"If it offends you, you don't have to wear it."

"No, I want to wear it for you, please get it for me while I fix my bed." He turned and left the room. While Michi fixed the covers she thought about what he had just said. He had been married before, yet no word had gone out to her about it. Maybe they didn't feel that it was important for her to know. Now questions raced through her mind. How did she die? Why did she die? When? How long were they married? How old was she? Her thoughts were interrupted when Hiroshima returned, holding a Tsukesage kimono with blue, pink, orange, and indigo flowers trimmed in silver thread and embroidered birds on a black background. Michi gasped, she thought that it was absolutely beautiful.

"Will you wear it?" He asked.

"Yes. Let me get dressed and I'll come out and show you."

"I'd rather help you," he said softly.

Michi blushed, suddenly thinking about last night. "Okay." She went over to where she had discarded her clothing the day before and retreived her jubans and sashes. She crossed to her woolen bags and pulled several long ties from the neatly organized carrier, as well as underwear.

Hiroshima took note of her knee length briefs and said, "I still have most of Rosanna's clothing if you would like to have some more comfortable undergarments."

"Oh, okay." She whispered meekly. Hiroshima left once more and returned with a black lace brassier and panties. Michi's eyes widened at the sight. She had seen such garments before but she had never ventured far enough to the point of actually putting them on. They looked so skimpy, and the bra was unlike any that she owned. Hers were much like sports bras, and this thing had some sort of clasp and separate cups. She was too embarrassed to tell him that she didn't know the proper way to put it on. He handed them to her and waited, seeming to not even consider turning around and allowing her a measure of privacy; it was quite obvious that he wanted to see her.

She slipped her nightgown off and stepped into the thin black underwear, and pulled them up until they were settled at her seat. She looked up, her face turning scarlet as she met his eyes. He smiled at her, amused; she was so incredibly shy, why? She fumbled with the bra, her arms arranged in such a way that her breasts were covered, making her look even more awkward.

"Do you need some help?" He finally asked.

"Yes," she managed to say. "Oh, I'm so embarrassed I could cry."

"Why?" He questioned, taking the bra from her hands. "Raise your arms and tell me why."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm standing before a man practically naked, and I don't even know how to put underwear on."

He wanted to laugh at her plight. "You're concerned about being naked?  Would it make you feel better if I took my clothes off, that way you won't be alone?"

Her eyes really widened then. "Uh, um." She swallowed, unable to give an answer. If she said no he might become offended, and if she said yes then he would take his clothing off.

"Fine." He handed the bra back and stripped. He removed his blue jeans, t-shirt, undershirt and socks. "See, now I'm just as naked as you are." He turned her so she was facing him, seeing that she wasn't going to move voluntarily. She was relieved to find him still in his briefs. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yes," she whispered, not looking at him.

"Why won't you look at me? Am I ugly to you?"

"No!" She said quickly, chewing on her lip to keep it from trembling.

"Why are you so uncomfortable? Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"Just nervous," she said quietly.

"Is it because I'm a man?"

She nodded, forcing stinging tears of embarrassment away.

"Oh, Michi, don't cry," he said, noticing a wet line form on her cheek. He pulled her in his arms, causing them both to become suddenly electrified. He stroked her hair, talking softly.

"Michi, I want you to be happy. I don't want you to be nervous around me; I want you to be comfortable enough that you choose to walk around me naked. We can start now if you like. I'm not going to do or say anything to you that will add to the situation. It's obvious to me now that you are a virgin and this is all new for you. Breakfast can wait; I think we should observe and explore each other. We should learn each other right now. What do you think? Does that sound okay?"

She was enjoying the feelings that his warmth brought over her so much that even though the idea sounded awful she said okay, just so she wouldn't have to leave his embrace.

"Good, come with me." He led her out the room, down the hall and around a corner to another room. Inside was an in-ground pool that was full of hot water. "I didn't bring you in yesterday because I wanted to finish straightening up. What do you think?"

"It's nice," she said, wiping her tears away and looking at her surroundings. The room had a wall of windows that looked out into the side backyard. There was a rock garden and chairs set up and a hammock. Thick hedges served as a fence surrounding it for privacy.

"How about a bath?" He questioned, turning back to look at her. A bath would be a good way to learn someone intimately. He took her to one wall where the showers were. He turned one on, letting the water run until it turned hot.

"Michi, what you need to know first and foremost is that I would never try to intentionally hurt you. I may be less than cordial at times, but I'm not a brute." He placed his hands on her shoulders, looking her in the face. "Do you understand?"

"Hai."

"Good." He whispered back, leaning forward to kiss her. He wanted her to realize that he meant well and that he wanted their experience to be a pleasant and pleasing one. She kissed him back, wondering if she was doing it right. Was there a right way to kiss? He pulled her with him beneath the showerhead, water pouring over them, running into their faces.

"We will wash each other," he whispered to her between fevered kisses, completely relaxed. He reached behind her towards a small tray filled with soaps. He chose one and rubbed the bar up and down her back, massaging her, kneading her skin.

"Hiroshima, I want one too," she said, feebly. He handed her his bar and reached for another. She followed suit, and ran her hands timidly up his strong back, becoming even more aroused although the gesture was innocent enough. He ran his hands down to her buttocks and slipped them into the back of her wet underwear.

"We should probably take these off." He tugged them, causing them both to start laughing at the difficulty of removing wet clothing. When he was through she timidly reached for his, looking up into his eyes. Her eyes never left his as she pushed his wet boxer shorts down, letting him step out of them. She wanted to look, but was afraid to.

He guided her hesitant hands to where they wanted to but dared not go. Her fingers wondered over it, feeling its texture, its hardness, its hotness. He looked down, aroused at the sight of seeing her inexperienced hand try to learn his body. She too looked down, surprised by what she saw. His slightly erect member was hairless except for the tuft on top that ran down the skin of his most inner thigh. A heavy vein ran from the base down the side. She didn't want to stare, but she found it so intriguing and interesting, especially as it grew in her hand, before her very eyes.

She looked up to find him watching her. She blushed with embarrassment and asked, rather boldly, "Where is your pleasure?"

"Here, and here," he said, pointing to his base and then his tip.

"How? How do I . . ." Embarrassment kept her from completing her question.

"How do you what?" he questioned, trying to draw her out.

"How do I please you? What do I do to you?"

"Don't worry about pleasing me."

"Am I to be the only one that partakes of pleasure? Why don't you want me to please you? I am completely inexperienced, yes, but I believe you can teach me."

"You please me by letting me please you," he answered, pulling her close by way of her buttocks, pulling her against that foreign hardness. She moaned, turning her face away. He reached down and spread the wings of her pleasure and pressed against the hidden pearl of her. At that she gasped, grasping, turning her face up, the water running down her neck.

"This is how you please me," he said, pressing a kiss to her collar, and slowly rocking his hips, holding her tightly to him, listening to her cry out softly. He drove into her more deeply, wishing to be within her. He pressed her against the wall, his arm beneath her knee, forcing her to attempt to blanace on one foot.

"Oh, Hiroshima, treat me kindly." She entreated, beseechingly, expecting him to enter her, surprised to find herself moving against him in automatic response. She grasped him tighter as she felt herself peaking, her arms around his back, her hands moving down and settling on his butt.

She trembled. "Oh!" She cried, going over the mountain of ecstasy, her knees weakening. He continued to thrust and rock and sway wishing that was all it took to be fufilled.

"Oh, Hiroshima," she ground out, her teeth clinched, her eyes closed, her nails nearly embedded in his skin, causing a tinge of pain. "Oh, Hiroshima, uh. You, you cannot possibly feel the way that I'm feeling right now by way of listening and watching me."

"Oh, you're right," he replied quietly, planting a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"Then, let me please you too. I want to. Why won't you let me?"

"I'm not ready to give in yet," he groaned, ceasing movement. He turned the shower off. Suddenly he looked forlorn.

"Hiroshima, what's wrong?" She asked, grabbing his arm to keep him from moving him away from her.

"Why do you deny your feelings? You tell me to be comfortable with you, yet you aren't comfortable with me. You aren't comfortable enough to let me please you. Why? Is this the way love is? Must I feel that you are left out?"

"Michi," he said with a sigh. "No, this isn't the way love is. Love is completely devoted. I can tell that I will be in love with you so soon. I have not been with a woman in such a long time. I don't want to disappoint you, I don't want to take the risk of hurting you."

"Well, how am I to bear your children if you refuse to join me the way I know men and women join?"

"I," he paused. "You are right." He said, kissing her softly. "I'm sorry. I won't push you away. If you want me to join you I will. I'm just afraid."

"Why?" She asked, looking into his face.

"Rosanna, my wife, she died giving birth to our son. She was so much like you, beautiful, but too small. What if you are to have the same fate?" He asked, his face pained.

"What happened to your son?" She inquired gently.

"He went with his mother."

"Oh, Hiroshima, I'm so sorry. But you cannot allow that to discourage you completely. I am a strong-bodied woman; I do believe I can deal with birth. I am ready to start when you are."

"I'm ready," he said. "I've expressed my fears, I can be peaceful now."

"I'm ready now too," she whispered. He looked up, surprised.

"You mean, now?" He questioned.

"Yes, I think so," she said, nodding, chewing her lip.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay," he left her side momentarily and gathered a couple of towels. He led her to his bedroom. There were two windows that looked over the backyard; the shades were up, letting the sunlight stream in. Michi looked over at his digital clock. It was only 10:00 a.m. and yet they were about to indulge in something that she supposed normally occurred at night.

His dresser held a down turned picture and some personal items. He too had a portable closet. Various obis decorated the room, hung on racks. Michi guessed that they belonged to Rosanna. He crossed to the window, and drew the shade, allowing her to see his whole nude backside. His body was lean and toned and invited her eyes to admire him. He then turned back to her, his blade bold and drawn upright. He looked her over with a subtle eager hunger. He laid one towel on the pillow then drew closer to her, helping her dry off with the other.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked again, his voice slightly raspy with desire. "We can wait until later, we have time."

"No, now," she whispered, taking the towel from him and patting him dry, tilting her head back to kiss him. The kiss grew from timid to bold; then Hiroshima introduced a new kiss to her. He first touched the tip of his tongue to her upper lip and traced around the perimeter of her mouth and then eased into the slightly open space that awaited him. He gently caressed the sensitive skin of the inside of her lip before ventureing further and surrounding her tongue with his own. First she was taken aback but she quickly realized that it was something she would learn to like and responded by timidly fondling him in return. He broke the kiss and touched her neck with hot pressing kisses, then dipped his head even lower to kiss the tops of her breasts. She found her fingers in his wet head full of straight black hair, holding him to her as he guided her to the futon. He went down to his knees then pulled her down on top of him. The process was more than slightly awkward and she fell on him, her breasts crushed against his, her legs tangled within his.

"Oh! Sumimasen, Hiroshima," she said, a giggle bursting from behind her lips.

"It's fine," he whispered, tangling his fingers in her hair and bringing her face closer to his. They kissed sweetly, beginning to hold on to each other tightly. Michi was bold enough to place her own fevered kisses onto his neck and upper chest. She ventured a little further and then found the pleasure that he took from her when she kissed his nipple, her lips brushing across the darker skin faintly. A tiny gasp of air escaped his lips, and his eyes closed. She brought her tongue onto it, hoping for a stronger reaction, which was granted to her. What else would bring a sound from him?

She shifted her body and slid her hand down his tight tummy that was lightly sprinkled with hair to his hot manhood. Her touch brought a groan from his throat, and then her slightly rough caresses produced a moan that issued from his slightly parted lips, and a shift of his pelvis beneath her palm. She gripped him firmly and massaged his base, sliding her hand is short strokes back and forth. A smile creased her lips and a flutter of sexual excitement ripped through her stomach when her touch resulted in a full cry from him, his mouth open and his head back.

"Oh, Hiroshi, I do see what you mean," she whispered, kissing the underside of his chin, continuing to caress him. "I find it quite pleasing to listen to you."

Suddenly and without warning he sat up and rolled over, putting her beneath him, pinning her with his body, his weight more than she expected. "Oh, Hiroshi," she said, startled as he planted heavy desperate kisses onto the skin of her neck. Her initial call turned into a cry as he touched her roughly between the thighs, bruising the spot of her pleasure. "Oh! Hiroshi!" She called, pressing into him, anxiety washing over her.

He took both of her wrists and pinned them above her head, kissing her hastily, his breath coming out heavily, his motions hurried. He arranged her legs with his other hand and rested between them, ready, letting her know what it was like to have a man's parts against her fully. He thrust against her, driving his hips down, striking the center of her pleasure. Her eyes opened in surprise and hesitation.

A sudden fear came over her and she said, "Oh, please Hiroshima. Please treat me gently! I am an inexperienced woman." She spoke loud enough to break the barrier of his trance. He came to a halt.

"Oh, Michi," he said, relieving her of some of his body pressure. "I'm sorry, I'm acting like an animal. You just excite me beyond reason. Oh, I need you. I thought I could go without you, but I need you desperately, painfully. Let me have you. I will be gentle, but please, let me have you." He pleaded, his face full of something that resembled pain.

"Yes Hiroshi, you can have me. You can have all of me if you promise to be gentle with me." She whispered, meekly, looking up into his face as he propped himself up on his arms.

"I promise."

"Okay," she took in a breath. "Oh, I'm suddenly nervous," she breathed, holding onto him.

"I will go slow, don't be nervous, it doesn't hurt at all. This is where man and woman join." He looked down into her face as he positioned himself, resting at the opening of her. "Are you ready?" He asked softly.

"Yes, now." She braced herself as he began to slowly push into her, causing her to inhale sharply. She clinched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, digging her nails into his arm, letting out a pained groan. He slid all the way into her and then stopped, breathing in tremors, fighting the desire to move and to close his eyes and keep them closed.

"Have I hurt you awfully?" He asked nervously, having noted her reaction. "Does it hurt?"

"No, no." She whispered, her eyes still closed.

"Do you want to stop?" He asked.

"No, just let me get used to you." After a moment he lowered his upper body, resting on her, pleased when she wrapped her arms around his back. He rained little kisses on her temple. "Okay, Hiroshi, I'm ready now. Please, tell me what I am to do."

He kissed her cheek and began to rock very slowly, gently, trying to insure that she was pleased and that he wasn't unnecessarily hurting her. She gave her expression of pleasure, which encouraged him to speed up to the point that his body grew weak with delight and effort. She grasped him tightly with her spread thighs and arms, both of their cries mingling.

"Oh, Michi!" he called, breathing heavily, rocking her, thrusting within her, quickly, so quickly.

"Hiroshi, Hiroshi, Hiroshi," she whispered over and over again, growing hot. He looked down into her face. Her head was back, her eyes were closed, and her mouth was open. He could see the glistening pink of her mouth, and he thought it was beautiful. It was as beautiful as the pink he was currently diving in. He felt himself building up to the brink and he held off, teasing himself, forcing the need to to releash into an unbearable coil within the pit of his stomach.  He held off until he no longer could and then gave one final thrust to end it. He exploded within her, shattering into a million pieces, sparklers exploding behind his vision. He gave a cry that caused her to open her eyes. He went through a quick series of reactions; first his face held an ecstatic expression, his mouth open, his eyes closed, then he clinched his teeth, still rocking, wanting to hear her cry of utmost excitement again. She came moments later.

"Oh, Hiroshima," she said breathlessly once they had finished, still clinging to each other, trembling. "That was wonderful, how do you feel?"

After collapsing on her and gasping for breath he replied. "I feel unlike anything I've felt in a long time. Oh, thank you, thank you Michi. You are a wonderful woman indeed."

She stroked his damp skin, feeling his body tremble. After a few minutes he lazily pulled himself from her and laid beside her on his back. He looked at her and asked, "How was it? Please, be honest with me."

She allowed a pause before answering his question. "In the beginning it hurt, a lot." He grimaced, and she added, "But you made it so good that the pain was a pleasure. How was I? Did I do it right?" She asked, concern on her face. He wanted to laugh.

He smiled and said, "Of course you did it right. There is no wrong way to do it." He kissed the side of her face, sighed and said, "Come, we'll bathe and then go for breakfast. Well, that is, food. I think we've had quite a delicious breakfast already, don't you?" She blushed pleasantly and allowed him to help her up, surprised at how stretched and tired her legs felt.

Hiroshima took her hand in his and led her to the bath once more. Having released all the previous tensions that existed before they bathed each other with tender hands and care. "Let's swim," he said, slipping into the hot pool.

"Hiroshima," she said as she followed him in and pushed out to the middle, her feet barely on the floor.

"Yes?" "When you said there is no wrong way to do it, is that to say that there are several ways to do it?"

"Oh, yes, over one hundred."

"One hundred?" She said, unbelievingly.

"Yes," he said as he embraced her and kissed her, He then touched her intimately. "I can show you another way right now."

She pulled from him. "Hiroshima, not in the bath," she said, startled by his actions.

"Why not in the bath?" He questioned, grinning as he put her arms around him and swam to the other side where neither of their feet touched the bottom. He pressed her into the corner of one wall and kissed her again. He touched her again, making her anxious.

"Oh, Hiroshima. The bath is supposed to remain clean," she whispered, trying to push him away, an expression of worry on her face.

He laughed. "Yes, I suppose you're right, but I assume I'll be able to break you from that traditional view of thinking. Come," he said, lifting himself out, then turning to lift her. "By the time we get dressed, it'll be time for lunch." He gave her a towel and followed her to her room. "Will you still wear the kimono?" He questioned.

"Yes."

"Good, I'll return later with the obi, do you need any help?"

"No. What, what will you wear?" She asked, curiously. She thought she would feel out of place if she were the only one in the area that was dressed in traditional Japanese attire.

He paused. "I will wear traditional attire, if you would like that." She smiled, very pleased with the idea. "Of course," he added, "it will only be for today and on special occasions. I don't like to wear those clothing, pants are much more comfortable."

"Okay," she whispered in response. "I will feel like I'm home every time you feel the mood to put it on. I'll let you go get dressed now." She turned her back to him and began to get dressed.

Hiroshima returned to his room and smiled to himself. He had finally been able to relieve himself of the several years of sexual tension that he had had. He felt wonderful both physically and emotionally. He took a deep breath then turned his attention to his portable closet. He opened it and looked at the hakama, kimono, haori, and other attire that rested inside. He wouldn't have guessed that he would be putting them on again.

The clothing was in perfect condition, but they just conjured up so many memories. They made him think about when he lived in Japan with his family. They made him think about when he married Rosanna. They made him think about the things that he had loved and lost. He took them out with care and laid them on his wrinkled covered futon. Those wrinkles made him smile. Recent history flooded his mind as he dressed. He thought about the nervous expression on Michi's face, and how she looked when she was in ecstasy and how he felt.

That was history that he would always have, like everything else that he owned in his mind. He noticed a couple of dots of blood when he lifted the haori from its place. First he was surprised and then he smiled, then he frowned. He wondered how badly he had hurt Michi. She said that she was okay, but she had bled, hadn't she? He slipped his feet into his zoris and frowned at his reflection in his full-length mirror. He looked Japanese. He was Japanese, but he didn't want to look like he was. He wanted to look like an American. He didn't want to look like some rigid minded, old timer Japanese immigrant.

He sighed and raked his fingers through his wet slick hair. He retrieved the obi that accompanied the Tsukesage that he had given Michi and left the room. He tapped on her door and entered. An instant smile lit both of their faces.

"Oh, Hiroshi, you look wonderful," she breathed, crossing over to him. "Ah, you look so nice. I think that the clothing suits you well. You don't like it though do you?" She questioned.

"I will do it for you Michi, I can put my wants and comforts aside."

"I'm willing to the same for you," she said, taking the partially folded obi from his hand.

"I have never worn American clothing, but if it is what you want me to do, then I will. I may not like it, but I am willing to give it a shot."

"Oh, thank you Michi, you are so willing to give of yourself. But no, if you feel more comfortable in your kimono, then by all means, please wear them. Rosanna wore kimonos more often than not. She looked wonderful in them, as do you. Here, let me help you," he said, turning her back to him and helping her put her obi on.

"How long did it take you to learn how to tie an obi?" She asked as he circled her once with the long cloth.

"Oh, maybe a few weeks. When I was younger and lived in Japan my mother would teach me. I told her it was pointless for me to learn how to tie women's clothing. She told me that it was necessary, that I would never know when it might come in handy. She said, 'one day you may need to undress a traditionally dressed Japanese woman'. As you can imagine I was a bit bashful. I didn't think that the day would come in which I would need to undress someone wearing Japanese attire. At that time the only thing I wanted more than anything else was to live in America. I said to myself, no one would wear a kimono in America anyway. Low and behold I moved here and meet Rosanna. Her father was American and her mother was Japanese. They did most of everything traditionally. They lived in a small Japanese community. I thought it odd that her father wanted to live there when he was not Japanese. Nevertheless, my training came in handy. I was able to skillfully and quickly dress and undress a woman. I'm sorry," he said, catching himself as he tied the pillow into her obi. "Am I making you uncomfortable? I realize that I am referring to the intimacy that I once shared with another woman."

"No, it's fine, I would like to know about your previous wife. Tell me, if it does not cause too much pain, what she was like."

"She was a very loving person, she supported me in everything that I did. That's not to say that she never criticized me, because she did. But she was always there when I needed her. She was easy to get along with."

"Does it hurt to talk about her?" Michi asked, stepping away to tie her obi-jime.

"It hurts more to not talk than it does to talk. I would rather get it out. I've been holding it to myself for years. I don't want to burden you down with it though. I don't want you to feel that you won't have a place in my heart. Neither do I want you to think that I want you to be like her. This is a new beginning for me and I want everything about it to be new. I don't want to try to live my old life through you." He kissed her cheek and looked down at her.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you."

"Are you ready to go now?"

"Yes. Oh, Hiroshi?"

"Yes?"

"How difficult will it be for me to learn English? I know very little of it, as I never had to use it back home."

He pursed his lips. "English is a very different language from Japanese. Everything about it is different. But if you really want to learn then I will try to help you."

"Say something to me in English. Say, I know Michi loves me, and one day I will love her also." He repeated her words.

She smiled. "English sounds nice, I think it sounds sexy when you say it."

"Do you now? I suppose I'll have to use it more often, especially when we are making love." She blushed and turned her eyes down. "Alright, let's go," he said, smiling at her reaction. He took her hand and led her out of the room and to the front door. He took his car keys from the hook that they rested on and exited the house.