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This is just fiction, please don't take it too seriously. All characters are 18 or older
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My name is Miyoko Tamura. I'm a 45-year-old wife and mother from Yokohama, Japan. About 5 years ago my husband was transferred to America, so our whole family (him, me, and our teenage son Takeshi) all became immigrants. We had been living the American dream since then, but my son found it hard to adjust. He was 13 when we first came here, and he's now 18 in his last year of high school, but it's still very hard for him to fit in and make friends at school.
Specifically, he was getting bullied. Takeshi had made few friends since coming to America. And in high school, things had only gotten worse. The other kids had gotten meaner every year. Apparently there was this one kid, Mike, a 19-year-old senior who had been held back a year, who was now so violent and aggressive that Takeshi was afraid to come to school.
That's why I found myself seated in the school's guidance counselor office one day. The guidance counselor was a very nice, optimistic woman who thought that if I sat down face-to-face with my son's bully, I could make him see that my son was a human being who deserved respect. I doubted that this plan would work, but I decided to give it a try since I didn't really have anything to lose by coming in anyway.
The guidance counselor (a large blonde woman in her 50s) was seated across the desk from me. We spent a few minutes making idle chit-chat about school life while we waited for the other student to come to the office.
The door opened. In came what I first took be another teacher. He certainly looked like an adult man! He was 180cm tall and heavy with muscle. He was wearing jeans and a tight white shirt that really showed off his chest muscles. He also had black hair, neatly slicked back, and a little bit of beard stubble.
"Hello Mike. Thanks for coming in," said the guidance counselor. "Please sit down next to Mrs. Tamura."
Mike? She called him by his first name? That's when I realized that this wasn't a teacher- this was the student who had been bullying my son! He was not only much larger than my son, but appeared much more mature.
"Hello Mrs. Tamura," he said, and sat down next to me. Then he brazenly looked down at my chest! OK, maybe he wasn't really all that mature.
The guidance counselor gave a nice little speech about being respectful and kind towards your fellow students. Unfortunately it was also rather boring. Frankly even I found it hard to pay attention. I watched Mike instead, who was not even pretending to pay attention. He was looking all around the room instead- at the walls, then my face, then the desk, then my boobs, then the guidance counselor, then my legs.
I had put on a nice grey skirtsuit to make a good impression, which I only then realized might have been a little too revealing. It wasn't slutty or anything, it was just fashionable to show a tiny hint of cleavage and leg. But apparently even that tiny bit was enough to get the attention of Mike.
I guess I should have been offended, but I wasn't. Mike was just a 18-year-old bully amped up on testosterone. The same hormones that made him physically aggressive would also give him a burning sex drive. That was natural. I would just have to find a way to get past those hormones and reach his brain. I had overcome many obstacles for the sake of my son, and Mike was just the latest challenge to solve.
The counselor seemed to be wrapping up her speech. I could tell it had made no impression on Mike, so I decided to try a more direct appeal.
"Would you mind if I had a moment alone with Mike?" I asked the counselor. "I want to speak to him one-on-one."
"Of course!" she said. "That's a great idea! I'll give you two the office for a bit. Just let me know if you need me, OK?"
She left the room. Mike didn't even glance at her as she left- he kept his attention on me.
I decided to be direct. "Mike, why do you hurt my son?" I asked.
He looked away from me. "Now that's a loaded question," he said.
"It is? Why?" I was confused by his response.
"Well, you've prejudged me. You think I'm this evil bully who tortures your son, right?" He looked me straight in the eyes as he said this. "There's no way I can come back from that. No matter what answer I give, you're going to hate me."
"I wouldn't hate you unless you keep hurting me son. I just want to understand you better." That was the truth.
"How about a deal," he said. "Tell me a little about yourself, first. That way I can understand YOU better. Than I'll tell you about me, and we can understand each other as equals."
"Fine. What do you want to know about me?"
He paused for a second to think. "What's your name? Your first name, I mean."
"It's Miyoko," I answered.
"Miyoko. That's a nice name. You came from Japan, right?"
"Yes. From a city called Yokohama. I moved here with my family five years ago, for my husband's job."
"How long have you been married?" he asked.
"Almost 20 years now. We were also a couple before that."
"20 years, wow. That's a long time. And all that time... no one else?"
I found myself getting embarrassed. It was a little odd to be talking about my own romantic history with this young guy I'd just met.
"No. No one else. Just my husband. Do you understand me now? My family is very important to me."
"Yeah, I get that." He nodded. "Just one other thing though."
"Oh?"
He grinned. "What's your cup size?"
The nerve of this punk! Had he really just asked me that? It had been a long time since anyone had sexually harassed me, and I certainly wasn't expecting it from some high school student. Maybe because it was unexpected that I wasn't prepared, or maybe it was his air of confidence. I've always had a submissive streak to men who are confident. I found myself answering.
"B cup."
"B cup huh?" His gaze went down to my breasts. "Yeah, looks like you've got a little something there. Not too big, but enough to fill your hands, right? I like it."
"Um, yes." I decided to change the topic. "Now will you answer my questions?"
"Certainly. What do you want to know?"
There was really only one thing I wanted to know. "Why do you hurt my son? Is it it fun for you? Or do you just hate him? Are you prejudiced against Asians?"
He paused, and seemed to be thinking it over carefully. "No, it's not a race thing. And I try not to hurt him too much. But I have admit it is fun for me. It just gives me a thrill, you know?"