A Defiant Girl

Info R_Mendosa
29 Mar. '17

    It is drizzling. In the dark, the flickering bar signs emit a melancholy aura. I am in town by myself; I like being by myself. I walk to the railroad station. Catch a train? Nah. I'll explore new horizons. I make a right turn, going up the street, parallel to the rails. I have never explored this area before. I move through the dark narrow foreign terrain, carefully stepping over mud holes and rocks. Halfway down the block, almost at the side of the road, illuminated by the anemic glow of a bar sign, I spot a five thousand yen bill on the ground. I stop and quickly bend to snatch it up; as my fingers grasp it, a small hand also touches the bill.

    I straighten up, the bill clutched tightly in my hand, and look down into the face of a short, maybe 5'20, almost chubby, pretty but petulant faced young Japanese woman, maybe 20 years of age. She is wearing *geta* (wooden Japanese shoes), which indicates to me that she is probably not a bar girl. Bar girls usually don't wear wooden *geta* shoes, during business hours.

    She is wearing a short tight gray and black checkered skirt which just tops her bare knees, and a blue blouse, with buttons down the front.

    "I'm sorry. Maybe you saw it first," I say to her, hoping that she understands English.

    "No. You get first," she responds, in a tough, young voice.

    I look into her eyes. They are bright, complementing her slightly cocky manner; the boldness of youth.

    "I split with you," I say, affecting bar English, hoping to start a relationship with possibilities.

    "No, no. You find. You keep."

    "Can I buy you a drink?" I ask her.

    "I don't drink."

    I pause for a moment, looking at her with interest. Maybe, it wasn't meant to be. "Well, sayonara then," I say and turn to leave.

    "You want drink?" She calls to me.

    I hesitate. I look back, meeting her eyes, gauging her sincerity.

    "You buy and bring my place?" she offers, affecting a more submissive pose, cocking her head slightly, glancing at the ground, then back up, re-meeting my eyes with a questioning gaze.

    I am startled. Am I being picked up by a regular woman, a non-bar hostess? I surmise that she is a respectable Japanese girl, I have encountered over a muddy bill laying in the street.

    "Okay," I respond.

    We find a Japanese liquor store and I buy five large bottles of beer.

    She watches me drink. She is on the futon, on her side. Her body is nice and compact, I notice, as the Asahi cools my throat. I sit quietly, watching her watch me. We try to make small talk, but it goes nowhere. We are intent on looking at each other's bodies.

    "You want make love?" She asks me.

    I reach for my belt; she helps me unbuckle and pulls my zipper down. I lay back on the *tatami* floor, and she yanks my denims off. I sit up and remove my shirt, socks and underwear.

    She sits back on her ass and takes off her top. She is not wearing a brassiere. Her tits stick straight out. Her body is chubby, but compact. She is built. She leans slightly back, unzips her skirt, and quickly tugs it off and down, revealing two fine full thighed, roundly calved, legs. She is meaty fine! She quickly pulls off her panties and her silky black pussy hairs are revealed.

    I move over to her. She lays back and I climb on top of her. Her small, but thick, thighs spread so nicely; her legs pull up, her heels hook over my shoulders. I slide easily into her target, looking at her smooth skinned face, feeling her calves squashing my ears. She is no virgin. She has picked me up because she wants to fuck. She may have even dropped the five thousand yen note on the street as a ploy. That way she could have her pick of who she wanted. I suspect that I have been selected like a vegetable at the green grocer, but I do not care. Use me, slice and dice me, steam me, butter me, I don't care. I am her sustenance.

    I fuck into her hard, holding onto her firm buttocks, bending my head down to lick her protruding nipples. I am a "fuggin' machine," I think, thoughts of Mailer's Naked and the Dead racing through my brain, as her full hips whirl under me. With the alcohol in me, I know that I can last a reasonably long time. After about half an hour of good fucking, with both of us gasping and making lovers' noises, I finally gush into her. She grips me tightly, grinding her sturdiness into me. I consider asking her to marry me, but the irrationality passes as I feel my cock losing its firmness in her.

    I fall off of her. She lays there for a moment, her firm thighs spread wide. Then, she rolls over, reaches for my pants, pulls out my wallet, quickly extracts the three thousand yen notes left over from the beer purchase, and boldly sticks it into her purse.

    "That's mine!" I protest.

    "No, mine!" she protests back, confirming that I have been used as a living dildo.

    "Well, the beer is mine," I shoot back at at her, reaching for the last Asahi. I pop it open and swig directly from the bottle as I dress. I glare at her.

    She remains naked on the floor, watching me, glaring back at me, defiantly.

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