Going with the Flow

Author's Notes:

This is a trip-down-memory-lane story of an unforgettable time of my life. Please be warned If you're not into background and character development with the sex coming much later on, stop here and go to another Literotica submission. This is a tale about a very special woman whom I loved dearly and our bittersweet romance. I hope you enjoy the telling.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My name is Clifford or Cliff as my friends call me. I was clearing out my closet when I stumbled upon some old photographs from my graduate program days and Sharon, my best friend and unexpected lover. Gazing at her beautiful Japanese face, I had a flashback of memories of those days over five decades ago.

It was a tumultuous time when I graduate in the late 1960s from a public high school in Honolulu, Hawaii. The nation was in cultural unrest and social turmoil. The civil rights movement had challenged segregation and highlighted race relations. Women's liberation soon followed as women cast off long-held social roles and restrictions, and sought to culturally redefine themselves. Then there were quests for personal freedom and collective harmony that were often accompanied by the use of marijuana and mind-expanding drugs.

But to me, the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room was the Vietnam ('Nam) Conflict. In March of 1965, a year or so before I graduated, the United States entered to war to fight communism. The might of our democracy was poured into that tiny southeastern country money, then resources, and finally troops. To bolster the manpower needed, the Selective Services System implemented what was commonly referred to among us eligible young men as the dreaded Draft. Basically, young men who didn't have some sort of Draft exemption were culled out from the general population for involuntary military service in 'Nam.

The common train of thought of the day was that if you didn't want to be drafted and sent to 'Nam, you needed to be either attending college or be a member of the National Guard (Army or Air) because the Guard never got called up (yeah, right). I enrolled in the state University and began my first two years of general studies. Then figuring that I would double my chances of not going to 'Nam, I enlisted in the 29th Infantry Brigade of the Hawaii Army National Guard (the Air Guard had a waiting line that went over the horizon). I barely squeezed basic and advanced infantry training in the summer after my freshman year and thought I was well protected from the dreaded Draft a combined weekend-warrior and college student.

Wrong! After completing another semester of college, lightning struck! My brigade got activated for 'Nam! Then to add injury to insult, instead of us going as a cohesive brigade; rather, we were parceled out as infantry fillers. With my goddamn luck, I ended up with a frontline combat unit that regularly engaged in search-and-destroy operations. Because of my five-foot-six stature, I was the shortest in my unit and stuck with a rather unique aspect of the war's search-and-destroy mindset.

"Private Lee!" bellowed my version of 'Lieutenant Dan,' "Get your scrawny Chinese... yeah, yeah, Chinese-American...ass up here! Here...take my 45-caliber pistol, flashlight, and climb into this here small tunnel opening and have a look-see if there's any signs of our goddamn gook-cousins.

"Don't give me that look. You're the only grunt who will fit. Remember...if you see Charlie Kong (aka the Viet Cong), shoot first...and make sure you kill them dead. I don't want them commies popping out of their hidey-holes or tunnels to shoot us in the buttocks. And oh, watch out for them there snakes...especially the poisonous kind. Now get...and make sure to bring back my goddamn pistol."

One year was what we were told would be our tour of duty in 'Nam. Yet, it's amazing if not simply stupefying how your rotation home orders could be conveniently misplaced especially when you were a veteran tunnel-rat like me with a high kill rate. By the time I was released from active duty, I was battled-scarred and shell-shocked as my company medic called it. My documented tunnel-rat episodes resulted in a Veterans Administration's (VA) disability diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder -- which was the clinical way of saying that I was an "in-country" 'Nam vet.

Barely managing to re-enroll in the state University as a returning student for the Fall semester, I applied my Vietnam GI Bill to cover my educational expenses. Surprisingly, my high VA disability payments, Guard drill pay (yep, still had to serve the remainder of my Guard enlistment contract), a part-time delivery job, and my accrued combat pay (hey, there was nothing to spend it on in the jungles) enabled me to rent a small cottage, buy a used Volkswagen Beetle, and make ends meet.

For the next two years and summer sessions thrown in, I hunkered down, focused on my studies, and kept to myself. However, after 'Nam where the single purpose in life was to stay alive, I found adjusting to the changing social movements on the university campus confusing, if not damn difficult to deal with. There was a continuous clamor of groups professing peace and greater awareness, protesting the war or social mores, or advocating individual freedom.

I was careful not to mention my military service in 'Nam. While the people of Hawaii generally supported us mobilized guardsmen, the war was highly unpopular on the university campus and among its students. If I slipped and mentioned that I served in-country, I was apt to be harassed as a "baby-killer" if not worse.

While I dated, I found the "new" female to be thoroughly confusing. Coeds when I returned to college were caught in the transition from how they were traditionally raised to the so-called liberated woman of tomorrow. They rejected common courtesies as being demeaning and often loudly demanded to be treated equally. They shed their bras as a sign of individual liberation, and yet were thoroughly offended when they caught me sneaking a titty peek or two. How I yearned for a feminine and less provocative woman.

I was still struggling with my own demons when I graduated in general studies and knew I need to pursue a graduate degree that would help me figure out and move on with my life. Psychology was the first consideration but quickly ruled out since the program focused on abnormal psychology and as messed up as I was, I was afraid that I might end up as a case study.

It was then mentioned to me that I might want to consider Educational Psychology-Counseling. Although in the educational field, it dealt with people and facilitated them in working through their social/psychological issues. Additionally, it could lead to counseling in schools, colleges, or social agencies. And so, I applied to the College of Education master's program in Educational Psychology and was accepted.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was the first day of the Introduction to Educational Psychology and there before the seated class was this skinny long-haired Jesus-looking dude who wore rose-colored glasses, a tie-dyed t-shirt, faded jeans, and leather water buffalo sandals. "Oh, my God, who let the hippy-dippy in?" I thought to myself in astonishment.

"Peace, folks, I'm Ian, your division chair and for some of you lucky souls, your academic advisor. All of you here are new students to the master's program and will be classmates for the next two years. Unlike our campus counterparts across the street who are into 'abby-normal' psychology, the treatment of symptoms, and clinical studies, we focus on helping people to achieve a greater sense of well‐being, cope with feeling 'bummed', and guiding them to deal with or fix what bothers them.

"This all starts with listening...listening to people...getting to know them, and helping them see what their problems are. We don't diagnosis their issues...we assist people to discover them. But as I said, it begins with 'listening"...not hearing. If you are listening, you will key in on and understand what is being said.

"To start you on your way, we will begin with a listening assignment. Listen carefully to my instructions...and if you have any questions, please just ask me to repeat what I said or to clarify it...that's part of the counseling process. Okay, here we go.

"I want everyone to turn around in your seat. Look at the person who is behind you...for those of you in the back row, you'll be looking at your classmate in the front row. Good. Now looking to the left, find the second person to the left of the person who is behind you. Those on the left side of the room, count from the right side of the room. Does everyone have a classmate identified? Good. Stand up, make your way towards your identified classmate, and stand next to them without saying a word.

"This is your assignment partner. You need to listen to him or her as they tell you about him/herself. You have from the moment I walk out of this room until we meet again on Wednesday which includes an hour-laboratory period attached to it, to learn and understand your partner.

"You will then make a three-minute presentation, no-more-no-less, as to whom your partner is. Understand that I don't mean the run-of-the-mill life story...I mean that you should tell us about what makes your partner tick...his/her fears or problems...and the possible factors in his/her life that contributed to such issues. Your grade will be dependent on your partner's validation and your ability to respond to questions from the class. Are there any questions? Good, I think I will have an early lunch and extra beer down at the pizza parlor. See you on Wednesday."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Her name was Sharon Sasaki, and I found her classic Japanese look appealing. Her willowy five-foot-two form was tastefully clad in a simple blouse, a pleated skirt with a hemline that ended several inches above her knees, and wedges for her feet. With modest breasts and hips, she was exuded an ultra-femininity that was highlighted with a certain grace of movement, a demure personality, and a certain acquiescence of me as her partner. When she spoke, it was with a soft, melodic, and caring undertone. Sharon was the epitome of what was missing in the women of the day.

As Sharon shared her life, I quickly discovered her persona was in large part due to being born and raised in Japan. Her father who was from Hawaii, was a World War II veteran who now served as a government civil service interpreter for the United States Army in Japan. With her family residing on a major Army camp, she attended the Department of Defense school along with the dependents of military and government employees, and as such, could relate to my military life and duty.

"Growing up, I had some 'anxiety issues' that I will not elaborate on at this time other than to say that I did not quite fit in and felt rather insecure about myself. Thank goodness I had a strong and old-fashioned father who was the pillar of the family and calmly told me not to dwell on my misfortune. My mother was a Japanese national whom he met and married when he began his translator career. As a housewife, she catered to my father and raised me as a Japanese girl should be. My insecurities were soothed by immersing myself in the culture of my mother's native country. This entailed language lessons until I was fluent in Japanese, flower arrangement, cooking lessons, and the all, important Zen-like tea ceremony."

I further discovered that one of Sharon's anxieties was that she suffered the same fate as me when it came to the state's University. Stripped of her customary world, she desperately sought to blend in and belong; however, she just did not fit in. The loud protests and ardent advocacy grated against her gentle upbringing and acquiescent nature. Despite the harsh rebuke from her female counterparts, Sharon could not adopt the women's libber attitude or mannerism.

"No proper Japanese woman would speak out and demand equality with a man much less leave the house without a bra."

I was considering asking her out when my hopes were dashed when Sharon mentioned, "I have sought a masculine figure to be my anchor like my father was to my mother. However, although I have had boyfriends and am not averse to intimate relations, I have difficulties coping with today's concept of free love. I have suffered disappointment that my various boyfriends were adamant against commitment.

"My current boyfriend, Mark," she whispered as she blushed, "loves my commitment to him...me not to see other men...to being available whenever he wished to see me...and my willingness to 'pillow'... hmmm, to be sexually intimate. But when I ask for his return of affection and commitment, all he says is that he wants to 'play it by ear' and doesn't want to be 'tied down' by a long-term relationship. It is so sad that I am so undesirable and unworthy in his eyes.

"But enough about me, what about you, Clifford?"

When it came time for me to share, I was amazed at how Sharon skillfully and easily lanced long-festering boils within me about Vietnam. I was stunned at how I share the bitter harassment I endured by my fellow comrades because I was of Asian descent; what it was like to crawl into a dark tunnel complex looking for the enemy around the next bend; and feeling the fear, panic, and horror when I fired my pistol, killing my enemy.

I shared with her that although I had been stationed for a little over a year in 'Nam, it was as if time and the world had passed me by when I returned to Hawaii. I spoke of my social isolation, my subsequent frustration with the few women in my life, and my yearning for the much simpler and more old-style life that I once knew.

"It would seem, Clifford, that we were meant to find each other for we are kindred souls. We both do not seem to fit in the world around us and are looking for someone special in our lives. We are like leaves floating together in a stream of Life."

"Hmmm, I never thought of it that way. As they say, we will have to just go with the flow while we're together."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Wednesday rolled around, I suggested to Sharon that we volunteer to go first since there would be nothing to compare us against. While Sharon nodded, I succinctly summarized her formative years and briefly touched upon her childhood insecurities. I share the conflicts that she incurred when trying to adapt to her upbringing to her current situation. I spoke of her need to belong without divulging the intimate details of her failed love life.

Sharon in return focused on my 'Nam in-country revelations, the horrors of war that still disturb me, and issues readjusting to how the world had changed in the time that I was gone. This, of course, brought a slew of classmate inquires ranging from what did I think of the Vietnam War, why did I go, and what did I do there? A guy whom I had seen at war protests rudely asked, "So, Cliff, what was it like to kill another human being?"

I merely said, "In the jungle and especially in the tunnels, t was a matter of who would be killed first. If he...Charlie Kong...recovered from his surprise and grabbed his nearby AK-47, he would have shot me dead without any hesitation. As it was, I beat him to the punch and killed him, pure and simple. I took no delight in doing so or my high kill rate. It was just something that I needed to do to survive. Still...I am haunted today by the look on the face of my enemy before I blew it away...and felt his brains and blood splatter on me." Needless to say, this graphic life-death situation alarmed our classmates to no end because it was a real-world possibility that none of them had ever experienced.

Ian just shook his head before muttering, "That was heavy, dude. I don't agree with the war, but I can't say that I would do anything different from what you did if I were in your boots. Sharon and Cliff, it is readily apparent that the two of you listened to each other. It goes without saying that you've set a high bar for your classmates to meet. Good job."

It was then that I felt Sharon's arm around my waist as mine slipped over her shoulder. As we hugged, I didn't know where we were going but felt that this was the start of something special.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Throughout our graduate program, Sharon and I became a close team, studying together, collaborating on projects, and critiquing each other's term papers. In the process of doing so, we became steadfast friends who when not with our significant other were hanging with each other, sharing a coffee in the morning, pizza over lunch, or some sushi to celebrate. With someone special like Sharon in my life, my demons slowly vanished, and the same went for her.

Much of my comfort came with the acceptance of Sharon's firm belief in karma and the cycle of rebirth until all debts had been repaid and enlightenment achieved. When I commented that I had a shitload of lives to relive to pay for the deaths at my hand, Sharon just quietly said, "Good intention and deeds that help others who are in need can work towards balancing the scales. If we do not it in this life, remember that we will have many more lifetimes to atone for our transgressions or hurt that we may have inflicted upon others."

Sharon taught me body pressure points and the massage that was intrinsic to her Japanese culture, and we shared a definite "skinship" (in those days was called "touchy-feely-ness") that spoke that we were more than just friends. Gradually we became confidants who openly shared every aspect of our personal lives especially our romantic ups and downs.

"Oh, Clifford," whimpered Sharon as she turned her face into my shoulder, "Mark has been stringing me along...using me! And can you believe that he was actually upset when I found out that he has a fiancée? And worse of all, he had planned to continue 'bedding' me even after he got married! Oh, I'm so confused. What should I do?"

I held Sharon to me while gently kissing her forehead. I had learned that there were times to say nothing was better than to say something right away. Comforting her by stroking her back, I let Sharon cry herself out until she was ready to listen to me. As I held her, it dawned on me that I had come to love the slight scent of her rose attar that she often used, the feel of her lithe body molding to mine within my embrace, and just being there for her.

"Sharon, you know that this is not going to get any better," I soothingly whispered. "Mark is a wolf in sheep's clothing...he'll never change and will always seek to take advantage of your accommodating nature."

"Oh, Clifford, why can I not find someone like you? Someone who is there for me...and for more than just sex?"

"That, my dear, is because they broke the fricking mold after they made me. Besides, why look for someone like me when you already have me? Look. I know that until now we have missed each other...you were with Mark and I was traipsing through a few dismal affairs. Come on, Sharon, you know we love each other as good friends and confidants. You want to end your relationship with Mark and I'm not dating anyone at this time. Why don't we take that next step in our relationship?"

"Oh, no, Clifford, if we did so and did not make it, what would I do?" questioned Sharon as tears flowed down her high cheeks. "I would have lost my best friend and my one and only confidant. I do not know if I could risk that..."

Embracing Sharon, I whispered in her ear, "Shush...don't think like that. Why don't you focus on yourself and getting rid of your asshole Mark? Don't worry about us or for that matter, me. I will be here for you no matter what."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Clifford! What are you doing? Studying? Oooh, I need to see you badly! What happened? Is it about Mark? Yes! His fiancée found out about me and confronted me, calling me a filthy Jap whore and telling me to stay away from her man! I need you to help me figure out things. I know it is late but please, Clifford."