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Akemi
by Peter Simon
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They embraced just before midnight,
their two bodies illuminated only by the silken light of the moon
and the stars. An air raid siren wailed in the distance, signaling
the menace of airborne dangers and lethal machines. But within the
close quarters of the tatami mat-lined room, the battle was far
more personal
“In the morning, I will die,” said Kenji, stepping away from the
shapely woman before him. His voice was formal, as taut and stiff
as the starched collar of his military flight suit. “I will go
back to Chiran Airfield. I will climb into my plane. I will hurtle
myself into a battleship, one of those big American monsters that
threaten our empire, our Japan.”
“Shush,” said Akemi. She reached out and grasped the man’s
clothing, parting the zippered top. His tanned skin reflected the
pale moonlight and shone like fine porcelain. “Outside of this
room, in the light of day, you are Lieutenant Kenji Tanaka, the
master pilot of the Japanese Imperial Air Force. A kamikaze made
flesh. But in here, you are my lover.”
Kenji merely grunted, unsure of what to say. Trying to marshal his
thoughts, he opened his mouth, and then froze. Akemi’s tongue
slowly traveled across his chest, exploring its hardened contours.
“I should…I should really leave now,” he said. His voice quivered
and sounded hesitant, like a small child asking for permission to
leave the dinner table. “It’s against regulations for me to even
be here, on the night before an attack.”
Akemi smiled and then continued her meander across Kenji’s body,
saying nothing. Her tongue found his nipples and began to move in
slow circles.
I must return…to…the…pilots’…barracks.” Kenji’s words punctured
the air now in tremulous bursts.
Akemi chuckled and then placed her hands on Kenji’s waist.
Reaching down, he touched his special place, there, and felt his
hard eagerness through the fabric. She stroked him gently, feeling
the tension grow through the fabric of his flight pants.
Kenji gasped with pleasure, but then seemed to regain control of
himself. “Woman,” Kenji said, “I have a duty to fulfill.” He
breathed heavily. “I must prepare myself for sacrifice. Don’t you
think that a country and an emperor are worth dying for?”
Akemi’s rebuttal was swift and personal. She answered in the most
poignant way she knew, with the most persuasive means she had at
her disposal: her hair, her skin, and her passion.
“Do you want this?” Akemi asked. Her light summer clothing, her
yukata, made a splash of color on the floor. Akemi’s nude body
stood in a lush pose before him, full of lush curves and tempting
secrets. Her eyes shone brightly, moist lashes winking demurely in
the moonlight. Her pert breasts were thrust impertinently in
Kenji’s direction, surmounted with dark nipples the color of sweet
dark chocolate. Her mouth was soft and smooth and half-open. Long
hair as rich as velvet framed her face.
Kenji tried to divert his mind from temptation and thought of
flight plans, fuel consumption rates, weather reports, and attack
vectors. He willed his brain to think of his duty tomorrow, his
mortality.
But it was not possible.
Surrendering, he reached out and touched Akemi’s skin. It was soft
and smelled of lilacs and soap and fresh summer air. Akemi’s eager
hands undressed him. Kenji allowed her to pull him down to the
floor. Their lips and fingers meshed. Without thought, Kenji
reached around her body and caressed her buttocks, gently cupping
one cheek and then the other. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.
Akemi smiled. When naked, she knew her potency. She pulled Kenji’s
hand to the soft, silken patch between her legs. Her pussy was
very wet, like spring grass moistened by early morning dew.
Automatically, without thought, Kenji’s fingers parted the secret
aperture there and felt the warm slickness within.
Akemi moaned and arched her back, thrusting herself against
Kenji’s body. She urged his fingers deeper within her wetness. Her
breasts rubbed and brushed against his chest. “Take me,” she said.
“I want to feel you.” Akemi’s tongue found his clavicle, staked a
claim there.
Kenji parted Akemi’s legs, then paused, completely in thrall to
his passions. Akemi shivered, a delicious wave of pleasure causing
her breasts to tremble. His mouth touched her neck, then her
breasts.
A cry escaped from Akemi’s lips when Kenji entered her.
They made love slowly, languidly, breathing deeply to inhale each
other’s essence. To Akemi, it seemed as if Kenji’s body were
beginning to melt, his body slowly beginning to mold itself to
hers. In control, she took pleasure and then shared it. But
always, she stopped Kenji before he could achieve release,
measuring their passions and then extending them.
In time, their lovemaking took on the quality of a long caress.
Kenji rocked his hips, first pushing, then pulling his penis out
of Akemi in a gentle dance. Then they would pause and rest and
gaze languidly in each other’s eyes. But always, Akemi would end
their brief respites, wetting her sex with a licked hand and
pulling Kenji back into her.
Their lovemaking went on like this for hours.
It was the morning that finally interrupted their movements, a
slow, mounting explosion of scarlet rays that tugged the unwilling
lovers back to earth. In the distance, an airplane engine began to
cough, then finally catch. The low insistent drone invaded the
room, a portent of metal and hard shapes and barking calls.
Akemi felt Kenji’s body swiftly go rigid, then tense. No longer
were his movements slow and measured. His hips began to buck and
move with a factory machine’s insistence, a choreographed march to
a foreordained conclusion. Already, Kenji’s eyes began wander from
his lover’s body, to the flying uniform and boots he had cast in
the corner, to the door that led out of the room. Akemi saw Kenji
open his mouth, as if to mouth some word of duty or regret.
It was then that Akemi chose to make one last stand.
“Not yet,” she said. Akemi pulled Kenji’s head down to her breast,
guiding his mouth onto her insistent nipples. Her whispered words
were emphatic, a lover’s order that seemed to glue Kenji’s lips to
her body before they could speak.
“Not just yet.” Akemi stroked her lover’s hair. She saw the
muscles on his back ripple back and forth between tension and
relaxation.
“Not just yet.” The whispered words hung in the moist summer air,
almost coating the skin. She tried to channel the quivering,
almost frightening energy that quivered above her, felt the penis
strain for release. She sighed and fixed the moment in her mind.
And, for one beautiful, immeasurable moment, succeeded in holding
back the advance of time. |
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