Tokyo Symphony Ch. 02

Ryan Bradshaw wasn't entirely sure what to do with Sakura's assignment. It felt like a bomb that she had lobbed across his desk and into his lap, all with that innocent smile on her face. It was a provocation, he was sure.

For a routine end-of-year creative writing assignment, Sakura had submitted a translation of the first chapter of a novel she was writing, one she had loudly talked about with her friends in class. They all were sure it was brilliant, without seeing a word of it. It was a love story between an American hentai artist living in Japan and a mysterious local girl.

The English was great, with just a few glitches. But the content of the story – an American and a Japanese ingenue, with just enough details changed to maintain plausible deniability – seemed like a come-on to him. The explicitly written blowjob scene was especially aggravating. He had scrawled in the marginsNot appropriate for schoolbut he was sure that would just please her more.

Ryan wondered how accurate the depiction of the artist's life had been. It seemed kind of like something Sakura had made up on the spot, gleaned at most from the creator's notes at the back of manga volumes. That was probably it.

Sakura had gotten cleverer, her form of seduction more mature. He remembered her a couple years ago, on the last day of school before break, crying until her face was red and bloated, confessing her love for him in stuttering clichés. He had given her tissues and tried to let her down easy. Ryan had tried to make out like he was a responsible adult with responsible adult desires that didn't include his own students. She was too young then anyway.

But he wasn't. He told that lie every time he got up in front of his senior class looking professional and every time he talked to one of the other teachers. It wasn't the little girls, thank God, but some of these girls were technically adults. Lust – lust for his students, lust for those nubile teenage girls who hung on his every word – was what Ryan kept in his psychic closet, trying not to examine it, but constantly aware of his presence.

Ryan had never slept with any of them, which was more than he could say for some of his colleagues. But the desire felt like it would one day drive him either between the skirt-clad legs of one of his girls or into the nuthouse. It was these last classes, with the seniors, almost -- no, already – women, that really affected him. Some of the girls, eighteen already – he focused on them, to ease his conscience -- strutted around in rolled-up skirts, and for all of his appearance of professionalism (about as genuine as a clip-on tie) Ryan's eyes frequently gaped at those long, milky legs.

He tried to shake these thoughts out of his head and focus on his assignment. He gave Sakura an A, because her English really did deserve it, but he added a comment about choosing appropriate subject matter. His dick was hard in his pants, and he wasn't sure whether it was from the story or from his thoughts about the girls.

There was a knock at the door of his classroom, vacated by students two hours ago and left for him to do the marking in while he still had the energy. Ryan set the folder of already marked papers down on his lap, hiding his erection. His dick complained angrily. "Come in."

It was Mariko, the Science teacher. Thirty years old, coming off a much gossiped-about divorce. "Hey Ryan. How goes the marking?"

"Slow. I'm really worried about sending these kids out into the world with this little English knowledge."

"Well, if worse comes to worse they can always just stay in Japan."

"Nope." Ryan grinned. "We're taking over, baby." Mariko didn't laugh. Maybe the joke hit too close to the genuine national dynamics.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to get some drinks once you're done? Life's kind of kicking my ass lately, and I need someone to bitch about it to."

Ryan knew he should accept. Going out with your co-worker for drinks, falling into bed together, either making a go at a serious relationship or never speaking of it again – this was what respectable adults did. And Mariko was certainly an attractive women. But as he looked up at her, he could only see the girl she wasn't.

"Sorry, Mariko. But I'm kind of swamped right now."

Mariko blushed but nodded. "Well, maybe some other time then. See you around."

Once she had left Ryan got out the class photos. He had to look at her. Back then she had a half-mohawk and stared angrily at the camera, barely staying still for the photo. Yui Asahara. She looked like just another delinquent, but talking to her he had discovered that she was probably the smartest student – hell, probably the smartest person – in the school. She skipped half her classes, but had just been accepted to Toudai.

Yui was the one whose face, whose body came unbidden to him when he masturbated, trying to focus on pornography in his small room stacked with books and papers. No matter how much he tried to focus on something else, when he came it was images of Yui, Yui undressed, Yui sucking his cock, Yui bent over his desk and screaming with delight as he thrust into her again and again, that played in his mind.

Ryan lusted after many of his students, but Yui was the only one he was worried about falling in love with. It was a good thing she was graduating soon, he guessed, but in the end he couldn't be happy about it.

Ryan Bradshaw wondered if he could trade in his brain for one that worked right.

--

The name Mika Otori haunted Terry for the next day. He knew he had heard it before, but where? It felt just a bit like she had slid naturally into his life, like he had always been waiting for her. But she had vanished, like water slipping through his fingers. Now it seemed like she hadn't been real, just a fantasy born in the afternoon heat.

Terry was distracted by his thoughts of Mika, and had completely zoned out while Naomichi was describing the printing and distribution of their latest doujin. Naomichi waved his chubby hand in front of Terry's face. "Earth to Osmond. You getting all of this?"

"It sounds fine," Terry said.

"Okay, good," said Naomichi. "Good work on this one, by the way. You can really see the motion here."

"Well, I am kind of a professional. Was."

Naomichi smiled. "I knew there was a reason I spend all that time yelling at you to get to work. So, you get to pick the next project. What's it going to be, pro?"

"Actually, I started doing an original the other day," said Terry. "I guess it's a solo project. First one of a series. You can do whatever – I guess you've got to go to work sometime."

Naomichi looked hurt. "Come on man, we're a team. None of this solo project stuff. You helped me on what I wanted to do, and I'm willing to return the favour."

"You don't have to. I mean, I'm sure you've got some stuff you'd like to do by yourself..."

"What's your problem with having me help out? Besides which, it'll take twice as long if you try to do it yourself."

Terry realized that Naomichi had a point. "All right, if you insist you can do some pages. I'll even let you have the sex scene."

"Sweet."

"By the way, Naomichi. Does the name Mika Otori mean anything to you?"

Naomichi thought for a moment, scrunching up his brow. "Oh yeah, I know her. She's an ero model. Smoking hot."

"Well, that was her on the couch the other day."

Naomichi's eyes bugged out. "Are you serious? Man, I guess I can see the resemblance, but I had no idea. That's weird. It's like... I know it sounds awful, but I never thought of her as like a real person, that walks the same streets as us."

"I guess so."

Afterwards, in his room, Terry typed "Mika Otori" into Google and a forest of pictures sprouted. He looked at one photo set, and it was definitely the same girl. Mika in a long, elegant dress. Mika slowly sliding the dress off her body. Mika in profile, as if turned away shyly from the camera, arms folded over her bra, her tone stomach and long legs hanging out for all to see.

Terry realized that he was masturbating, almost instinctively, rubbing his hard dick through his jeans. He made sure the door was shut and shucked his shorts. He returned to the photos. Mika from behind, slowly sliding the bra off her shoulders. You couldn't see her breasts, but her naked back, her shoulders, were almost as erotic. Mika in profile, one pink nipple barely visible. Mika bending down towards the camera, her beautiful, bounteous bosom hanging down. Mika on her back, still topless, a look of desire in her eyes. Mika with one hand down her panties, all of her shame overcome, ready for Terry to grab her and rip her last shred of clothing away and fuck her on his desk. He could see it – her head lolled back in ecstasy, her breasts bouncing with every thrust – but he couldn't feel it, couldn't conjure in his imagination the heat of her cunt or the feel of her legs wrapped around him.

Frustrated, Terry found more images. They were all softcore, exposing her breasts at most, but there was a filthiness to them far beyond their explicit content. In one picture she was pinned against the wall but an unseen male, her clothes ripped, a look of fear and desire in her eyes. In another she wore a bikini, laying on the beach, licking an ice cream cone like she had licked Terry's dick, the entire picture brightness and light.

Terry's hand flew up and down his cock, needing no lubrication. He was barely even sure what was reality any more, whether he was being blown by Mika or just looking at images of her. He found himself thrusting forward, and realized that he was no longer in control of her body.

He found one last picture, this one black and white, Mika topless, licking her lips, looking just like she had when she unbuttoned his pants. Terry exploded. He shuddered and fell back in his chair, dimly aware of the cum pouring from his penis. The first rope had leaped and struck his knee, while the rest poured down his cock and hand, which was still slowly pumping, letting the natural rhythm died down.

As Terry cleaned himself up with tissues (the one thing their apartment never ran short on) he felt a kind of post-orgasmic guilt rising in him, that he hadn't felt since he was young and still not sure whether masturbation was a sin or not. It felt somehow wrong to be jacking it to Mika's pictures without her knowing about it. For some reason knowing the girl on the other end of it made things different. He looked at the picture he had came to, and instead of picturing her legs spreading for him, all he could imagine was what she thought, laying in a cold studio with goony photographers hovering above her, trying her best to muster a sexy face.

Terry decided to stick to hentai for a while. There was no way he would ever meet one of those girls.

--

"Three more days," Natsumi said, sitting down with a tray full of the same cafeteria lunch she'd had almost every day for the past few years. "And let me tell you, I will not miss this place."

"Personally, I had a lot of fun here," said Sakura. "You remember all those times the air conditioning died during the summer? It was like an adventure!"

Natsumi cracked up. "I guess having to repeat math twice was an adventure too."

"Once! I only had to repeat it once."

"My apologies."

Hayato came over to join them at their table. Usually it would be heavily populated with Sakura and Natsumi's quasi-friends, gabby girls that they liked well enough but would probably never see after high school. But in the apocalyptic last few days of school they were all off preparing some last-minute assignment, so the table was empty save for the three of them. "Hey girls. What's up."

"Not much," said Sakura. "Just reminiscing over adventures."

"What kind of adventures?" said Hayato.

"Well, there was that one time I got sucked through a portal to that fantasy world," Sakura said with a grin. "I ended up becoming a princess, but I had to go back to Earth because I had a test the next day."

"Those tests. They ruin everything," Natsumi said. She always felt frustrated and enchanted when talking with Sakura – she couldn't keep up with her wit, but she admired it almost as much as she admired Sakura's beauty. People always said that loving someone for their intelligence was more real than loving someone for their looks, but it made Natsumi feel equally guilty.

Hayato took a tentative bite into the hard cafeteria bread. "So, are you two girls doing anything this Friday?"

"You mean other than studying my ass off?" Natsumi said.

"Why, you asking us out?" Sakura said with a cavalier grin. "Figure if you ask both of us one of us will have to say yes?"

Hayato flushed. "N-no, nothing like that. It's just that Yui invited me to this party her friend is throwing, kind of an end-of-the-year thing, and she said I could bring some friends. I thought I could use some normal people to back me up."

Sakura crinkled her nose, as if she had just smelled something rancid. "Yui? I dunno. What do you think, Natsumi? Feel like spending your Friday night listening to bad punk music and getting vomited on?"

"Well, it's better than studying," said Natsumi.

Sakura shrugged. "Alright, chalk us down as a maybe. I still don't know why you hang out with Yui though."

"She's a nice girl once you get to know her," Hayato said. "Anyway, thanks for your maybe, I guess."

Natsumi was well aware that when Hayato invited them he was staring straight at her. She was an expert on unrequited love, and knew the signs well. But she could no more love Hayato than Sakura could, apparently, love her. Part of her thought she should say no, give a quick and painful end to his infatuation, like ripping a bandage off. But if she was willing to wallow in the field of her love, even knowing it was full of thorns, how could she deny Hayato that right? She sympathized with Hayato, but what he needed from her was something she had already given away.

--

It wasn't terribly hard to find Mika's modelling company. Their website, which looked like it was designed in 1998 and not changed since, had the usual text trying to lure in beautiful girls with low self-esteem, with an address on the outskirts of Tokyo prominently advertised. The only thing Terry was worried about whether the place would be still standing – the site looked old. But he ventured out anyway, and there it was, on the 6th floor of a dingy office building. The sign readKanashima Modelling Company – Devoted to Beauty.

Terry went in. Behind the receptionist's desk a bored 20-something woman sat painting her nails. "May I help you?"

"Uh, hi. I'm here to speak to Mika Otori," Terry said.

"Mika's not here right now."

"Ah." For some reason, Terry hadn't anticipated this. "Um, could you give me her phone number or some way to reach her, then?"

The receptionist looked up at him, a cynical look in her eyes. "I can't give out the contact information of models."

"Oh, I get it. I'm not like a stalker or anything. Mika knows me."

"Uh huh." She wasn't convinced.

Terry dug through his jacket pockets and found a piece of paper – the receipt from the art store the other day. He scrawled his phone number on it and the word "Teriyaki". "Can you give her this when she comes in? Say, uh, I want to speak to her."

"Sure," the receptionist said, her voice affectless. Terry sighed and walked out of the agency. He wondered if his number would ever make it to Mika.

--

Natsumi didn't know who was hosting the party, but whoever it was was loaded (or, more accurately, their parents were loaded.) The house was spacious, nestled into one of the rich areas, with old sliding doors and wooden floors. Its majesty was diminished by the couple dozen teenagers dancing and chatting under the influence of various intoxicants while American punk music played over the stereo system.

Natsumi and Hayato hung on the edges of the crowd, taking the occasional sips of beer and trying to hear each other over the music. Sakura was in the midst of the throng, jumping and twisting, her black miniskirt flying around her waist like a ring of fins. She was the only one of the three who had dressed up for this, wearing the mini-skirt and a new top she got in Harajuku last weekend. Hayato and Natsumi had just thrown on whatever was at the top of their drawer, as they usually did.

Yui weaved through the crowds of people, carrying a platter full of drinks. "Hey Hayato!" she yelled. "Glad to see you could make it."

"Your corruption of me continues," he said. "Is this your place?"

"Hell no," Yui said. "I couldn't stand living in a fussy old place like this. It's Rin's." She pointed to one of the many bizarre dye-jobs in the crowd, this one forest-green. "Her parents are away. You like the tray? I stole it from my last job."

"Very convenient," Hayato said.

"I thought so," Yui said with a nod. "Anyway, you guys should get in there. You know, make some friends, dance like an idiot."

"I guess so," said Hayato.

Yui playfully slapped him on the ass. "Come on, don't be a wallflower."

Natsumi eventually waded into the fray, awkwardly timing the rhythm of her body with the chaotic music. She tried to move towards Sakura, but her friend was lost in her own mind, surrendering her body to the music. Some of the guys copped a feel, but she would always twist away from them, the next part in her dance. Sweat ran down Sakura's long, toned legs. Natsumi tried not to drool. Of course, Hayato was behind Natsumi trying to get her attention, but she was in turn lost in her own lustful mind, and so it went.

She had expected the party to last long into the night, but apparently word got around about a cooler party, and most of the kids abandoned ship. The remainder made polite noises about needing to work tomorrow and left. In the end it was just the out-of-place trio, Yui, the mysterious host Rin, and some guy with a mohawk passed out on the couch.

"Well that was a bust," Rin said. She rolled the tip of a half-empty beer bottle between her fingers ,causing the beer to jump and splash against the sides.

Yui shrugged. "I had fun. A party can be satisfying without being broken up by the cops."

"I guess so," Rin said, with a depressed sigh.

Sakura staggered over to Hayato and Natsumi. "Hey guys! Man, my legs hurt. I've been dancing for, like, hours."

"It was quite impressive, really," said Hayato.

Sakura giggled and leaned in towards him, running her hands up and down his flank. "Thank you. Hey, Hayato, can you massage my legs? They're really sore."

"I think we should get home," said Natsumi. "I can call my Dad and get him to pick us up if you want."

"Naaah, we're fine," said Sakura. "Hey, uh... you, with the house? Do we have to go?" Rin shrugged. "See, what'd I tell you? Now let's go upstairs so I can get that massage."

Sakura dragged Hayato upstairs, although it wasn't like he was putting up much of a fight. The look in Natsumi's eyes was unmistakeable, that angry, hurt longing as Sakura vanished up that stairway. She sat down on the couch next to Rin. Rin put an arm around her shoulders, which Natsumi shook off.

"I've been there," Rin said.

"She doesn't even like that guy," Natsumi said.

"Look, I know this isn't something you particularly want to hear right now... but you're never going to get anywhere crushing on straight girls. I speak from experience."

Natsumi sullenly stared at her feet. Yui's reaction was less dramatic, but she felt a weird kinship with Natsumi and the scene unfolding before her, neither girl paying her any mind, like she were at a movie. She thought she would get to corrupt Hayato, but maybe he wasn't as innocent and shy as she thought. Maybe he was already corrupt, he just didn't care for her.

Yui took another drink and wished the night would end.