And now for something very different..
Hope you enjoy it!
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I don't really know how to start so I guess with my name would be good, perhaps the rest will follow, the words will maybe tumble from my fingers as I write this down.
My name is Mikazuki, everyone calls me Miki. Only my mum called me Mikazuki and she's been dead for five years now.
Two years ago I moved to England, I couldn't stay in Japan anymore. It didn't feel like home. I never knew my dad, mum said that she met him in a bar one night, went back to her house with him and was very quickly pregnant.
I was the result.
Mum was always quite slender, but coming from the North Coast she was long limbed and more voluptuous than those who came from towns in the South.
Even when she turned fifty five she still looked, and acted, much younger.
It would be fair to say that I took after her in many ways.
From my father all I inherited was my green eyes and a reddish tint to my hair in the sunshine.
My mother died after her fifty fifth birthday, cancer they said.
When she died I was eighteen, I inherited the small flat she owned and a healthy amount of money she had put aside.
I used that money to put myself through university but I had to hold down a weekend job as well.
After graduation I applied with the British consulate to move to England and find my father.
Mother had many letters from him so I had proof he was my father.
Permission was granted and so I moved.
My little flat was rented out so I would still have a small income each month.
I quickly settled in to where I lived in London.
A small suburb called Catford.
My flat there is a "new build", it over looks a park and a cemetery. The cemetery doesn't bother me, sometimes I like to sit on my balcony and look out across green and grey lines of grass and headstone. It is not to dissimilar to the cemeteries back home.
Can I really call it home?
Sometimes the big black birds, the crows, sing as they dance from one headstone to another, looking for something to eat dropped by visitors.
I've left food for them before, nuts in shells, mealworms in a plastic pot and once some little silver fish still with their heads and tails on.
Fry I think they are called.
I like to think that maybe sometimes the songs they sing are for me, giving me something back for the food they have seen me leave for them.
Sometimes I like to wander the cemetery at dusk with my old camera. It was my mother's, she used to take pictures for a newspaper when she was my age.
We both loved to wander the beach together, taking pictures of the sand and sea, of things we found washed up on the shore.
The camera I think is important in this story.
My new build flat has two bedrooms, but I live on my own. The second bedroom I turned into a dark room, painting over the windows and things around the door to stop any light getting in.
I was in there, with the red light on like you see in the movies, developing my most recent pictures from the weekend just passed.
One by one, from chemical bath to chemical bath, hanging them up to dry.
I had maybe twenty five pictures hanging up in the room, just one roll of the three I'd used. The other two were waiting to be developed.
As I hung up the last picture I stopped to stare at it. In the dim light of room a face stood out in the picture. Standing against a statue at the back of the cemetery, where bushes were over grown and spilling over onto the pathway, was some one..
When I took the picture I didn't recall anyone else there.
Perhaps I'd caught some stray funeral attendee, who was walking round after burying a loved one.
I couldn't see the face so well, it looked like they were smoking. Perhaps they were hiding from other people so they could smoke?
I pegged up the picture and set about rinsing out the tongs and trays, drying them slowly with a cloth.
Removing my plastic apron and rubber gloves, leaving them on the side next to the dry tongs and trays I finally opened the door, light flooded in, blinding me a moment, flashing orbs of light flying through my field of vision.
Blinking hard, tears forming in my eyes, I closed the door behind me.
I needed to be ready for work tomorrow, I worked in an office, filing reports for a large company. I'd be on my feet most of the day, starting at nine and finishing at four. I done this four days a week, Tuesday through to Friday. It topped up my small income from letting my own flat.
Walking down the hallway to the bathroom, loosening my blouse on the way, I looked at pictures that lined the walls, some of the pictures were coloured others were monochrome. I liked both styles equally.
One picture caught my eye, hanging a little uncentered. Streightening it up I looked at the woodland scene, shadows dappled by warm summer evening light, the sun low in the sky out of frame. A person walking behind the trees, dressed in a simple white shift, feet obscured by long grass.
Odd. I don't recall ever hanging this picture.
The woman in it was a stranger to me, long blonde hair covering her face as she walked through the background.
Blinking, eyes still stinging from the change of light from dark room to hallway I turned away from the picture and went in to the bathroom.
Stripping whilst the shower ran to the right temperature and stepping in the cubicle, closing the frosted glass door behind me.
The heat of the water was delicious, like a hot heavy rain falling hard onto me.
I stood there, body getting drenched, hair turning darker as the water struck it.
Leaning my head up, face first to the shower, eyes tightly shut.
For a few minutes I just relished in the water falling all over my body. Neck and shoulders unnotting in the flow.
Twenty minutes later and my hair was washed, as was the rest of me, and I turned off the shower, sliding open the door and reaching for the towel I'd left close by.
My hand touched the warm towel rail, but there was no towel.
Poking my head out of the shower I looked around for it, finding it a moment later.
It had fallen off the rail and sat cold on the floor. Stepping out carefully I bent over for it, picking it up with and giving my hair a quick dry off and wrapping it around my head, hair and towel twisted and piled up on top of my head.
My fluffy dressing gown hung on the back of the door and I slipped into it.
My dressing gown is light grey and long, it's got a cute hood that looks like a cat with big ears and a tail sewn on the back of it.
The hood wouldn't fit over the piled and twisted towel. So it sat down on my shoulders.
From the bathroom I went to the kitchen, flicking off the light as I went, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
The mirror was coated with condensation so all that really showed was the white blur of me with my lemon yellow towel on my head.
I didn't realise at first, the towel was around my shoulders in the mirror.
A trick of the light perhaps?
In the kitchen I made a coffee, black and sweet and wandered to the balcony door, opening it.
I'd spent longer than I thought in the dark room, night had fallen truly now.
Bland yellow street lights left pools where they stood, fighting against the on coming night time.
I unwound the towel, drying my hair off fully, the night was warm and I wouldn't catch a chill from doing it out on the balcony.
Sitting on a stool I'd brought out the night air was soft on my legs where my dressing gown had come loose at the front.
No other houses could see me up here on my balcony and I untied the belt of the gown, opening it at the front properly.
A cool breeze blew across my skin, in the distance a bird screeched, an owl maybe.
I closed my eyes, hair now mostly dry and finger combed the long strands until it was tidy once more.
As I leaned to one side my dressing gown slipped off my shoulder and down my arm, the air kissed my skin bringing up goosebumps.
I couldn't help but become aroused from the slow movement of the air over my skin. I shrugged off the other shoulder and slipped my arms out, a rising adrenaline rush of thrill.
Was it from the air kissing my skin or that I was naked, sitting on a stool on my balcony overlooking the cemetery that thrilled me so much?
No one would see me..
I brought a hand up to my mouth, kissing my fingertips, imagining for a moment that it was someone else's fingers I was kissing.
The fingertips roved from my mouth, my full lips naked of any lipstick, tracing along my jawline.
I shuddered, not tickling my self but something else stired inside of me.
With my eyes closed I imagined my unseen lover, their fingers tracing from my jawline down my neck, my skin so soft after the hot shower.
They traced the cleft between my collarbone and my breasts, a slight rasp of nails against my skin, down to my breasts properly, large and round, my nipples stiffened suddenly as they pinched one of them.
Then I felt a second hand on my body, in the flat of my tummy, rising up, cupping a breast before pinching the other nipple.
I moaned out loudly, I couldn't help it, with my eyes closed not seeing who my fantasy lover was, the one with hands so soft who cupped and stroked my breasts, toying with my nipples, soft breath blowing over them.
The hands drifted down from my breasts, touching lines across my tummy, blowing gently across my ribs. I felt a hand touch my thigh, another touch my knee.
I knew what they wanted and slowly opened my knees, the skin pulling gently apart where the warm night air had made my legs stick together just ever so slightly.
One hand stayed on my upper thigh, but the one on my knee drew along the inside, I couldn't help but shudder in pleasure from it.
My mind formed an image, golden haired, dressed in a white shift, long fingered hands that belonged to an artist, her face hidden by her golden hair, eyes always covered, the barest hint of a a mouth.
The hand stopped just shy of my intimate place, idling with circles on my inner thigh.
"Yes.." I whispered out into the night and the air kissed my skin again, the hand stopped with its idling and drew up the last few inches of my inner thigh.
I opened my legs a little further and the fingers caressed me, touching lightly across my most intimate place.
I moaned, sobbing quietly, as a finger eased into me, a rush of heat and desire coursing through me, but I couldn't open my eyes and see my fantasy lover otherwise they'd be gone, flying away on the breeze
The finger dipped into me, penetrating me before easing out and stroking along the cleft, teasing me, making me shiver as they touched me.
It dipped in again, bringing another sob from my lips, I was so hungry for them, I wanted them to use me, to make me cry out in excitement and joy. The finger pushed deeper, past one joint and the second. I could feel the finger inside me, undulating slowly, bringing more heat rushing through me. I could feel it curl and flex in me, over and over and over again...
The air kissed my inner thighs, a ripple of happiness flooded through me as my silent lover brought me closer and closer to my orgasm.
The finger eased out me, suddenly leaving me empty feeling, and a saltiness filled my mouth as the finger eased in to my mouth.
I could taste myself there, so warm and slightly bitter with strange aftertaste of citrus. My body wash I realised.
The finger worked back and forth in my mouth until it tasted of nothing and slowly the finger left my mouth, touching my lips as if to say "Shhh".
The wind kissed my naked body once again before I opened my eyes.
My lover was no where to be seen, as expected.
The gust of wind caught me by surprise, blowing my hair up and about, messing it up from the finger combing I'd given it.
Inside the flat there was a crash.
I leapt up, wrapping the dressing gown around me once again and rushed inside.
There on the hallway floor was a picture, fallen from the wall.
The glass in the frame had cracked, I picked up the frame and turned it over.
A woodland scene, sunlight dappled leaves and a woman with blonde hair dressed in white in the background...
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