In the still of the night her eyes were too big, her mouth too large, but those were the details that drew me when I saw her in the small, dark Tokyo club.
I tried to use my broken Japanese with her.
She looked at me, bored, and then answered in English: "I am Mexican."
I laughed as if it was some funny joke and I decided to play her game.
"Then you like tequila," I said. She smiled at my silly comment and accepted the margarita I ordered for her.
"You don't look Mexican," I said.
"My grandparents migrated after the war. They were Japanese," she replied.
She was wiry, almost too thin, her jeans seemed one size bigger than they should have been and it seemed that she had stolen her white shirt from her brother. Still, she looked sophisticated and unbothered.
I didn't know what else to say, so I left her to talk to some friends.
However, through the night, I kept going back. Other men went to chat with her, but nobody stayed too long, and I always found her alone. Our conversations didn't amount to much, I wanted to get her interested but she treated me like one of many guys. What I got to know was that her name was Amalia, but this seemed just an extra detail suited to her Mexican persona, which I still found hard to believe.
It was very late when she suggested leaving together; I wasn't sure what to expect, nothing that it had happened before seemed to indicate we shared an attraction, but surely I wanted to be with her.
I followed her in the elevator, which brought us to the underground floor, a large, deserted parking lot made of concrete. She pulled me against a pillar, unzipped my fly, and lowered her jeans. Her waist was so narrow that she slid them down without actually opening them.
I could see for a short moment the drawn lines of her pelvis and the thick, black bush of her pussy, just before she inserted my dick into herself. She clenched to my back strongly, almost painfully, her nails scratching the skin below my shirt.
I could feel her coming quickly, soon she started moaning softly, so I accelerated my thrusts, just before sliding out of her to ejaculate on her thighs.
"Why didn't you come inside?" she asked, wiping her legs with a Kleenex.
"It wasn't right, " I replied.
She smiled: "I like you but I am leaving tomorrow for Mexico City. Give me your number, I'll call you when I'll be back."
I saw her leaving, her petite silhouette disappearing in the night, unable to think anything to let her stay.
She didn't call for weeks until I gave up.
One day, at work, I got a call.
"Hi, I am Amalia, I am back. Are you upset with me?"
"Well...not really...why should I be?"
"Do you want to see me again? Because if you want to, you'd better be upset with me."
"Ok...then I am...very angry!"
"Good...are you free tomorrow night?"
"Yes."
"Then come to my place, it's near Yoyogi Park, let's say at eight."
It was a two-story modern house, in a quiet neighborhood where everything smelled of money and sophistication.
She opened the door, smiling slightly. She wore a simple, white cotton dress, almost transparent. I could see through the little brown discs of her nipples.
if she wasn't Mexican, she was trying hard. Inside the house was completely different from the outside. It was completely white, with very colorful carpets and objects, many inspired by the images of the Santa Muerte.
"Are you still angry at me?" she whispered.
I didn't say anything.
She dropped her dress and remained completely naked while leading me through the house into the basement.
Her shoulders were dark, well-tanned, only her buttocks and her breasts were white as snow, the shape of her bikini clearly marked. Her back was lean, like a plank of polished wood.
The basement was bare. There was a large, jute carpet on the floor and a brown table pushed against a wall. On top of it, there was a whip made of leather.
"Punish me."
I looked at her in shock.
"You are angry, isn't it?" She stared at me, coldly."I wasn't in Mexico City. I was fucking another guy here in Tokyo. What do you think about that?"
I looked at her naked body facing me, with the whip in my hands, I desired her and I wanted her now, I didn't care if yesterday she had slept with another guy.
"This is the only way you can have me," she said as if she was issuing an ultimatum.
She turned her back and pushed her small, muscular ass toward me.
I raised my hand and I hit her: I was going to have her, in any way she might wish.
Soon her buttocks were covered by red marks.
I undressed and I remained in my briefs.
She turned to me and smiled, her face covered with sweat." I love you," she said.
I couldn't resist any longer, I slipped a condom on and I penetrated her.
My cock slipped into her effortlessly, she was waiting for me. I put my hands on her sweating back as she moved her ass, gyrating slowly.
I could smell her fresh blood, this excited me even more. I slipped out of her, and I laid down on the floor. She didn't lose time, jumped on me, and started riding me. Her beautiful face looked distorted by the pleasure, her hair entangled.
While searching for her orgasm, her eyes were on me, but she was looking beyond me.
I could feel her movements becoming more precise, her vulva adhering more completely to my penis, its shaft fully devoured by her lower mouth.
She came and I followed soon, the pleasure so strong that seemed to never end.
She rested lying on top of me, our bodies glued together, our sexes still connected.
Everything had happened so fast and intensely to seem unreal.
"Let's go upstairs."
The large living room remained in the dark; the lights of the night - the moon, some distant light pole- filtered through the large glass windows.
She went to have a shower and I remained naked and alone, in the alien house. I felt like a thief who had broken in.
She came back, and I went to shower myself.
When I came back, she was cooking, a simple apron on her naked body, her ass exposed to show me the welts, results of the whipping.
"I love to see you naked. I love to see your cock." I got closer to her and she took it in her hand. It reacted immediately.
"Let's save it for later," she said smiling.
I went to browse her CD, mostly Latino music, and I put on a guitar disc, which seemed the most suitable to the night and our quiet moods.
She had fixed a fajita filling, with meat, pepper, and tomatoes and we ate it with some tortillas she warmed in the microwave oven.
