YUMIMI: A FICTION FOR VICKI AND SCOTT
Yusaku had been always an outsider, even before his father died. It was not a role he relished. His mother's family resented his father's relative success in life, and when Yusaku and his mother moved into her family's household following his father's death, it was as if Yusaku's fate were already sealed, at age eleven. The monthly payments on his father's loan to his in-laws, which his mother insisted on receiving despite her comfortable position, did not help matters any. Her family tried to accept Yusaku as their own, but they remained, undeniably... distant. It was from one of his meaner cousins that Yusaku first heard of his mother's brief affair, about a year before his birth, with an American Marine. Yusaku never discussed the story with his mother. He was certain he was a full Japanese. Just a little taller than most.
Maybe his mother had been always an outsider, too. Despite his feelings, Yusaku never connected with the adolescent subcultures which have evolved to accommodate the increasing number of "outsiders" growing up in post-Fifties Japan. He continued to be an exceptionally good student. He joined the proper young-people's groups, and carried on a reasonably normal social life through high school. He was even popular with girls. Almost
too
popular with one or two of the more "idiotic" ones. It almost embarrassed him. His male friends were envious. But then, he thought, why should he be embarrassed just because he had his father's looks?
Then his university entrance exams came in, fifteen points below his tutor's expectations. His family and his teachers were nonplussed. The scores were still good enough to place him in a third-class Japanese college, where he could go on to become a respectable schoolteacher or an accountant at some small concern. To Yuu, though, his entrance exam scores simply revealed no more or less than Fate. Once an outsider, always an outsider.
Somehow he wasn't surprised when the American "university" the broker found for him turned out to be no better than a Japanese teacher's college. The Americans there seemed to feel it was providing rigorous training. And down deep, Yusaku felt that he hadn't come to America just for an education. He maintained no more than polite relationships with the substandard Japanese students with whom the broker had grouped him, but he made no effort to transfer to a better American university. Mimi helped Yusaku accommodate himself to this American teacher's college. More importantly, Mimi helped bring him into the real contact with America that he had left Japan to find. Mimi Morioka was almost three years older than Yusaku. But, he thought, that really didn't make much difference, did it? She was a full-fledged American, American enough to laugh at his spoken English, which he knew was much better than any of his fellow Japanese students' at the "university" where they met. And Mimi was American enough to have developed some very... strange... customs.
Mimi's father and mother, both born in California, had easily reconciled themselves to the possibility that Mimi would grow up far from the kind of culture which they themselves had known as children. Mimi, Dr Morioka said, would be a third-generation American, and the third generation was always the one to break away completely. Moving to a practice in the middle west, to a city with virtually no Japanese population, would only make things easier for her.
Like almost any father of a three-year-old girl, he had given no thought to what would happen when his daughter turned dating age.
But the white boys Mimi dated were all very nice, his wife assured him. They all came from respectable families, families not unlike the Moriokas in their social positions. Mimi seemed to date a lot. She was very popular. Slowly, Dr Morioka grew accustomed to the idea that Mimi might eventually, even... marry one of...
them
.
Then, the summer before she entered the nursing program at the local college, there was the matter of Mimi's abortion.
Dr Morioka handled things in a very businesslike manner, he felt. Mimi would certainly go to the hometown college to which she'd been admitted. In addition, she would live in the dorms there. And she would have an apartment of her own as soon as college regulations permitted. With a phone on which Mimi could communicate with Mrs Morioka as often as Mrs Morioka wanted her to.
At last, Mimi thought, I've fucking broke away!
***
*Click* "Hi Scott, "Hi Scott, it's Vicki." it's Mimi." (Snicker.)
"Now,
cut that out
!" (Scuffle, giggle.) "Mimi's a friend of Rick and Becca's and BOY can she give give you a backrub!" "Among other stuff." (Scuffle.) "Anyway we're in bed now..." "(Garbled.)"
"She's a bigger SLUT than I am!" "(Garbled.)"
"I wish Rick would allow videotape." (Buzzz...)
"I wish you were here, Scott... and Emilia..." "Emilia?" (Scuffle. Buzz.) "Wow, I have to turn the Sony off now already." "Who's Emi..." *Click*
*Click* "' Love you, Scott." *Click*
***
After a quick phone call to make sure it was okay, Vicki had driven the four or five hours down the Interstate to hook up with Becca at our place on Thursday afternoon, a day earlier than we had scheduled. Her husband Scott was taking the two oldest boys on a long weekend outing with her brother-in-law and his kids, and Vicki hadn't really been inclined to go along. Rather than have her stick around on the home front with her baby and mother and sister, we'd all decided (with Grandma's generous though not-fully-informed cooperation) to let Vicki have a spring holiday all her own, with the couple she'd met the previous fall. Having reached age forty, Becca and I had fallen out of the swapping groove, the way most people seem to do after a while. We kept going with Stu and Colleen, of course, but that will go on forever. Occasionally, we spent time with what remained of the small crew of couples who had made up our last circle of couplers. But what with the constant blood testing and so forth... we refused to return to "Safe Sex" hardware, hadn't the Pill been supposed to let sensible adults dispense with all that?... a four-way marriage between exceptionally attuned lovers seemed to be the best way to deal with the needs of middle-age. But Becca and I still kept finding "special occasions" that required us to make the trip down to the clinic every once in a while. It was a special occasion indeed when the student nurse who had taken our samples was later introduced to us by one of the old crew. But I'm getting a little off track.
Call it a middle-aged fling. Becca and I had "met" Vicki and Scott on the bbs's the preceding summer. Sometimes the things actually work. We were charmed by the accounts of swap and orgy -- and domestic love -- that were painstakingly presented by this late-blooming couple from across the state. They were both about thirty, but Vicki had already dropped three sons over the space of ten years, and it seemed that after following a new job to return home to family (and more reliable babysitters), they suddenly found themselves eager to make up for lost time. After much correspondence -- but the trip still seemed like a whim -- the four of us compared bloodwork and Becca and I drove up to meet the McClouds. That first lazy weekend was mostly spent in the semipalatial household of Dr Stan Mitchell, an urbane fellow still a bit too old for Becca's taste, but well-conditioned and handsome. Scott was more brutish... bearded, broad, heavy with hair -- more Becca's type, at least for a change. Emilia, Dr Mitchell's dark, fortysomething coworker and "mistress," was forthright but a bit too much the Junior Leaguer to engage my imagination. Emilia had impressed small-town Vicki, though -- enough to have become her first female lover and and her mentor, after Scott, in some of the stagier orgiastic practices that seem to be popular along their part of the frontier. (Becca and I remembered Centerville often, reading Scott's mail on the bbs.)
Vicki, a pale redhead of oval face, bright hazel eyes, clean sharp features and medium build, had obvious talent for exhibition. Fucking in company was a turn-on in itself for her. Early in a round her south-plains voice would describe what was happening to her, and where she wanted it to go. But soon enough her verbal focusing would be given over to more primal sounds, and late in a long evening Vicki would turn beautifully quiet, docile, submissive.
It was then she liked it rough.
It was a happy enough first meeting; slow, with just a little of the normal early cool. But when, midway through a conventional lay, Vicki put three of her own fingers into her small mouth to suck like a sleepy baby, I finally fell for her.
***
Mimi Morioka, that student nurse alluded to above, turned up on our doorstep by happy accident on Thursday afternoon about the same time I got home from work. At dinner, we arranged for her and her boyfriend to come along with us to do Forest Park and the Zoo the next day. And we recalled Mimi's talent as a rough-and-ready masseuse. Soon after dinner, we encouraged the road-worn Vicki to try out the spa in our big bathroom off the big bedroom, and she and Mimi trundled off up the split-level while Becca and I sat down with the wine and Yusaku to watch *Briscoe County*.
Mimi and Yusaku checked out, the girl slightly giddy, halfway through the
X Files
. The house was silent, and we figured Vicki was settled into the king-bedded guest room that Becca'd fixed up for her. But we weren't surprised when she turned up a couple of commercials after Mimi left. Her hazel eyes were half-lidded, satiated. A little smile flickered. Vicki wore just a long teeshirt, which came halfway down her soft smooth thighs.
