The Long Highway Pt. 47

from Akemi to Nelson

Hiroko translated

Mitchell told me that an old security guard at the college once said to him about me when I was still just his student, "I'd like to turn her upside down and eat her like an ice cream cone."

Can you?

By the way, the name of the guy at the college event was Rene, which is strange because that's a French name and he said he's Irish-American. He said he likes to pronounce it the English way, to rhyme with "penny."

It's okay to tell you about this. Mitchell has told me he's been interested in other women too- some surprising. He said he isn't always drawn to who's prettiest but sometimes to who's kindest, friendly.

The first time I used my mouth on Mitchell he said I made cooing sounds like a bird, a white-plumaged peace dove, he meant. But my plumage is black. I'm a fire bird. I don't have warm feelings. They're hot. Every time I do it to him he shouts out loud. Last night he moved my head in circles with both hands and slammed it to him.

He uses his mouth on me too and says I grip his shoulders so hard he almost has to stop, but he doesn't.

It excites me to tell you about it, to imagine it's you sliding your hands under my bottom to lift my hips up to you and you moving my hips in a circle at your face, my hips bucking like a horse you're riding out of control, like I'm a wild horse you're taming, breaking. Like like like. So strong orgasm!

Afterward, I wanna put you in my mouth so far, to thank you with my smooth wet.

Mitchell is sometimes indiscreet about our marriage.

A friend at the college asked him to go out with others after work. The group had a plan. Mitchell declined the invitation, said, "I'd like to join you guys, but I have a plan with my wife, to visit the studio where she paints. It's important. Sorry."

He explained, "She and I have something special," then added, with humor but seriously, "I'm a pretty sexy guy, more than you might guess from talking with me. I'm really into sex, I mean very into it."

I was outside the conversation but close enough to hear, standing right there waiting to leave with him!

He told me a funny story, anyway one he thought was funny.

On the way to a museum he realized he'd forgotten to wear a mask. It was the middle of the pandemic. He hadn't had one on during the long subway ride from home. There was nothing he could do about that, but he thought he'd better buy a mask for the museum, a place where you might catch the virus; he'd be there a while.

He went off his path from the subway station and found a corner drugstore. A display rack near the pharmacy counter held masks but they were all the same kind and not what he'd wanted. Three thick Hispanic women were inspecting them, turning the rack. Mitchell read the description of the product, "The next best thing to N95." N95 were of course the highest quality masks available.

Mitchell told me he appreciated that the three Hispanic women were looking at the face covers, interested in protecting others- a lot of people weren't then- but his annoyance at the drugstore for selling just that single, mediocre type showed in his voice when he spoke to them. He recognized they didn't deserve his sharp tone, were doing nothing wrong, just minding their business.

The government said that only N95 gave good protection, Mitchell reminded me.

"It didn't make sense," he said, adding that a lot of things hadn't in those days. During the pandemic, people's behavior disappointed again and again. When it counted for everyone to pull together, help each other, they instead broke into factions and fought.

That was true here but not in Japan, where the common good is valued.

He described the three friends shopping, said they were young, only in their twenties, but already had the bodies of middle-aged women, the shapes he meant.

Their passivity bothered him. They and others seemed to just accept "the idiocy."

He challenged them about the masks. "But why would it be the next best thing to N95? Why don't they have the real N95?" he asked.

I'm not sure why Mitchell remembered and told me that story. I think he liked the question he'd asked, was amused with himself.

I listened to his story. Then it was time for me to get ready to leave. I had an unusual late afternoon appointment that was important. Preparation needed my full attention. The concentration, nerves made me sweat some. I felt a trickle under my arms even though the apartment was chilly. We had the windows open. It's winter but mild weather continues.

I was going for a meeting with people from an art gallery and asked Mitchell what I should wear.

"What you're wearing now is fine," he said. A black, scalloped top I'd tried on.

"Or that thing from the weekend." Red top, tan cotton pants with a draw string. Very casual. I thought he hadn't even noticed, but he thought it looked good on me, the gallery people would too.

I thought of what you wrote about sushi when Mitchell kissed my breasts in bed last night.

And I got an orgasm looking at your video.

He talked about his work yesterday. He'd taught students pronunciation, the difference between long and short vowels even though he himself wasn't sure what it is, could only give examples. He wouldn't have been able to explain what long and short meant and hoped nobody would ask him.

He makes me laugh. Even his voice does. Yours has a different effect.

And on the subject of pictures, Mitchell talked finally about visiting some Korean students from a class just finished, invited by them to a Saturday afternoon party in the apartment they shared. Messy but full of light, he said, messy in a good way. They welcomed him to join the small end of term celebration as a teacher and friend, and he had time on his hands then, was even lonely. It was near the beginning of his work at the college.

His hosts showed him sexy pictures from their country of an all-girl K-pop band and Mitchell showed interest, looked keenly. At first the three or four students, friends, reacted with disapproval, surprise. Mitchell was a teacher, after all, and teachers weren't supposed to have the same desires as ordinary people. Also, Koreans tend to be very nationalistic, don't like foreign men approaching their women, especially not Americans, Mitchell says, because of the history of foreign troops in their country- Japanese too. Mitchell said a student, a young woman from Korea, once talked to him about Korean resentment of Japanese, the occupation soldiers from my country would line up to have sex with, rape Korean women.

But that's the past and now Koreans want to present their country as modern and cool, so they can't be so disapproving of foreigners who respond to their women. Sexiness is cool. Puritanism is old-fashioned.

So, Mitchell said, the students he was visiting, proud Korean young people eager to show off their culture, were confused about how to react as he ogled the K-pop stars in their revealing blue-green outfits he described as like sexy space suits. His hosts felt both pleased and offended by his enthusiasm.

I don't know why Mitchell has sex on the brain all the time or at least seems to from how he talks to me.

And on the subject of exotic places and people, when Mitchell came back from the college last night he said a new teacher is there who has just returned from Africa, where he worked in the Peace Corps. Young, in his early thirties, but rich in experience.

Mitchell asked if he learned any languages and he said he had and, encouraged by Mitchell, gave an example of the speech. It was a language that had clicks among the sounds. You'll hear vowels and consonants like any other but also clicks, which have meaning too. Mitchell said that was incredible, asked him to say some more in that tongue and the new faculty member did and said it wasn't incredible, just a language he'd picked up naturally, as Mitchell would have picked up mine if he'd lived in Japan.

And I guess I have sex on the brain too sometimes. I thought of you and our kissing while sitting up, our mouths open and locked on each other, kissing as I rocked up and down in your arms, keeping that connection of our mouths firm through all the wild motion, keeping the other connection too, deeper than our tongues go, far deeper. Am I too passionate or too open in my mail to you? Maybe that's because I've lived here and become "Americanized." Most of my friends are Japanese but I live with an American guy and communicate differently with him.

My breasts feel soft against your hard chest as you move me up and down and they twist, slide. Our skin is wet from exertion like dance in a hot room.

Finally, Mitchell lay back to watch me. He says my breasts spin in circles when I jump up and down on top of him and his ejaculation is like a can of soda shaken and opened to explode. I wanna do that to you. Saying it is embarrassing but I don't care!

I was glad to see Mitchell talking to you before you left about seeing you again and maybe making a film together. I don't know if it'll ever happen because Mitchell isn't a film-maker like you (though he has ideas), but it was good to see his respect for you, his affection for his old teacher, and how he'll miss you when you're gone. I will too.

It isn't clear when you'll meet us again. I thought of you pressing your lips into the softness of my bush, how it will be dewy wet for you, a mist to refresh you.

Can it be soon? Meeting outdoors or in, either, both. I'd like to hear you talk about your poetry the way you did with Mitchell.

I like to climb on top of you and slide along your length before you come inside me.