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Chapter Eleven: Tickle, Tickle, Tickle

February 2, 2011

Even as my pill Odyssey continues, we are still seeing each other. All-natural sex without is still awhile away, but we’re meeting again, and my heart skips and dances a jig as soon as work ends because I can’t wait to see you again.

Later in the week, I meet you at Akamon for the very first time — I am amazed as I see the gate to the famous Todai (Tokyo University) campus, where all the best and brightest from Japan congregate. The buildings are old, brick, turn-of-the-century and exude the hopes and grandiose ambitions of Japanese from a past era, striving to stand level ground with their Western rivals.

We pass through the campus, and begin our first in a long string of ambulant walks from Akamon to your room in Kuramae. We walk around the beautiful Ueno park lake, you sitting on the bench to view the landscape and bringing my hips down to your lap, so that we can view sun setting over the lake, ducks swimming by, bobbing in the water. I put an arm around your broad shoulders and suddenly feel so small, you’re able to lift me up easily like a sack of rice. We kiss, cuddle, and I feel like I’ve known you for a thousand years, how naturally your touch feels as you put your hand in my shirt and cup my breasts.

We walk and walk, up to Ueno park, passing through to the large temple, crossing over the street to the bright and lively Ameyokocho, guarded by a giant pachinko parlour filled with deafening sounds and mind-assaulting displays on the machine’s screen. Our hands held together, we amble quietly past the market, up to the Korean corner of the district, then into the darkness of the road to Kuramae.

Arriving in your room at last, we strip down and hold each other on your bed. I let out a muffled giggle your fingers run softly along my back, like a flower touching skin surface.

As you stop and look inquisitively at my face, I give my second confession.

“I’m actually really ticklish, so please don’t be offended if I start laughing.” I warn you, a laugh already building up on my face.

“Really? ” you sound intrigued. With your intense blue eyes fixed on my face, you lay me flat on he bed, holding me down with your muscled hands so I can’t move.

I inhale, looking up at you in anticipation as you wiggle your fingers in the air for two seconds like a spider before eating its prey.

Without warning, your wiggling fingers land on my stomach, causing me to burst out in explosive laughter.

“Ah-ha-haaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” I squeal. “Oh God, stop! Hahahahahahahaa!”

You look positively ticked yourself to find out I’m so sensitive toward tickling.

“Wow, you really are ticklish,” you murmur, an amused look in your big blue eyes.

You take both of my hands and put them together, holding them down on the bed with one of your huge ones, and look into my eyes mischievously as you sit on top of me.

“Uh, what are you . . . ?” I ask, but am auto-interrupted by screams and laughter when you let your left hand weave and draw squiggles across my exposed belly.

“Oh! Oh God! No! No! Nooo-hahahahahahahaha!” I scream, and laugh uncontrollably.

“Hmm, this is really fun,” you say, eyes shining with bemusement.

I was laughing and squirming on the pink sheet under the touch of his fingers, as though they were giving me electric shocks.

Leaning over me, you did the first of a joke you would often repeat:

“Shhhhhh. Be quiet, there are people trying to sleep,” you cold me in mock seriousness, all the while tickling me more and more until my face turns red and I am emitting a kind of cackling sound along with my laughter. I tried — badly — to hold my mouth shut and to wrench away from your grip, but it’s no use, I can’t avoid the 200-lb tickling machine.

Finally you decide I’ve had enough teasing for one night, and lie down beside me as I pant, trying to catch my breath.

“Hmm,” you contemplate. “this could be very interesting”.

We embrace each other, kissing, your hands now switching modes from tickling to caressing.

Your hand moves to touch between my legs, and draws away slightly after you notice that I have not shaved .

“It’s not that important,” you say to me, shrugging a bit, “But actually I prefer shaved.”

D’oh, I think, knowing that you had asked me to shave before, and I had merely given my nether-hairs a careful trimming. But am thankful that you have suggested it, rather than demanding that I be hairless before you even consider sex with me. With an embarrassed nod, I add that on my “to-do” list for next time. You are mercifully not obsessed with the notion, so continue to kiss and caress my naked body like before.  With a hesitant hand, I touch your penis, tugging at it and tightening my grip to make it grow harder.

I lean in and lick the head of your penis, putting the tender flesh in my mouth and sucking on it with my moistened mouth. You put a hand on my head and entangle your fingers in my hair as you begin to move your hip rhythmically, pumping so hard I am afraid I will choke on your penis. I wrap my right hand vigorously around the base of your penis, hoping it could absorb some of the impact at the back of my cock-filled throat. But you are so careful, making sure that I get a stop when I need, and within moments of when I feel I cannot hold on any longer, I feel a slight bitter taste in my mouth and then the squirt of liquid, streaming into my mouth.

It’s a bitter taste, but I swallow. It does not occur to me to spit.

So this is what will soon be going on inside me — I wonder if  we can last the full two weeks it will take for my pill.

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