N--- was a pretty young Asian woman. The first time we went out, I picked her up after she got off work at the restaurant where I had met her. We had made no particular plans, which suited her just fine. As we drove around looking for something to do, a dance song she liked came on the radio, and she closed her eyes and began dancing dreamily in the bucket seat beside me, her arms in the air above her head, her upper body swaying erotically to the beat. Her sweater-clad breasts, round and relatively large for her very petite frame, thrust outward as she moved. I began to believe this would be a very good first date.
The café was warm, filled with low chatter and the pungent scent of roasting coffee. A jazz band sent its smooth sound over the vast expanse of crowded tables. Seated by the window, Hyuga bent his head over his sketch book, silently absorbed in the task of laying out the scene around him. His pencil glided across the page; he glanced around frequently to take in the exact detail of a certain mug or a woman's blouse. Incessantly, he flipped the dark bangs out of his eyes.
Rose was a 19 year-old college sophomore with a problem. She had a huge crush on an older student in her chem lab. His name was a Ken, and he was Japanese and in excellent physical condition. He always dressed nicely, and she loved to watch his muscles work under his thin dress shirts slacks. But he was at least a junior, if not a senior, and had a photo-perfect smile, whereas she thought of herself as a kid with a retainer.
I was 18, almost out of high school and decided that I was missing something in my life. I felt as if there was more out there than I was experiencing and I wanted to find it. So after thinking it over I enrolled in the exchange program offered through my school. After careful consideration and deciding that the best way for me to get the most out of the experience was to not choose the obvious countries of choice by most students: France, Italy, Germany, Spain; but instead to get my grand life experience in the Orient, particularly Japan.
The ten years between the ages of 15 and 25 are difficult for any girl becoming a young woman. Those years were especially difficult for me for several reasons. I am the product of a ‘mixed marriage’. My father is Japanese and my mother Swedish. They met when my mother was a dancer in the Ginza section of Tokyo. My father was, at that time, an up and coming young executive with a large Japanese firm. He knew that his marriage to my mother was the end of his career in Japan so they immigrated to Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.
Behind closed doors, lots of guys enjoy sharing their wives/girlfriends. As a single white American, I'd been fairly lucky in my years living in Japan. I met quite a few Japanese as well as foreign couples who have included me in sexual get-togethers. I'm definitely not a male model, just a regular schmo. But I was always gracious, polite and charming. I made it a rule to always be respectful and reliable.
I was sitting at my desk when I heard the familiar tap tap on my cubical wall. Not having a door means you make do with whatever approximation you can.
"Mark, I need you to go to Japan for me," my manager said.
I looked up from my monitor. I had been engrossed in a riveting and fascinating technology brief (not!), and welcomed the interruption. Even so, though, it took me a second to register what he said.