TORR ROAD: CONCLUSION

TORR ROAD: CONCLUSION

Later that night my girlfriend Kaori came over and after telling me about how well she was getting on with the guy at her temple, I depth charged inside her in jealousy, releasing my the life cream after her climax, and went to bed. The next day, while walking her to the station, in a pre-emptive move to being dumped, I suggested to her that maybe, “we should just break up so you can be with him. You guys are both Japanese and you understand each other, wouldn’t have to do all this communicating. Maybe that’s best.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to be with him.” But with the rejection of her redneck, uneducated parents in mind and my Japanese language teacher on the scene, I insisted, “really, you’d be better off with him.” And with those words she waved goodbye boarding the train, with unspoken plans to finalize our separation later. On Christmas day, Japan’s most romantic holiday – when couple consume 20 piece buckets of Kentucky Fried Chickenn - we met at the Sannomiya subway under the peering eyes of the public, to talk about our end. Under the influence of my blood-thirsty rod, I suggested that we should stay together.

“No, you said it was better for us to break up, so that’s what we’re doing. I didn’t want to do that, I was just telling you about him because he’s my friend and we grew up together.”

“Ok, maybe I was wrong,” I interrupted. “Why don’t we talk about this at your place? We’re loud and people are staring.”

“I don’t want to go home, I’m meeting him here soon.”

“Ouch, that hurt,” I thought. But with a bit of begging and beseeching she acquiesced, and we bussed it to her matchbox studio apartment in Kitano.

Still under the influence, I begged her to stay, knowing full well that this was just my ego and the little head talking, the fragile male ego that doesn’t like to be left or rejected.

“NO!” She insisted. “He’s already my boyfriend.”

“That was fast. Then can we just do it one last time?”

I began to kiss her on the cheeks as I grabbed her round cakes and in no time evacuated her out of her skin-tight denim. Lowering her to the futon I awkwardly and hurriedly unbuckled my pants freeing my jealousy enraged member. Pulling aside the crotch of her panties, I slipped inside her with my pants at my knees. “DAAAM!” I thought, palming her cakes.

“Imo have ta give this up?”

The thought crossed my mind to squeeze off inside her irresponsibly, but I regained my senses and withdrew in time. After all, she didn’t seem happy to be doing this, she was just mercy laying me, which showed in her tears on her dark, somber countenance. Given her disposition, and my paranoia, I thought she could’ve even gone to the police to report a rape and being a foreigner in this country, I was only too aware of the consequences.

“Are you done? Let’s go, I have to go meet Yusuke.”

“Yeh, I gotta meet Karin too.”

“You’re taking Japanese class on Christmas day?”

“Of course not, she’s my girlfriend,” I blurted in childish vindication hoping for some kind of jealous reaction. But as was typical for a Japanese woman, though she may have been burning up inside, there were no external signs, only a long silence on the bus back to Sannomiya. After introducing me to Yusuke, she handed me the keys to my apartment before entering his Accord.

“Kiyoutsukete ne,” (take care) flashing that trillion-yen smile. And with a slight hint of jealousy, “Nihongo no benkyou ganbatte ne.” (Good luck studying Japanese.) Walking into JR Sannomiya to board the train, it was perfectly clear to me that, propelled by the unstoppable force of fetishism I had just traded in a well adjusted, perhaps the most well-adjusted girl I had met in Japan, for one who was dramatic, unstable, damaged and obviously unwell.