The Discovery of Hiromi

Lots of straight men, and more than a few lesbians, envied John his friendship with Hiromi. The two of them were seen so often together in public, at movies and shows or just cruising around, that nearly everyone assumed they were a couple. But they weren't, John readily admitted when asked. They had a language exchange going, Japanese and English, and they liked each other's company, but it ended short of the bedroom door. "Just good friends," he said, putting the faintest note of irony into his voice, to show he understood why they had difficulty with it.

When he finally got them to believe what he said about his relationship with Hiromi, some of his friends expressed condolences. It was irritating, but John had no trouble seeing why. She was the sort of person who no one attracted to women could ignore. As tall as he was, and with long legs instead of the usual Japanese short legs and long body, Hiromi was spectacularly sexual. She wore her thick black hair loose, down her back to below her waist, and although her smooth skin was a bit dark, almost Polynesian, she had big eyes, high cheekbones, and sensual lips. Her breasts were on the small side of medium, but they were firm and beautifully shaped, with large, dark nipples that seemed to become erect remarkably easily, difficult to miss since she disliked bras and rarely wore them. Her waist was slender, her bottom firm and round, and when she was in a swimsuit at the beach or in a pool, the observant might note that her pubic mound was high and the lips below it long and plump, faintly outlined under the thin cloth of a tiny bikini bottom, or by her jeans if she wore them tight enough. She didn't flaunt herself, but she didn't take offense if someone gave her the eye, no matter how long or lustfully, man or woman.

If there was one thing that put people off about Hiromi, it was the way she interacted with others. It wasn't arrogance or conceit, but rather an aloofness that most wrote off to the assumption that she had a history of being pursued a little bit too long and a little bit too ardently. She always seemed at a distance, as if she were playing herself on the stage. It was done in gentle ways, at least in public, but she made sure that no one got too close.

John knew that most people assumed it was because she was with him. In fact, there was another reason entirely, and he was inwardly amused whenever someone new to the game tried to hit on Hiromi. A few of the more persistent got her to come on dates with them, and one or two even spent the night with her, but they were reluctant to discuss the experience afterward and didn't pursue her further. One was so morose that John couldn't resist asking him what had happened. He wouldn't say anything, other than the glum remark, "She can make a hard seven into a floppy three faster than any chick I've ever seen." From his tone, John understood that he was referring not to post-intercourse detumescence but to sexual humiliation. Because of these incidents, it was tempting to assume that Hiromi was lesbian, and she certainly had no prejudice against them in the day to day, but she wouldn't give lesbians, even the most attractive, the time of day if they approached her sexually. To the world at large, she was an erotic enigma.

John was Hiromi's only close male friend because he had been the only person to accept her as she was. In fact, she had told him long ago that it wasn't because she disliked men, or women, that she didn't have a more active sex life. It was simply that Hiromi seemed to be that rarest of creatures, a truly asexual person. She didn't find sex disgusting or sinful or upsetting; she found it deadly dull. Once, she confessed to John, she had actually fallen asleep while one of her gasping, sweating one-night stands was riding her. It was her utter, sincere, malice-free lack of response that had devastated the men who had pursued her as far as the bedroom door.

"I mean," she told John once, "my nipples get hard, but I don't get any buzz out of my breasts being touched. If I'm licked or fingered, I get wet, but that's as far as it goes. Fucking is about as much fun as being prodded in the ribs. It isn't unpleasant; it isn't anything. And just the same if I take it up my ass. I might as well be having an enema. It's that dull. I can suck guys off, but I keep on yawning, and when they eat me, I get sleepy. Someone forgot to make some connections when I was put together."

"Doesn't anything ever happen?" John asked. "If you do it by yourself, for instance?"

Hiromi shrugged. "If I finger myself for half the morning, I'll come," she replied. "It's pretty wild, too -- the only time, really, that I ever feel anything. It's just that getting there makes me so tired it hardly seems worth it. I just want someone to do it to me for a change, instead of getting cramps in my hand. I want to be fucked wild and deep for hours and hours, until I stop yawning and start to scream. But no guy can keep it up that long, not even with his tongue, let alone his cock."

"And if someone can last that long," John added. "He's probably got his own issues and feels pretty negative about sex too." He said it offhand, but it hit close to home. He'd never mentioned it to Hiromi directly, but one of the reasons it didn't strain him to spend so much time with her was that he had the same sort of problem standing between him and good sex. It took him so long to finish off that women became uncomfortable -- "sored and bored" as one of them had put it, and so he tended to sideline his romantic life.

That summer, Hiromi was under a great deal of stress. She was tour-guiding for a Japanese honeymoon tour company, and half the couples on the trips seemed to be having serious second thoughts about hooking up. It was her responsibility to keep trouble in the group to a minimum, and it was as stressful as babysitting a roomful of delinquents sometimes. But oddly enough, what bothered her most of all were the rare couples that were sincerely wild for each other. The ones that were always half asleep on the trips to tourist spots, because they had spent most of the previous night fucking each other senseless. The ones where the woman would put her hand between her husband's legs and start squeezing his cock every time they sat down at a table, or the man would slip his hands into his wife's blouse and feel her breasts when he thought they weren't observed. The ones that always sat at the back of the bus on long trips, and always seemed to have to rearrange their clothing before they got off. The ones who were so noisy at night that they had to be found rooms a bit apart from the main group, or they would keep everyone awake.

That last type has been the occasion for one of Hiromi's most memorable experiences, one that made her begin to suspect she might be less indifferent to sex than she had assumed. She had been doing a late walkaround in a hotel to see that everything and everyone was in its proper place, and had been brought up short by the noises from one of the rooms. The woman was moaning almost as loud as if she were giving birth, and when not moaning she would be babbling in Japanese and broken English, telling her husband to shoot his load inside her, all of it, all the way in, urging him to fuck her faster, harder, deeper. The man was grunting softly with each thrust, punctuated with occasional loud moans when his wife's vagina gripped his cock, for a moment too tight to move. And the sounds went on forever, a continual climax that grew more and more intense as the minutes passed.

Hiromi was mesmerized. She stopped just outside the door to listen, and her breathing quickened. In an unthinking, automatic reaction, she slipped her right hand down her front and drew her skirt up, and then slid both hands into her crotch, under her panties. Pulling down her panties to her knees, and spreading herself wide with her left hand, she began to tease her erect clitoris with the fingers of her right, and then began sliding them up and down through the slippery fluids that began to drip out of her, working her long, slender fingers further into her open vagina with each thrust. The couple behind the door climaxed over and over again, and Hiromi felt her consciousness of self fading as she imagined herself in the place of that wife, naked on the bed, hard nipples licked and bitten, her long legs wrapped around a man's body and her labia spread and slippery, dripping with their mingled juices, a thick, shining, rock-hard penis thrusting in and out of her as she arched her back and came, endlessly peaking higher and higher, begging to be fucked harder, faster, deeper, for him to fill her with his sperm.

When the unseen woman behind the door went into her final orgasm and began to shriek Iku, iku yo! (I'm coming!), it triggered Hiromi too, sprawled on the hallway carpet, eyes closed, with her skirt up, her legs wide apart and her panties around her ankles. Her back arched and she screamed as well, soundlessly, twisting her twitching fingers still deeper into her body. Thank goodness it was too late for anyone else to be in the hall, or she would have had some awkward explaining to do. As soon as she could, she dragged herself upright, away from the wet mark she'd left on the carpet, and staggered back to her own room to shower. In the shower, she began to masturbate again, ending as a gasping, incoherent, naked form curled up on the shower floor in the dark cloud of her own hair, as her vagina tightened around her fingers in uncontrollable spasms, again and again. It was only when she finally managed to drag herself to bed that she remembered her soaked panties were missing, probably still on the hall carpet outside the lovers' room. To hell with it, she thought. Let someone take them for a souvenir. It wasn't as if her name was on them, after all.

Hiromi told John about her experience soon after she returned from the tour, as she told him about almost everything, sooner or later. She waited until they were in her bedroom, with her laying on her front, in a T-shirt and jeans, while John gave her a back massage. It was something they'd done often before, a routine pleasure. She could feel his hands on her shoulders, expertly kneading her sore muscles, as she talked, a steady, comforting rhythm. Retelling and remembering the story made Hiromi excited again. She closed her eyes; her nipples hardened and she felt the wetness begin between her legs. She was tempted to begin stroking herself down there, but held back. After all, it would be tacky to do that in front of a friend, an unnecessary flaunting of her desires.

John worked on her in silence for a minute or two after she finished talking. Then he said, in a deliberately casual tone of voice, "It looks as if you have hidden potential. Now the only problem is how to unlock it. Just getting someone's cock inside your vagina won't do it for you. You need more."

"God yes," Hiromi groaned, relaxing as she always did after John had worked on her. "Like I said. I think I need to be taken for hours and hours, slowly fucked cross-eyed, and the jerks I've been with have all blown their loads in less than ten minutes. I swear, most of them came before I even noticed they were inside me. Some of them even before they were inside me. Fuck that."

She fell silent for a moment then, as John began stroking her along the spine, a touch she loved. Then she said, in a small voice, to the pillow more than to John, "I need to be fucked just the same way you massage me. Slowly.... endless pleasure."

John caught his breath. What was Hiromi leading up to? But she had fallen silent again. Perhaps asleep.

After a few moments, Hiromi rolled over to lay on her back, raising her hands to arrange her long hair so that it wasn't pinned under her. John began to rise, to get off the bed, assuming the massage was over, but she caught him by the hips and gently settled him down again, straddling her across her crotch. They looked each other in the eyes for a long moment, as she pulled him gently against her, and then she brought her hands to her waist and in a long, smooth movement, pulled her T-shirt over her head and off. She was wearing nothing under it, and the nipples on her breasts stood up proudly, moving slightly as she breathed.

Another silence. All either of them could hear were their own hearts beating swiftly. Then Hiromi began to speak again. "I know you're not supposed to try and fuck your friends," she said hesitantly, "but it can't turn out worse than fucking strangers or enemies. I hope I'm not bothering you, saying this, but I want you inside me. Right now." She tossed her head and continued, "And at least I can trust you and tell you exactly what happened after we're finished. Maybe we can figure something out. I hope so. I'm going crazy." Her lips were parted and she was breathing faster now, looking straight into his eyes again.

John leaned forward slowly and began to kiss Hiromi, at first gently, and then with rising passion as their mouths opened and their tongues began to intertwine. They kissed for what seemed an eternity, exploring each other deeper and deeper, until Hiromi began to moan and twist her pelvis against John. John broke the kiss off, bent down to lick each of her nipples for a moment, and then straightened up. "I want you, too," he said. "I want to fuck you. I want to fill you with my sperm. It never bothered me before, because we were such close friends, and I thought it wouldn't be a good idea to try to seduce you. But if you want it in you, I want it there too. All the way in."

He paused, "But there's a bit of a problem, you know.... I think I told you. It takes me ages and ages to come. Women think they'd like that at first, but if it goes on too long, they don't. And I go on too long. I don't know if that's a problem."

Hiromi began to laugh, a laugh that combined amusement with relief and joy. "You never put two and two together, do you?" she said, as her hands reached up to undo John's belt buckle and unzip his jeans. "What was I asking you to do, silly man? You're forgetting what my problem is. I'm tired of guys who go full volcano before they get it out of their jeans. I want you to go on for ages and ages, until I come with your cock thick and hard and all the way inside me. I've never had that, and I fucking need it! I need someone I can trust to help me figure out how to get it." She tugged open his jeans to reveal a huge bulge that she began to squeeze and fondle with urgent passion. "Damn, half the guys I've been with would have blown their load in their jockey shorts right away if I'd grabbed their cocks like this. Take an hour if you want. Take two hours. Take all night. Just make sure that when you come, you're balls-deep inside me. If you pull out, I'll cut it off."

John grinned. "No problem. Let's fuck, then."

Hiromi didn't answer. She was too busy tugging down the front of John's jockey shorts and pulling out his rapidly stiffening penis. When she had it out, she ran her fingers up and down the shaft and gave a little gasp. Her eyes glittered. "Damn. Seven inches, at least, and thick." She took the shaft in her left hand and began teasing the head of John's cock with her right, spreading slippery, glittering precum with the tips of her fingers. John closed his eyes and moaned himself, loudly, as she gently masturbated him and toyed with his erection. He shifted a little bit back on Hiromi's body, and undid her belt and jeans. Then he bent over and began to suck her nipples again, raising himself a little so that Hiromi could release his shaft for a moment, slip her jeans down to her knees, and kick them off. John realized that she hadn't been wearing panties, and he felt his cock throbbing as she stroked it with her hands. He raised his head from her nipples, reached down, and pulled his own jeans and jockey shorts off, and then up to strip off his T-shirt. Now they were both naked, the first time they had really seen each other's bodies, and the sight made both of them tremble with anticipation.

John slid back until he was kneeling between Hiromi's long legs, his cock jutting out in front of him like a signpost pointing to a sexual heaven. He moved her knees apart and up, until everything between her legs could be clearly seen, and drank the scene in with his eyes. What could be seen through her jeans or bikini bottom was only a pale shadow of the reality. Her pubic mound with its bush of jet black hair stood guard over long, thick labia, pale on the outside but a deep, shining pink on the inside. The lips were already swollen with lust and gaping apart, showing her erect clitoris under its hood and the mouth of her vagina, still closed but already slick with its own juice. She groaned, and swung her legs still higher, further apart, opening herself more to him.

John was temporarily overwhelmed. He hesitated, wondering if he should begin to lick Hiromi between the legs, or plunge himself directly into her as his body was screaming at him to do. She leaned up and took his erection gently into one hand, pulling it down and guiding it toward her. "You're sweet, John. But I don't need you to go slow. Not today. Put yourself into me. You can eat my pussy for dessert, and I'll have your cock as a midnight snack."

John smiled, nodded, and kissed her again, a long deep kiss. He didn't need to be told twice. But still, he was in no hurry. Leaning forward, he used one hand to guide the purple head of his erection between her labia, up and down the long valley like a plow, opening her and bringing her pink center to the light, up till he ground the head of his cock against her clitoris, and then down, slowly, until he was glans-deep in her vagina. Hiromi held tight to his shoulders, digging her fingers in, moaning louder and louder as John repeated his stroke, clitoris to vagina, vagina to clitoris. After a few repetitions, John began to tremble himself, but he kept the rhythm up, slow and steady, up and down her parted labia.

Hiromi held on to John for dear life. He was the only thing in the universe now; everything else had faded away. No one had ever made her feel like that. She hadn't ever suspected it was possible for anyone to feel like that. Squeezing her eyes tight shut, concentrating on the gentle, insistent pressure from his cock, she visualized herself with a raging fire between her legs, a volcano.... a rising sun. She opened her eyes again and leaned up to look down there, half-expecting to see light streaming from her cunt, but instead there was only John's hand on his cock, moving it up and down, up and down, drawing an involuntary groan from her each time it ground against her clitoris, and another as it played with the entrance to her vagina. So this is what making love means, she thought. The other times it was just fucking. This is making love.

At the base of his cock Hiromi could just see John's scrotum hanging down, his balls inside it, swaying with the movement. The sight made her dizzy as she realized what was about to happen. There it is, she moaned to herself. His jizz, his spunk, his sperm. And he's going to fill me with it, shoot it into me, go all the way up and come, explode his sperm over my cervix, into my womb. His cock is so fucking big. He'll shoot right into my womb. Her thoughts paused a moment as John's erection rubbed her clitoris hard, again, and the wave of pleasure washed over her. Then she suddenly recognized her true desire. I'll get pregnant. I want to get pregnant. I want to have his children. I don't ever want to use protection; I want to feel him explode in me again and again and again and take his sperm and make babies with it.