Hotel Photographer Pt. 03
"Just jeans will be okay," he said, "if you don't mind me wearing jeans."
Reminiscent of the first meeting with him on the bus, his casual look going to work at the hotel.
Akemi thought he might not really be a photographer at all as he claimed and that she might not mind if he was lying- she found him so charming.
I thought as the three of us talked about my work, not exciting like his- if what he said was true, that is. I thought of my college students and how I tried to do my best for them by giving independence in the class. I'd invited them to take control- only to discover that independence was the last thing they wanted. Many were poor, from developing countries in which western notions of freedom were anathema. Those students wanted the teacher to lead. In a way, I realized, my not doing so robbed them of their independence. In any event, abandoning the traditional role of teacher left half the class floundering, angry. I'd give them words and say, "Play with them. Have fun." That brought confusion and some scowls, sneers of derision. Once I brought two groups of students together and instructed them to just talk. "Stand in place and say whatever you like. Then change partners." That worked a little better, as people like people and meeting new ones ignites discussion- as effectively as lighting a match.
I can describe the moment this way: I felt like paint I had just applied to a wall had separated from the surface. Once off there was no way of replacing it. All the work, time now amounted to nothing.
A few of the more sensitive students- the kind who can get on your nerves because of how much they see- looked at me with sympathy for my good effort that failed (What's that line about good intentions? They'll buy you a one-way ticket to nowhere). I slammed Akemi in bed to make up for that, to get my own back. Maybe she wanted to get her own back by slamming with someone else, filling the room with the scent of her pussy and his cum instead of mine. Those are the thoughts that go through your head (okay, through my head) as you watch another guy flirting with her in front of you and you try to read her reaction, the message and the meaning. Is she just being polite, or are the smiles real, even from a place deeper than she can control? Who knows? You look and wait. You worry. You worry. Yeah, I do. I did. And this is the story of that and more, more or less.
God, the way her elastic top stretched against her breasts. That'll be a recurring theme here. Can't be helped any more than Eric could help himself, keep his eyes off her, or Akemi's eyes like flowers- whatever they mean, even if they mean nothing, there's no holding them back.
Akemi of course hadn't come to the U.S. from a poor country. She had modern ideas, was ready to embrace independence directly, needed no prompting. If she wanted a show of authority, it was in the bedroom, where she said, "You're a man. I'm a woman" and "We're animals" and when I really had at her didn't mind at all. She liked me to maul her breasts. "Too hard?" I'd ask. "No limit," she'd say. I've mentioned her beautiful breasts, haven't I? It's not the size. It's the shape that redefines the word "superb"- I can't find another- and makes your head spin in circles trying and failing to comprehend so much beauty if seems to stretch the limits of the universe as you understand it. You imagine all you want but she'll always flummox your efforts, just by being herself. You think can your cock rise to the challenge. Yes, it can. Yes, it can. You connect. You're going to ride into the stratosphere. Rocket propulsion. Her hips. Her pussy. Her breasts you're biting now.
We were in a poor country when we met the photographer (go to part one for background) , enjoying ourselves as tourists, leading a kind of life we couldn't at home and really wouldn't have wanted to. How long can you spend on the beach? How many sour-sweet blue cocktails can you drink?
I wasn't seriously worried about Eric. Akemi and I would be in that Caribbean island country only two more days and nights. There was little chance he'd be able to do the photo shoot of her he'd mentioned, wedding spread or whatever- much less anything else he (and she?) might have had in mind.
What concerned me more was Akemi's upcoming trip to Japan, the emptiness I'd feel back home when she was gone. That guy flirting with her on the sunlit deck with view of coruscating ocean was acceptable in comparison. I didn't want to go back.
The light had changed; afternoon was deepening. From where we sat, the sea now looked a light honey color. I stared out at the waves dancing, reflecting sun, past Akemi's honey-colored breasts.
It became apparent that Eric knew how to entertain Akemi, hold her interest. He talked about his college days, how he once stayed overnight in a graveyard with friends.
"You spent a night in a graveyard?" Akemi asked, wondering if she'd understood correctly.
"Yeah."
"Why? To challenge yourself?"
"Yes."
"With friends, you said. How many?"
"I don't know. Four or five."
"And how was it?"
"Scary."
Eric said at a point he'd decided he couldn't go through with the plan and called his younger brother to ask him to have his parents drive and pick him up. But as a prank, his brother hadn't taken the phone call. So he'd had to spend the night after all.
Eric explained that the thing he'd been excited about- thrilling adventure- became something he wanted to get away from.
"Excitement isn't easy," he said to Akemi. "You have to bring out the best in yourself. It takes courage."
He gave her a look and in response she looked properly impressed, if slightly wary of this strange man who spoke so forthrightly about himself and whose eyes seemed to swim when she looked at her.
I talked- why I'm not sure; Eric spoke so openly you found yourself following suit- about my relationship with Thomas, my older brother. Once we three- he, Akemi and I- went together to a Japanese party. I'd felt a little bad for him, since he knew no one there. I barely did either but was with Akemi. I worried about him alone. Turned out I needn't have. After disappearing for a while, he emerged in front of Akemi and me in the company of a new friend he'd made, Emiko, young Japanese woman and very fetching- she had her black hair cropped short, which made her look slightly elf-like and an intrepid look- she appeared ready for anything. I liked her active eyes and her thick black eyebrows, which reminded me of Akemi's.
It turned out Emiko and Akemi knew each other, and she spoke to Akemi in their language, explaining the situation, I guess. I detected, accurately or not, a note of embarrassment if not outright apology. What struck me was that when she spoke to Akemi she seemed to change, become a real person, ceased being some fantasy ideal I'd seen her as until then.
Watching Emiko's behavior, I thought things between her and Thomas might not go so well after all, might peter out.
The thing about that moment- because there is a thing- is this: even though I might sometimes feel Thomas' and my roles, as older and younger brother, reversed- they might appear to- they inevitably reverted to form. That moment, that night I'd felt a little- yeah, bad- for him because of my marriage to Akemi- maybe he envied it- but he showed soon enough he would not accept a weak position relative to me. He'd found apparently without much trouble- Thomas is handsome- an exciting friend of his own, nearly an equal to Akemi- though the young woman, Emiko, was comparatively boyish, on the flat-chested side, bony, she had an undeniable verve. I even wondered then if my marriage to Akemi was as special as I'd supposed all along. That thought passed soon enough, though, because she was she.
Tell you the truth, seeing Emiko and Thomas talking so avidly made me feel a little funny. If they really had hit it off, would I have been jealous? I'm embarrassed to say it, but what's the point of this writing if not to be honest? None of you know me, after all. Was I like some octopus, grasping in all directions at once, wanting everything, instead of ink squirting sperm, clouding the water. I didn't need to have Emiko and Akemi both. Someone else getting a share of the good life didn't diminish mine. Emiko really meant nothing to me. I hadn't even thought of Akemi's friend until I saw Thomas enjoying her company. Why did I feel then that I was being robbed, that he was encroaching on my territory? Because she was Japanese like Akemi? I guess I thought my making forays into that world so foreign to us made me pretty special. I feel pretty dumb thinking about that. Who made me such a horny, competitive fool?
Sure enough, Thomas appeared again on his own fairly soon. We became aware of a gang at the party- no, not at the party but around it, outside trying to get in- we'd stepped out to the street for a smoke (mine only, that is) and they'd spotted us. To evade them Thomas, Akemi and I walked, went up to the roof, circled back down and up once again. On the second trip I saw that I'd dropped my pipe there. I'd realized I'd lost the thing but didn't at first recognize it as mine, seeing it on the ground out of context. I wondered if this was a good time to stop smoking, just leave the pipe or take it and throw it away, but decided not to then.
A security guard asked us what we were doing on the roof, as if we were the criminals!
I chose not to tell the last part of the anecdote to our new acquaintance at the restaurant porch from which the surf looked rough- wind blew across waves- and smooth. That sun, like Eric's smile, softened everything, made even the dangerous appear safe, inviting. When Akemi lips parted, in the bright light her tongue flashed.
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