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Sunflower
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Sunflower
by R. Mendosa
We have to hang around the base for a whole week before we are let
off. Fortunately, or unfortunately, we have a lot of clearing in to
do. In that first week, we don't do much of anything in our new
outfit. Usually, we report in the morning to let them know we are
there. Then, we take off walking, going everywhere on the base.
We trudge all over, miles, getting people to sign off our clearance
forms. It is hot and muggy. Occasional sprinkles cool us off, but
wrinkle our fatigue uniforms. I suppose that part of it is just
orientation. Some of the stuff is significant, like supply, where we
get our flight suits and equipment. But, most is candy-ass stuff, like
the Chaplain, and the Library, which are important, but don't have
much to do with doing our new job. We go to a verbal orientation also,
at the base theater, with a hundred or so other newcomers, where we
are briefed on a lot of military stuff as well as what to expect off
base. That gets us excited because that's where most of us want to go
- off base - and we pay attention to the talk about money exchange,
the black market, VD and other down-to-earth stuff.
We become members of the enlisted men's club. The Zanzibar, that's the
strange name of the club, offers us food, booze, and entertainment at
dirt-cheap prices. There is no age limit to drink. Actually, there is,
but it's eighteen, so in effect, for most GIs, there is no limit.
At the Zanzibar, we examine the girls that some of the other GIs bring
there as their dates. Some are nice looking; a few are knockouts;
those who wear kimonos I find especially interesting. Others are
strange; that is, I don't understand why anyone would want to be seen
with them. We wonder why anyone would date some of the really ugly
ones. But, we are young, except for Riddell, who is 26, and we want
beauties.
The Zanzibar proves to be a training ground for our drinking. We drink
almost every night the first week there, usually beginning around 5 or
6pm, after we are through for the day and showered up. But, because of
the eight hour time change, we usually do not last too long, at first,
and some of us fall asleep at the table, or just simply, we give up
and stumble blearily back to the barracks to sack out.
The barracks is not an attractive place. It has rooms on the bottom
floor for the titless WAFs, and for the aircrew members like we are
going to be. The rooms upstairs are larger, small bays really, where
mostly maintenance men live. All of us new guys are double-bunked into
a room with eight other guys, all flyers. It is a tight fit which
makes the Zanzibar an attractive alternative to our room, which is
good primarily for sleeping and card playing.
After a week, we receive our passes. We are jubilant. We head for
town. We try to follow the advice of the older guys, who tell us what
to expect from the "mooses," and what the prices of stuff was, and how
to deal with taxicabs, and what would be the best time to go downtown,
and other stuff. We don't pay too much attention as we discover.
When we arrive downtown, too early, about 7pm, and get out of the
cabs, after only a bumpy two-minute ride, we are overwhelmed by an
array of bars. Where to go first!?
There are bars almost everywhere. We walk up and down the streets,
discovering that the town, the GI part, runs out at the strange
looking train station. We had heard about street walkers before we
shipped overseas, but there aren't any here that we notice. There are
some girls hanging out around the entrances to some of the bars, but
those bars are the least attractive, and so are the girls. They all
seem to work for the bars, and are acting like shills, calling out to
us, "Welcome, GI," and "Come in, dozo," etc.
Fussa is about six blocks long and maybe three to four blocks wide.
Most of it is bars, and other small businesses that cater to GIs, like
restaurants, pawn shops, hotels. Reportedly, there are over 90 bars in
the town. In some parts of the town, the bars are adjacent, as many as
five or six bars, with nothing in between them but walls. The side
streets seem to be the most appealing, especially after we have walked
around for half an hour. The bars there look cleaner, newer, better
lighted, with some styling, with "atmosphere." We turn into an alley,
walking past bars named Metro, Doll, S-Bar, Sunflower, Raiders,
Sakura, and a couple of others. We choose the Sunflower.
We enter like a bashful gang, glancing here, staring there, looking
dumb. Our timidity is obvious. Several of the girls immediately
approach us and begin to cadge us for drinks. It is the first time
that I hear the soon-to-become very tiresome request, "Buy me drink."
By the time I leave Japan, almost three years later, I will be
repelled by that phrase.
But, for now, we have been instructed, by more experienced GIs, on how
to resist buying the girls drinks. Still, it is difficult not to buy a
drink. The obligation to buy a girl a drink is compelling. We know
that is the way they make their living. We are Americans; we are used
to paying for girls' stuff. And since our VO and waters cost only 100
yen, just 28 cents, it seems the right thing to do. Of course, when we
learn that the prices of girls' drinks are double to quadruple the
prices of our drinks, we quickly become cynical and learn that one has
to be selective.
The girls at the Sunflower are not all that attractive to me. There is
a dark girl that attaches herself to me right away. She seems nice
enough but she is not my idea of what I want in a Japanese girl. There
is a taller girl that Paul is interested in but she turns out to be
almost non-English speaking and that turns Paul off because I don't
think that he is much turned on by Japanese women.
The only girl that I am interested in, one about 5 feet at the most,
and probably less than 100 lbs, is paying attention to Barkley and I
am not going to contest him for a bar girl. But, she is cute, even
pretty. I like her looks. Her skin is flawless white; she wears a
one-piece yellow dress that flares out from the waist and tops off at
her knees. I make a mental note of her just in case Bark does not want
her.
With the Sunflower not looking so hot, most of the guys decide to try
another place. I say goodbye to the dark girl and go with them.
Paul, Kidder, Muller, Riddell and me peek in at the Raiders bar next
door. It is a dark little bar, but it is packed. The place is
clamorous. The GIs are boisterous. It is that kind of place, where men
talk like men - loud - and the women shriek. The Raiders is a
rectangular shaped room, with booths along the wall, immediately to
the right of the door and the bar, parallel to the booths taking up
the other side of the room. The mamasan behind the bar is a
disreputable looking thing with a rough, grating voice. It is a dive.
The Raiders girls are okay looking, but there are only six or seven
that I can see, most of them gathered around us. Muller gets quickly
attached to a dark, big-eyed, sweet looking smiling girl with flowing
hair down to her shoulder blades. Her name is Joanne, she says. Joanne
is about 5'2, 120, a little bit chubby, but she has womanly hips and
breasts. Again, I miss out on another girl that physically appeals to
me. I lack aggressiveness with women, I know. Kidder also gets
cornered by a nice looking girl who speaks reasonable English, leaving
the other three of us flying solo. Riddell seems more interested in
drinking beer than in pursuing girls, so Paul and I leave those three
there and we set out to roam other pastures.
We head back up the alley toward the main street. We pass the
Hideaway, a bar that Donovan reportedly frequented, and decide to
check it out. Donovan isn't there but a couple of the other guys from
our work section are. They greet us loudly, clapping us on the
shoulders, ordering beers for us, and introducing us to the mamasan,
who seems a very nice lady compared to the uncouth mamasan at the
Raiders. Paul and I drink a couple of beers in the Hideaway and then
we decide to explore some more. We had seen a bar across the street
called the Cest si Bon and make that our fourth choice of the evening.
When we enter the Cest si Bon, which is larger than the other three
bars we have been in, we hear the sounds of rhythm-and-blues. I have
not heard R&B like that since high school. The record is Jerry Ward's
Dominoes singing Have Mercy Baby. Immediately, I like the feeling that
it gives me. It is the appropriate music for the booze and broads
environment. More music follows. The selections continue to surprise
me. I hear Fats Domino, the Clovers, the Five Keys, Charles Brown,
Lloyd Price, Ray Charles, and on and on. How can an obviously white GI
bar have such "race" music in their collection? It is odd.
Despite the quality of the music, the records they are playing are
very worn and scratchy and the sound system is late 40's, non-hi-fi.
But, to my ears the raucous sounds are bliss and their scratchiness
adds to the lowdown atmosphere.
Paul and I settle in to drink and listen and bullshit until almost
ten-thirty, when the bar maid hollers out "last call." Paul decides
that he will head back to base; but, I tell him that I am going back
to the Sunflower to see the dark girl. It seems like my last hope.
I get in the door of the Sunflower in time to order a beer. The dark
girl is gone, but Barkley's girl, the pretty little thing with the
heart-shaped face and nice small shape with flaring hips in the yellow
dress approaches me and asks if I'll buy her a drink. That is all
right with me, so I buy. She drinks it quickly since it is just about
closing time.
Her name is Keiko, she says, which sounds like Kay-Ko to me. At
closing time, she tells me to wait outside.
I stroll out into the damp night, and watch the goings-on in the alley
while I wait. There are drunk GIs strolling and staggering all over;
some are trying to pick up the girls who are leaving the bars, and
about half, it seems, are succeeding. Other GIs are already
encumbered, some with girls as equally drunk as they are; some guys
are with downright pigs, but they are so drunk that they probably do
not care what the women look like. Keiko emerges, and alleviates my
anxiety, wondering if I was going to be stood up by a bar girl.
We go to a hotel. We have to take our shoes off at the front entrance.
Keiko, knowing she has a novice on her hands, instructs me. I hesitate
about leaving my shoes at the mercy of anyone who wants to take them,
but she assures me that they will be okay. I have not yet learned
about the honesty of Japanese people and continue to worry about my
shoes. Still, if worse came to worse, I will just walk back to base
without any shoes.
We put on slippers. Mine are too small, and my toes just barely
squeeze into them. But, we slipper-slide down the shiny lacquered
floor to our room. The mamasan leading us there opens the door and I
walk in onto a light brown matted floor. I hear Keiko saying something
about "tatami," and I notice that she is instructing me to remove my
slippers and leave them in the hallway. I am getting tired of removing
things from my feet but I do as I am told.
"You give mamasan 600 yen," Keiko orders me.
Fair enough, I think. I hand the mamasan six one-hundred yen notes;
she bows to me and backs out of the room.
Then Keiko asks me, "You give me two thousand yen."
I am taken aback because I remember what Donovan had said, so
emphatically: "The price of pussy is fifteen hundred yen, no more, no
less." But, I am here and he isn't. I reach for my wallet and pull out
two one-thousand yen bills. I give them to her and she puts them in
her purse. Well, I am five hundred over, but that's not even a couple
of bucks, so why worry?
There are two light kimonos and two thin small towels waiting for us
on the bed on the floor. I am not interested in them and after quickly
disrobing, I climb onto the bedding and wait for Keiko. She doesn't
come to bed. Instead, after taking off all of her clothes, she puts on
a kimono over a luscious young body, takes the towels and hands me the
other kimono. Again, another ritual! But, "when in Rome." I follow my
new dream girl down the hall.
We enter a steam filled room with a sunken bath and a wooden bucket on
the floor. Keiko takes off her kimono and stands there totally naked
in front of me. She exhibits no particular awareness of her nudity and
steps over to me to help me off with mine. I look at the tub at our
feet, with the steaming water and move as if to get in but Keiko stops
me.
"First, wash," she tells me.
She fills the wooden bucket with water, takes a wash cloth, dips it
into the water, and lathers it with a bar of soap which she took from
a container on the floor.
"Sit," she orders, pointing to a small stool, apparently available for
western giants like me.
She hunkers behind me and begins to wash my back. I am extremely
pleased at the attention she is giving me. She washes me all over,
including my dick and balls, and then does the same to herself. When
we are both all soapy, she dips the bucket into the hot water and then
pours it slowly over me. I jump at the hotness of the water, but it is
tolerable although hotter than anything I have ever experienced. She
pours several buckets of water over us until we are thoroughly rinsed
off. She steps into the tub.
I notice that she enters the water slowly. This is a warning that it
is extremely hot. Being a fast learner, I decide that I will also go
slow. But, as soon as my foot dips into the water, I pull it out. It
is fuckin' hot! It takes some time, and a little bit of urging from
Keiko before I finally am able to immerse myself up to my neck. I
learn that if I sit extremely still, the heat is more bearable, so I
sit still.
I look over at Keiko and begin to appreciate her Japaneseness. I am in
Japan. Sitting in a Japanese bath. Naked, with a cute young Japanese
girl. I am feeling extremely satisfied to be doing what I am doing and
I begin to consider staying in Japan for the rest of my life.
But, the bath comes to an end. We get out. I expect to be cold, kind
of like getting out of a swimming pool on a cool day. But, no such
thing. I am toasty. My skin is super heated from the hot tub. Keiko
takes a small towel, wets it, squeezes it out, and begins to sponge
off my skin. I take the other towel and do the same to her, loving the
feel of her body on my hands. This is what I have come to Japan for!
In a few moments I will have her in my arms and I will be enjoying my
first Japanese fuck. I am very happy.
In our room, Keiko turns out the lamp. There is still enough light to
see and I am glad for that.
We disrobe and get into bed. I reach for her and she comes into my
arms smelling clean and wonderful. I am in heaven! I kiss her lips,
then her breasts. I run my hands all over her smooth skin. I finger
her tight pussy. I feel her feeling my cock, gripping it in her small
hands, and I maneuver myself for her to play with it.
"Too big," I hear her say. I suppose that I should be flattered, but
my reaction is that I am not going to get to fuck this little Japanese
girl. Chagrined at my bad luck, I decide to assert myself and roll
over on top of her. She spreads her thighs and I try to jam my cock
into her pussy. She is really tight. I am surprised at how tight she
is; I can't get in!
"You wet," Keiko instructs me, pointing to her lips and then down to
my cock.
I spit into my hand, pull out my cock from her pussy and wet it down
with spit. Then I stick it into her. This time it slides in easily and
I begin to understand that she is not all that hot. Still, I am hard
and I am not going to be denied even if the woman I am with is not all
that enthusiastic.
She wiggles underneath my weight and I feel her legs spread wide
underneath my hips. It feels like I am going to split her in two, she
is so small. I go to my hands so that I can see myself fucking her. It
is a beautiful sight. My cock is going in and out of her dark hairy
bush. Her stomach is super flat, and her very pale skin rises up to be
topped off by two lusciously small tits that are more cup-like
projections than weighty glands. I like the idea that I am fucking a
very small girl who weighs less than a hundred pounds. In a few
minutes I feel myself get rock rigid and my cock begins to throb. I
can not stop my orgasm and I gush into her, feeling the wetness around
my cock as my full load of young man's semen fills her up. I collapse
on top of her.
I fall asleep.
When I wake up, early in the morning, Keiko is gone. I check my wallet
and all my money is still here. I feel better. Now the only thing left
are my shoes. I dress and open the door to the hallway. The slippers
are there waiting for me. I pad down the hallway looking for the way
out and my shoes. The mamasan finds me and, padding ahead of me,
guides me to the exit. She slides open the doors.
My newly shined shoes are waiting for me.
*** stories by RAM.
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