The Stage

The Stage

for Kinky

She was either insane or insanely manipulative; that I could take on faith. She (and indeed, she

was

a she; there was a femininity to her that a man could not replicate) was a seeming quagmire of contradictions as well. A flirt and a floozy, a jaded 20 year old tomboy, a

bushido

practicing tigress, a pitiless mercenary, a Soapland volunteer, a kook and crackpot, a wounded child-woman, a daddy's girl, a swinger, a Japanese Anais Nin on acid, Murasaki Shikebu in Shibuya S&M club latex, a

shikan

teaser on trains, a daydreamer, a fantasizer, leader of her own coterie, and exhibitionist and narcissist, her own greatest voyeur..

Her intellect was never in doubt, and she'd use it to disarm others; to keep them off base, to protect the space around her that she found both so reassuring and confining.

She was also dangerous and careless, and could only lead to trouble. About that, I had no illusions. Each step closer would bring me closer to the heat, like a moth to a lightbulb, and she'd not only singe my wings, but pick my wallet as I fell, mortally wounded to earth. She was capable of murder; probably the thought delighted her. But it was greater than a mortal peril she posed; indeed, she inspired a certain madness in men,a hopeless, debilitating lust that quickly consumed them, ate them alive.

Was there pity in her eyes? I doubted it, before having ever seen her. But she was also a glorious accident of nature; her beauty and guile a sweeter siren and more compelling lure and trap than any other.

The mid summer air was languid and warm in Kabukicho; salarymen stumbled along Yasukuni Doori liquored up and in search of their favorite hostess club, blond Yanki boys incongruously clad in Armani suits line the walkway in front of the cabarets and massage parlors whispering into cellphones, Iranians selling phone cards, yakuza offering Chinese girls to suckerish looking tourists. The aroma was unmistakably Shinjuku; ramen and beer, with a faint urine afterscent. After all these years, nothing had changed, or at least nothing

much

. It was still trashy and cheap, threatening and edgy, drunken and debauched.

God love it. For if she were going to rob my soul, I couldn't have chosen a better locale.

Why she had even agreed to come was yet another of her serial enigmas. Not that it was easy to talk her into it; she thought I was weak, thought I was immature, thought I was sensually deprived. It was probably the utter randomness of the encounter that appealed to her more than any intrinsic charm an my part. Sex with a stranger, randomly generated by a computer, randomly selected like a number on a roulette table, a fish from the ocean. Less personal than a blow from one of the Thai hookers lurking in the shadows of the hotel row.

In fact, I knew not her name, had not seen her face. She went by the name Kinky, a misnomer I thought, as her hobbies had transcended any appropriate word or phrase. So, she was just Kinky. I wasn't even sure she would really show up until she did, an hour late, providing neither apology nor alibi.

Nor did she need to. In the neon bathed avenue, below the enormous SONY screen, tinted in the colors of the electrified night, she was every bit as beautiful as I had imagined. Her long raven hair shone in the headlights of the passing taxis, her dark brown eyes almost translucent. She looked at me silently, studying my face, appraising, calculating.

Then, with a shrug that suggested nothing more than "you'll do", she took me by the hand. Her hand was cool but not cold, her grasp light but not limp. And she led me towards the throbbing heart of the night district.

I had expected her to lead me to one of the nearby love hotels, or, more likely, the Park Hyatt or some other plush pleasuredome, but instead she led me, still in utter silence through a darkened alley, lit only by a single purple lightbulb over an unmarked steel door.

As we approached the doorstep, the door swung open, and a couple of salarymen bumbled out, a heavy stench of tobacco and alcohol on their breath. Behind them emerged whom I presumed to be the bouncer, a 40-ish crew-cut type with a barrel chest and a streethardened face.

"No foreigners!", he bellowed at me immediately, as soon as he caught my eye. "Private club!", he barked in heavily accented English.

Kinky then whispered something to the man and his demeanor changed completely. He gave Kinky an embrace that suggested more than just a casual aquaintence, and then he looked at me and nodded. "OK" he said, giving the same little salute the cabdrivers give me in Tokyo. "No problem!", he added, giving

me

a little leer.

Inside, the corridor was pitch black. We felt our way along the wall until we came to another door, and then Kinky spoke her only words to me of the evening.

"Now we shall see if you understand what exhibitionism really is about".

I had not time to ponder her statement, because as she opened the door and stepped through, leading me by the arm, a smattering applause assaulted me from all sides; we were standing upon a stage.

The scent of sex was musty in the air. I couldn't see the audience through the unrelenting spotlights, but could make out the sounds of both male and female patrons. And we, Kinki and I, were the next performers.

It was at that moment, a certain understanding began to foment in the recesses of my mind. This was to be my final lesson—Kinky really

was

the greatest teacher of them all.

And I looked to her and saw her looking back at me sternly, but not unkindly. I realized that it was her, not the audience, who would be the final judge of my accidental studies. And if I were to let her down, more than just an opportunity would be wasted.

And for some reason I found myself becoming aroused, intensely, almost painfully. The audience hushed as we stood before them. And I realized, Kinky would think me nothing more than a loser were I not to take the lead she was now relinquishing.

So I took her in my arms and embraced her, tightly, roughly. I bent forward to kiss her, and she parted her lips obligingly, but as our tongues met for the first time, hers cool to mine, something happened.

It was as if something that had been rendered apart centuries past had somehow reunited. It was a vague feeling, but an unmistakably passionate one, and she must have felt it too, because our kisses immediately became more seeking, more probing, more desperate. Still clothed, we fell upon the mattress on the stage, kissing, groping, caressing and giggling, and I felt her embrace grow tighter around me, felt her breathing begin to speed, and all reason and logic seemed to dissipate like the smoke in the air.

I'm not sure how we got naked, or who got naked first; I just remember a sudden animalike mutual pawing and clawing. A flash of breast, an arm exposed, a foot, a belly. I felt her cool hand grasping the circumference of my engorged cock, and she literally rolled me upon my back with her cockhold.

I felt my steeple scrape the sky, tall and proud, erect for my Kinky, a healthy American cock on display for all to see. With the room spinning around us, I felt her tongue begin to play upon it, until her mouth, slick with saliva was taking me in to the root.

It would have been my dying wish to lie there for hours, feeling Kinky stoke my chest as she worked my cock, feeling a torrent of hot semen pass between her sexy lips. But, instead, I hoisted her leg over my shoulder, so that we were locked into a perfect sixty-nine, and her elegantly manicured quim hovered above my eager tongue.

To describe her taste as like a burgundy wine would do her a grave injustice. Her musky nectar seemed like the ultimate elixir, the missing ingredient from my own composition, and I dove in deep and greedily. There was utter silence except for the sounds of sex, slurps and sucks and moans and sighs.

Her clit was as hard as a diamond, and it was unusually large and sensitive. I found that the most delicate of tongueplay upon her sacred spot would send her into little spasms that sent ripples along her flexible spine. Her ass, without doubt the most perfect I had seen, shone like the moon in the spotlight, as I felt my face become drenched with her juices.

Our bodies had become slick with sweat in the stuffy room, and the slickness added to our motion, until it felt as though my entire body had become as eroticized as my penis, still wetly engulfed by her ravenous mouth. It seemed as though all reason had gone, as though our sex was the All, that our conjoinment was the only thing that could possibly matter at all.

And as I teased her clit with little circular motions of my tongue, I could feel her spasms give way to shudders, and snuggly her thighs clenched tightly about my neck, her pussy buried into my face, and a floodgate opened. Her moans, which had sounded so far in the distance now cried loudly and soundly, I felt her cumming in torrents upon my willing face, and I felt a wellspring of love erupt from my heart. How long I had dreamed of hearing Kinky's love cry, how honored I was to hear it.

And I could bear it no longer; as her thighs loosened their grip on my head, I slid around 180 degrees, and pointed my dagger at her now gaping and soggy pussy. She thrust the whole weight of her body down upon it, until I could feel the head of my prick against her uterus. How lovely the fruit of our mating would be, I thought idly for a moment, as Kinky rode my shaft. How much this moment meant.

And as her moans resumed, and the speed of her gyrations increased I realized the moment had come, that we would release our energy together, into each other, and that would forever make us a part of each other. Faster and harder she rode, and I pumped upward like a crazed man.

And our sex reached its crescendo pitch, our moans giving way to wails, and I could feel her cunt holding my tool in a vicegrip and we exploded, noisily, copiously, my hot piston instantly filling her and overflowing, her love juice, as hot as urine cascading upon my groin. All time had stopped, all meaning lost meaning, perfection had been reached and exceeded. Panting like dogs, we collapsed beside each other. And she planted the tendersit of little kisses upon my sweaty brow.

Were it not for a sudden roar of applause, I suppose I could have died right then, so stellar was my bliss. I turned to face her, to see her sexy, sweet face glistening in the light, to smell her sultry breath. And she looked beautiful, there. And I felt so grateful.