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 margins
Not appropriate for school
but 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."
