The Blonde Samurai (15 page)

I looked into Shintaro’s eyes, approving, wanting, and my skin burned, then in the next instant I shivered, the promise of a red silk kimono offered to me to cover my nakedness heightening my desire for this insanity to continue. I questioned if my samurai would show toward me an extension of his reverence for the traditional rituals of Yoshiwara, yet knowing his warrior status dictated he lived life by his own code. I wondered what naughty games he played…

Bowing, the maids slipped flowing red silk kimonos over us, but left them untied so we could gaze upon each other’s nude polished bodies, our hunger for each other so ripe, our desire so strong, the tension between us was maddening. I wasn’t afraid. I could do nothing but surrender to him.

What happened next, dear lady reader, is one of the best-kept secrets in Yoshiwara, a tale never told until now, the players in this drama following the native tradition of denying or ignoring anything uncomfortable or unpleasant, but I shall personalize the event as it unfolded. I swear ’tis true: on this evening, this powerful samurai, that rare man with the resolve to do anything to uphold his moral code, a man with the
courage to do battle with the corrupt officials at the Imperial Court, ordered the gorgeous courtesan to leave—along with her two maids, the geisha and male servant—and not to return until morning.

We were alone.

The night I’d been dreaming of began.

We drank sake in small porcelain cups, me filling his cup, then him filling mine, both of us interacting in a rich, sensuous and cerebral ritual that was but a prelude to what happened next. I pray you will forgive me for the lack of words between us—we barely spoke, our need for each other so evident in our eyes. Intense longing swelled within me, but we didn’t kiss, since such playfulness was considered the tool of the courtesan. I sipped the warm rice wine, relaxing as he stroked me with a rare degree of concentration and sensitivity to my needs, taking time to play with my nipples, a moment so sensuous I thought I could never put a cup to my lips again without his fingers pinching my brown buds. Rolling his thumbs over my hard peaks then pulling on them, making me squirm, and manipulating them with the same care I would later discover he showed toward testing the sharpness of his blade.

I remained still when he massaged my earlobes then my breasts with an oil I recognized as jasmine, its lightness and delicate fragrance luring my senses with a promise yet to come. He rubbed it between my legs and around my throbbing pussy lips, delighting in teasing me, then he poured oil into my cupped palm, indicating I should drip oil on the head of his cock. I nodded then carefully rubbed it on the sensitive underside, then he pulled me closer, whispering to me. I followed where his eyes told me to go on his broad chest,
his thighs, his cock, our bodies heating up as we teased each other, emitting sweat scented with a veiled fragrance.

The air dragged heavy with our body heat, his mood softening, mine becoming feverish. Throats parched, I poured more sake for him and he brought it to his lips, watching me. He drank greedily, the wine drizzling down the sides of his mouth, then he eyed me across the cup, waiting for me to drink the wine he poured for me. Teasing, wanting, I, too, drank quickly, eager to see what would happen next, when he surprised me by snapping open a large gold fan. Playful, laughing, fanning himself as samurai do in a society where the art of being cool is genderless. I leaned in closer, offering my breasts for his touch. His eyes widened, then he rubbed my nipples with the fan, stinging them in a pleasant manner. I threw my head back, moaning, enjoying the sensation, wanting more. Giddy from the effects of the sake, I grabbed his fan and danced around him, slapping it across my buttocks, then rippling it over my pussy and teasing him mercilessly until he could bear no more. Speaking to me in a firm tone, he bade me lie down upon the silky white futon while he placed a pillow covered with shimmering gold silk under my head, its coolness soothing my flaming cheeks.

The real pleasure came when he parted my thighs and leaned over me, taking his time to observe me with a quality about him that transcended warrior and Occidental, but with a poetic sensitivity of the man himself. I jumped when he pulled on the light-colored hair on my pubic mound as if he were tugging on the strings of a lute, grinning at finding them so fine and silky yet wiry. I smiled back, then a daring idea came to me, inspired by a song I’d read about in the native works translated for me. Without shyness, I plucked three hairs from my pussy and presented them to him as a souvenir.

He laughed and I felt privileged to see a rare glimpse of emotion when his eyes softened, then he took my pubic hairs and wrapped them in a piece of red silk before sliding his fingers into me. It sets my teeth on edge as I write, thinking about his fingers probing me and though he found me tight, his touch intimate, he didn’t stop, but kept going, exploring without trepidation my burning clit, rubbing it back and forth, bending both his need and my desire to fulfill the passion etched on his face. I sighed when his fingers skimmed down lower to that piece of skin where pleasure rises to such heights I cannot explain it and probed at the tightness of my anus twitching and begging for penetration. I’d discovered this exquisite joy on my own, but it couldn’t compare to the intense erotic feelings it inspired in me when Shintaro used his tongue around my inner rim, then inserted his finger lubricated with a sweet-smelling oil into my anal hole. I experienced such intense sensations I buried my face into the silk futon, panting and gasping for breath. Be mindful, dear lady reader, that whatever words I write, whatever soft, sensual phrases I use, I cannot teach you the mysteries of the Orient if you do not let go of your aristocratic attitudes and insert your finger, a hairpin, a dildo,
anything
inside you to arouse you beyond words.

I existed only for this moment and what he gave me to drink heightened the feeling when he attempted to ease his way into me, my body resisting, but I was hot and wet. I raised up my hips to give him easier access to me, to thrust his cock into me. I kept repeating
dōzo
…please…him crouching between my legs…me panting, sweating…him grunting furiously and grabbing at my thighs…me pounding the futon with my fists when he slid his cock deep into me, my body raw and hurting when he broke through my virginal wall, but
I didn’t want him to stop. I had waited so long for this moment, this tearing of flesh to unite flesh, my body convulsing with utter pleasure, ignoring the pain as much as I could, hot tears stinging my eyes, but I couldn’t look at him.
I couldn’t.
What thoughts he had he closely guarded, as was his way. He showed me a deference I would not have expected, his voice reassuring as he slid his hands up over my rib cage and turned his attention back to my nipples, his touch meant to reassure me, his fingers twisting and teasing the engorged tips to stimulate me, to ease my journey. I placed my hands over his, holding them tight, letting him know I didn’t want him to stop. Deep inside my pussy began to contract, sucking his cock into me as wave after wave of pleasure claimed me, driving away the pain. It was only then I could look into his dark, brooding eyes. I saw a tenderness I never expected, for the meaning was clear without the barrier of words. What I saw was the promise of enchanted days and nights to come.

It was an aphrodisiac I could not resist.

A heaviness, a languor, held me captive to the warmth of silk where I lay. I felt myself floating, my senses numb, no feeling in my limbs when he picked me up and wrapped me, then my clothes, in the bedding of the courtesan, his eyes taking in the stains of blood upon the silk, but he showed no emotion. Then he carried me outside and down the long street past the Great Gate, past the willow tree, not stopping to speak to anyone. Were I in England with a roguish lover, an artist perhaps, I imagined he would paint me so that all who looked upon his creation would know he was in love with me. But I was not in London and he was not an artist but a samurai. No one would ever know of our indiscretion
since it was the way of this land to feign indifference to anything outside the circle of obligation.

My secret was safe.

Before he left me, Shintaro found a covered
kuruma
and made certain I was safely inside and speeding away from curious eyes. Huddled in the sumptuous bedding, an aching in my groin both pained and pleasured me for I was a virgin no more. Yet I harbored no illusion about what had happened in the brothel with my samurai. I was not of his world and in the days to follow, I came to think of myself as an exquisitely fashioned paper flower added to an imperfect chrysanthemum bush in the palace garden to heighten its symmetry. A blossom that lived in his magical realm yet would wither, not from incessant rains or a hot sun, but from a lack of nurturing.
When would I feel his arms around me again?
I was certain he wanted me as much as I hungered for him. I admit my imagination of what could be between us allowed me to trace our footsteps among the gods who inspired my dream of seeing him again.

But it remained that, dear lady reader, a dream.

I awakened each morning, thinking:
will I see him today?
Then I would dress, go to the palace even if I didn’t have an audience with the empress, walk through the gardens.
Nothing.
I dared to go back to Yoshiwara, though not disguised as a man, but when the cherry blossoms carried their fleeting hope on the breeze through the licensed quarters, a time when families and children frolicked, and courtesans showed off their sumptuous kimonos.

But I couldn’t find Shintaro. He had disappeared.

James’s man continued to follow me and my husband’s visits became less and less frequent, which I barely noticed. I was bathed in frustration, fear, worry.
What if I should become
pregnant?
Such thoughts brought warm tears to my eyes as soft as a baby’s skin, but I feared a child born of our union would be taken from me. I didn’t know whether to sigh or cry when my monthlies came, but still my heart ached for my samurai. Pray, I had to tell
someone.
I chose the only person I could trust.

Mr. Fawkes.

“Your act does not surprise me, Lady Carlton, only your frankness,” he told me when we were walking through the palace garden after taking tea with Her Majesty.

“You must find out what happened to him, Mr. Fawkes,” I pleaded with him. “Or I shall go mad.”

He took my hand and held it, something he’d never done before. “Shintaro is a great warrior and a man who has the courage to follow his own beliefs. Such thoughts don’t bode well with many in the mikado’s government who see him as a threat to their progress, considering his great influence with the emperor. He is nothing more than a rebel in their eyes.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Fawkes?”

“I fear trouble is brewing for him since he refused to obey the mikado’s law of forced conscription. His enemies at court will use that as an excuse to raise arms against him.” He spoke of the royal decree requiring all native men to serve time in the army. “To escape the law, rumor has it Shintaro has gone into hiding.”

“Hiding?” I asked, surprised. “
Where,
Mr. Fawkes, tell me,
please.
”

I could see the hesitation in his eyes, knowing if anyone found out, the price he’d pay for telling me.

“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Even if you find him, no outsider is welcome there.”

“He’ll see me, I know he will. You
must
tell me where he is.”

He looked away from me as if making up his mind. Finally, he said, “Recent reports indicate he has taken refuge in the mountains behind the treaty port of Kobé.”

“Then I shall go there.”

“No, your ladyship, you’re not of Shintaro’s world,” he said sternly. “You must give up this insane scheme to find him.”

“I can’t, Mr. Fawkes. I—I must see him again.”

“You don’t understand the way of the warrior. What you experienced that night in the pleasure quarters was nothing to him but—” He stopped, hesitant to say what was on his mind.

“Sex, Mr. Fawkes?” I said, arching an eyebrow. “Perhaps, but I have to find out for myself.”

“I know these samurai, Lady Carlton. They’re strong and noble and follow a course of chivalry we in the West don’t understand. Like many of his class, Shintaro doesn’t want to relinquish his samurai beliefs.”

“Would you, Mr. Fawkes?” I dared to ask him.

“The way of the warrior is not about blind obedience, milady, but about responsibility.” His face turned serious. “Are you ready to accept what comes if you leave your husband?”

“All I know is Shintaro has taught me what it means to be a woman. I
have
to find him.”

“And then?”

“That’s up to Shintaro, Mr. Fawkes, is it not?”

“Pack your bags, my dear wife,” James insisted, his eyes avoiding mine. “We’re leaving for London on the next steamer out of Yokohama.”

“I’m not going with you,” I said firmly.

“You
dare
to disobey your husband?”

“Ours is not a marriage in the true sense of the word, James. You have your women, I have my work at the Imperial Court. I can’t allow you to dissuade me from that,” I said, careful not to give myself away.

“I cannot believe I’m hearing my wife speak these words. You, who hated this pagan land, don’t wish to leave?”

“I have to keep watch over my father’s investment in the new railway line.” I remained silent about his pilfering. “Da’s instructed me to go to Ōzaka and report on the opening of the railway line to Kobé.”

It was a lie, but I needed an excuse to leave Tokio. I was determined to see Shintaro and warn him that he was in danger. And I shall be so bold as to add that I also wanted his cock in me. I’m not ashamed of my feelings, call them base if you must, my thoughts those of a sinner possessed, the fire inside me burning day and night, so intense were my feelings for him I would claw my way to him if I must.