Woe in Kabukicho (3 page)
“Kit!” It’s so English. So normal. So far outside this Oriental dream world, it’s hard to accept. But whatever he asks at this point, I swear I’ll do it. “Please fuck me, Kit!” Why is he pausing? Then I hear the rip of foil, and realize he still has his wits about him. He’s taking care of me, when my own protective instincts have run wild in the face of passion.
Suitably dressed, he makes a single desperate thrust as he pulls me sharply back. I slide onto him like a glove that fits perfectly. We both groan as we try so hard to hold still, both attempting to prolong that first precious fleeting moment. The second thrust is never the same.
My face is aglow with heat as we build a rhythm together. Once we’re in the swing of things, he reaches around and makes sure that I get that extra bit of stimulation I need.
I’m so wet his fingers glide over the hard bead that is my clit. I wish I could touch him too, so that I could cling to him, my nails digging hard into his back.
Rapture—there’s no other word to describe the sensations he evokes. I bleat and plead, push back hard to meet his increasingly urgent thrusts. He fills me so perfectly, that from the outset I’m trying to prolong the act. I may as well be trying to prevent the dawn from occurring, despite the sun already peeping over the horizon. There’s simple inevitability about the situation we’re in that builds and adds to the intense, erotic fervour I feel.
I’ve had good sex before. But this is different. I’m tense, because we’re so exposed. However, simultaneously I’m languid and feverish with need.
“Please… Harder…” I beg.
He hisses through his teeth when he gives in to every demand. I love the sound. I can picture his face. His eyes closed, muscles and jaw line tensed, and a beauteous smile teasing the curve of his lips.
“More. Oh, you’re so good… There.” I grab his hand and direct his attention to the heart of my pleasure centre. A single touch there is all it takes to leave me balanced on a knife’s edge, wobbling uncertainly, still trying to cling on to this moment of physical oneness. I don’t want it to end.
I don’t want the darkness that will follow the release.
But nor can I stop myself from pursuing it.
It’s fleeting. That’s the beauty of it. Release-- it’s just one bright pinpoint in the darkness. All that striving and tension culminate in one sublime ecstatic moment.
We don’t come at the same time, which I rather like. Kit, or Sky as I still think of him, gives me a long and thorough work out using his cock and his long fingers to perfection. I come again and this time I make sure to scream his name. It seems to tip the balance. His orgasm seems to start in the tip of his cock then buck backwards and run upwards through his body so that he holds himself rigidly straight, his fingers curled into the bared cheeks of my bum.
Gingerly, we ease ourselves apart, stiff from the effort and a little cold. Clothes straightened we lie side by side upon the grass holding hands. There aren’t any stars left in the sky, not even artificial ones, only the pinkish haze of the rising sun.
That’s when I tell him what really happened between Gavin and me. How our plans to start a family went AWOL, and how we could only look at each other in terms of optimum temperatures and fertility. We stopped being friends, just became a couple desperate for a baby. Now we’re in a no-man’s land, not entirely together, not precisely apart. Me in Japan, him caught up in liquidating futures.
Kit listens non-judgmentally. He lets me speak until I run out of words; only then does he roll over and face me.
His eyes are unbelievably dark. They are two deep pools of expressive warmth, fringed with long dusky eyelashes. He strokes his thumb over the curve of my cheek. “You know you’ve come to the right place.”
“I have?” I reach up and brush the hair from his face so that I might drown in the deep pools of his eyes a moment longer. I know in my heart, that he doesn’t mean us to repeat our little dalliance riding bareback. Kit’s not looking to become a dad, nor is it the solution I’m looking for.
“In two days’ time is the Kanamara Matsuri festival in Kawasaki.”
My eyes cross in continued puzzlement. I’ve not heard of it before.
“Go there, to the Wakamiya Hachimangu shrine. Ride the iron phallus and pray. It’ll break the teeth of the demon that resides inside you.”
“Demon!”
He shrugs when I scoff. “If you want things to work out, and I think you do, then will it hurt to try?”
I do want things to work out. That’s the root of the problem—despite my attempt to escape the past by coming to Japan, I’m unable to let go. I miss Gavin’s lopsided smile and the fuzz upon his chest. I miss his taste, his smell and the way he says, “Goodnight.”
Guilt at having had sex with another man brings a sour taste to my mouth. I swallow it down, as I realize that being here with Kit may actually just have saved my marriage. “What exactly does riding this iron phallus entail?”
He laughs, and flips up onto his feet. I rise more sedately and hunt around for my shoes. Kit retrieves them from beneath the tree. “Don’t worry. You won’t be the only one. Lots of people go. You just need to sit on it. It’s about six foot long.”
“A six foot iron schlong?” My eyes widen and then I too am laughing. From the moment I descended into this neon lit Japanese night world my whole image of reality has become skewed. “Kiss me,” I say as we stroll back along the parkways.
Of course he does.
There are tears mixed in with the kisses. They roll over our tongues as we make our bittersweet goodbyes. We won’t see each other again. I know that. He’ll go back to the bar and I’ll return to my hotel room and concoct a damn good excuse why I can’t calculate accounts for the next few days. I phone Gavin too and have him fly straight to Japan. We meet in Kawasaki and walk the short distance from the train station to the Shinto Shrine. There I ride the iron phallus. We suck on cock-shaped lollipops, parade, and watch a giant pink dildo being rammed through the temple doors. It’s the first fun we’ve had together in a long, long time. We ride the train back to my hotel and practice some ramming of our own.
And we get our wish, not for one child, but two. Skye and Catherine… okay Kitty… okay Kit, I name our little girls. Gavin just shakes his head bemused by my choice of names. You see, I told him about Sky. How could I not? Gavin’s response was live and let live. Why muddy waters over something that his made us whole again and brought us so much content?
I send Sky a picture of the twins, addressing it to him at the host bar in Japan. I don’t anticipate a response, but I long to share my great joy. A memory stick comes back. It contains a short video, twenty-four men toasting my two little girls. Sky is not among them, but there is a message from a man named Angelo.
Sky has gone home. Maybe you see him in UK, and say hello from me.
Madelynne Ellis has a healthy obsession with a certain Japanese rock-star, drinks decaf out of preference, and likes scaring the wobblies out of people at gothic horror weekends. Now an award-winning author, Madelynne began writing in 1996 after escaping the
Hotel California
, the nickname for the parasitology laboratory where she used to work. Her first novel A GENTLEMAN'S WAGER was published in 2003 by Virgin, Black Lace, for whom she wrote several other titles. She has since worked with Mischief HarperCollins, Samhain, Total-E-Bound, Ai Press and Spice Briefs.
Madelynne's aim is to deliver scorching character-driven stories that enchant, torment, and don't shy from the darker aspects of life.
Madelynne lives in the UK with her partner of twenty years, their two adorable children and a chocoholic rabbit. She enjoys hearing from her readers, and can be contacted at [email protected]
You can also connect with her online at:
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