Aya Fukunishi Romance: The Complete Collection 2011-2016 Read online

  This girl is beautiful.

  No, that word doesn't do her justice. No word possibly could. The English language is far too lumpen and clumsy to describe this angel, and I feel a bizarre flash of anger at myself for trying to reduce her to a single word.

  Her blond, almost white hair frames a perfect, innocent, guileless face. Full, soft bee sting lips stand out against the lightly tanned skin of her cheeks, and her upturned nose sits beneath enormous, rich coffee brown eyes, looking out from beneath a pink sleeping mask she must have forgotten to remove when she woke up.

  Those are accurate words. If I used them to describe her to a sketch artist he might come up with something I'd recognize, but it would only be a shadow of her true self. Those words capture nothing of the way I feel as she looks in my direction. They don't describe the way I forget to breathe, as if oxygen no longer matters. They don't capture the joy in my heart, nor the deep, crushing sadness I suddenly feel at the realization that she'll soon be gone.

  She looks like a girl who couldn't tell a lie if her life depended on it. She looks too pure for it. Too innocent for false words to spill from those lips. She seems to glow, as if her skin doesn't just reflect sunlight but absorbs and multiplies it before returning it tenfold to a grateful world.

  I watch her heft her rucksack higher on her shoulders and raise her chin, ready to defiantly meet the gaze of anyone who might look her way, but I'm not fooled. Her act is just a little too perfect. The quick, sure steps, and the way she keeps her back stock straight despite the weight of her bag. She wants the world to know she's strong and confident; that she's walked this path a million times before, and already knows the way. I know that act all too well. Far from home, and far too young to be expected to face it alone.

  Her fear should be obvious to anyone who really pays attention, but so few people ever bother to look beyond the surface of a beautiful young woman. Most people are so dazzled by looks that they never look beyond them to the girl hiding behind the beauty... the scared, awkward little girl who wants nothing from the world but to reach up and find a strong hand to hold.

  I felt the exact same way when I first arrived here twenty years ago. I was just a dumb, terrified kid who'd never left the States. I didn't have the first clue what I was doing, but nobody ever saw my fear. All they saw was the chiseled jaw and muscular body that convinced them that nobody who looked as strong and self assured as me could ever be afraid; that nobody this confident could really be crying inside.

  I watch the door and wait, hoping for a companion to join her, but when the sliding doors close behind her I realize she must be traveling alone. This poor, tragic, stunningly perfect girl can't be older than 18, and she's standing there all alone, scared, in a new and unfamiliar country. I'm not the protective type, but I feel my own hand close instinctively around the ghost of hers.

  I also have... darker urges. I don't usually go for inappropriately young women, but there's something about this girl that just calls out to me. I can't seem to tear my eyes away from her.

  My eyes linger on her perfect, petite little body. The straps of her bag wrap tightly around her, cinching in at her slim waist and stretching the thin white silk of her shirt tight around her small, perky breasts. She shrugs her shoulders to shift the weight of her bag, and the bottom of her shirt rides up a few inches to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of the smooth skin of her flat belly. She's not done growing yet, that much is clear. I can tell from the way she moves that she's not yet fully accustomed to her new body. She's yet to grow into it; yet to feel at home in her own skin.

  I feel like a predator for leering at such a young woman, but I just can't help myself. It's impossible to look at that fresh, lithe young body and not wonder how it would feel in my hands... how she'd taste on my tongue. Even now, standing in full view of a hundred people, I can feel the shameful weight of my cock beginning to swell for her, and I force myself to take a few deep breaths to will my arousal away.

  Her brow creases a little with worry as she looks around, and I suddenly feel irrationally angry at the idea that anyone could keep this girl waiting. How was she not carried aloft from the plane on a bed of rose petals? What lucky, clueless moron could possibly have had something better to do than meet her at the gate? If I was a surgeon I'd scrub out and leave my patient bleeding on the table if it meant I could see this face just a moment sooner.

  She turns away from me, and instantly my world plunges into darkness. It's like I've lived my entire life beneath thick storm clouds, unaware of the existence of the sun. The moment I saw her face the heavens opened, and for a moment - just one glorious moment in 38 long years under a leaden gray sky - I felt the warmth of the sun on my face.

  Now I'm gripped by panic at the thought of never seeing this girl again. She takes a step towards the taxi rank, and my heart crawls to my throat at the idea of her getting into a cab and driving away. For a moment I contemplate jumping into the car behind her and tossing my wallet at the driver, ordering him to follow her. I imagine a chase across Saigon, praying at every set of lights that we wouldn't be caught out by the red. Do something, Jack! My mind screams at me to just step forward and grab her, but terror fixes me in place.

  And then I see a ray of hope. As the girl turns her head once again I see that a thick lock of her blond hair has become tangled in the straps of her rucksack. It's... OK, it's not ideal, but it gives me an excuse to approach her. At least I'll get to hear her voice. At least she'll know I exist, and I'll know that my life entwined with hers for an instant. Maybe it'll be enough to allow my heart to keep on beating once she's gone.

  I push myself away from the wall and take a step forward, but as soon as I begin to move I know I've left it too late. The girl shrugs her bag from her shoulders, and I see what comes next in slow motion. Before I can reach out to stop it the weight of the enormous bag pulls her hair taut. I watch helplessly as it drags her backwards, pulling her down into a sprawled heap on the sidewalk. She lets out a pained squeal as she falls, and one of the cab drivers waiting at the curb rushes forward to help her untangle herself.

  "Thank you, thank you," she mumbles, embarrassed, taking his hand as he helps her back to her feet. I burn with jealousy at the thought that he gets to touch her. That he'll live the rest of his life with the memory of her hand in his. He carefully reaches behind her head to untangle her hair from the straps and I picture myself lashing out at him, punishing him for daring soil the purity of this angel with his dirty hands. When she's finally free of the bag she drops it at her feet and embraces the driver warmly, lifting herself on her tiptoes to reach around his neck, muttering thanks for helping her. I feel my hands bunch into fists as I stand there, impotent, just a few steps away. That was supposed to be me.

  The driver smiles, blushing, and steps back towards his cab, and my breath catches in my throat as the girl turns away from him and looks around, flushed with embarrassment at her graceless tumble. I just want to wrap my arms around her. Protect her.

  "Tell me you didn't just see that," she says, her voice almost a whisper.

  It takes me a moment to realize she's talking to me. I'm amazed that she can even see me; that we exist on the same plane; that she's even real, and not just some cruel and wonderful hallucination brought on by heatstroke. "Umm, sorry?"

  "Please tell me you didn't see that," she pleads, her face a picture of shy, shamed humiliation. She looks like she's praying for the world to swallow her whole. "Please?"

  I'll say anything if it means she'll keep looking at me just a moment longer. I'd reach into my chest and pull out my heart to see her smile, and know I'd caused it.

  "See what?" I reply, poker faced. I point a finger randomly. "I was looking over there at that..." my mind draws a complete blank, "... other... thing."

  The girl rewards my obvious lie with an awkward grin, and my heart begins to pound as she hefts her enormous rucksack towards me, turns and leans against the wall at my side, as if using my body to shield herself from the world. Her eyes dart around the taxi rank, and it's obvious she thinks everyone is looking at her and laughing.

  I lean in towards her. "Don't worry," I whisper, conspiratorially. "I think everyone was too distracted by Vietnamese Donald Trump over there to notice you." She follows my finger and sees a chubby old guy in a suit standing ten feet away, his bad comb-over lifting from his head in the light breeze.

  The girl snorts a laugh from her nose, then covers her mouth in embarrassment as the old man looks our way and notices me pointing. I wave and smile. "Let it go, man. Just shave it down." The girl giggles again, and as her tensed body visibly relaxes I feel like I've just won the lottery without even buying a ticket.

  "Smoke?" I ask, offering my pack of cigarettes, trying with all my might to keep my hand from shaking.

  The girl crinkles her nose with distaste. "Eww, no thanks. Those things'll kill you."

  In an instant the years of advertising that convinced me my Marlboro makes me look cool are overwhelmed by this girl's scrunched up nose. I suddenly feel dirty. Diseased. I feel like my very presence is tainting the perfect purity radiating from her. Jesus. Forget pictures of tar filled lungs and clogged, blackened hearts. If the anti-smoking crowd want an effective ad they should just print out posters of this girl crinkling her nose with disapproval. That'd be it. Game over.

  I drop my smoldering cigarette in disgust and stamp it dead with my foot, and I know with more certainty than I know my own name that I'll never light another one as long as I live. The thought of polluting a single breath of air in this girl's lungs horrifies me.

  "You're absolutely right," I say, kicking the butt towards the gutter. I feel the sudden need to change my clothes and shower, just to get rid of any lingering odor that might offend that pe
rfect nose. I search around for something – anything – to say, just to keep her attention. "So, you're here on vacation?"

  The girl rolls her eyes. tugs the sleeping mask from her head and runs her fingers through her hair, shaking out the knots. I can't help but stare at her long, graceful neck as she tilts her head back. The urge to lean in and kiss that perfect skin is almost overpowering. I just want her scent inside me.

  "Vacation? I guess so. Well, not really, actually. I didn't want to come, but my mom sort of ordered me out here. Long story." She lets out an exasperated sigh. "Aaaaaand now she's headed off to China without me, so..."

  My heart skips a beat. Surely the universe could never be this ridiculously kind. I bark an involuntary laugh and the girl turns sharply towards me, startled.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh," I say, tugging the piece of paper out from my pocket. I unfold it and hold it out before her, like I'm Charlie Bucket presenting my golden ticket at the chocolate factory. My heart thumps so loud in my chest I can barely hear my own voice. "You're not... are you Primrose Dawn?"

  She pushes herself away from the wall and turns fully towards me, suddenly beaming. "Oh my God, are you Jack? Oh, my knight in shining armor! My phone died on the plane and I forgot to write down your number. I was terrified I wouldn't be able to find you!"

  “I'm so glad you did,” I smile, realizing I've never spoken truer words in my life. I glance at my watch. "I'm so sorry I wasn't waiting for you inside. Did I get the time wrong? I didn't expect you for another half hour."

  "Yeah, we touched down early, and I was in the front row so, y'know, first off the plane." She reaches out a hand, and I grab it like a drowning man would grab a rubber ring. "It's just Rose, by the way. Only mom calls me... eeuch, Primrose."

  I blurt out the first thought that pops into my head, like an idiot. "Like Titanic."

  "Huh?" She creases her perfect brow.

  "Umm, Jack and Rose. You know, from Titanic? The movie?"

  Rose laughs and grips my hand tightly. "Oh yeah. I'll never let you go, Jack!"

  I squeeze her hand right back, just a little too long, and there's an awkward moment as she tries to pull away before I release her. She lets out an awkward chuckle, clears her throat and points to the taxi rank. "So, umm... wanna take me for a ride?"

  Yes please. Oh God, fucking yes please.

  "Yeah," I reply, lifting her bag to my shoulder. "After you."

  Rose turns from me and starts walking, her skirt bouncing a little with each step, offering a grateful world just the briefest glimpse of that ripe, juicy peach of an ass. I feel my cock stirring between my legs again, and as I follow in her wake like a loyal dog I take a moment to scold myself for lusting after this little teenage girl.

  You're 38, Jack, for Christ's sake. You crashed your first car before she was born. You could buy a beer on her first birthday. She's far too young for you. Just put it in the spank bank and leave her alone.

  Rose tugs open the back door of the closest cab and climbs in. The driver grabs her bag from me and tosses it carelessly onto the front seat, and as I dip my head beneath the frame of the rear door I know I'm absolutely, royally, irredeemably fucked. I know I won't be able to keep my hands off this little minx. I know this will end with either a wedding ring or a restraining order.

  Rose sits with her feet propped in the gap between the front seats, her smooth, slender legs tempting me with their very existence. She seems completely oblivious to the fact that her tennis skirt is gathered up around her waist, and that her soft, pink little panties are on full view.

  These aren't the panties of a woman. There's no question. No grown woman would ever think to buy underwear like that. They're the kind of panties a mom would buy in a three pack from Target and lay out neatly beside a school uniform, and I feel disgusted by my baser urges as my treacherous cock stirs against my will, rudely awakened by this stunning young thing.

  She pats the seat beside her with a smile, and invites me in. It's as if she doesn't realize what she does to a man like me. As if she doesn't have the first clue what's running through my mind when I know there's only a thin scrap of cotton between my tongue and her tight young pussy.

  Shit. You're in big trouble, Jack.

  Chapter Four

  I give the driver directions in broken Vietnamese, and after haggling over the price for the journey he pulls away from the taxi rank, points the cab out of the city and begins the long drive out to the coast. As we pull into the thronged streets Rose seems entranced by the endless procession of mopeds and motorcycles, staring out the window as if she's never seen anything like it before. I watch her furtively out of the corner of my eye, trying not to stare.

  When an excited smile reaches her lips I feel its twin appear on my own. I can't help myself. There's just something about her. She seems to project this innocent, naïve, happy little bubble ten feet around her, and it's impossible not to feel caught up in her sense of wonder at the mundane. The journey to the airport was dull and gray, but now I'm seeing everything as if through Rose's eyes, fresh, new and exciting. She's not just looking at a traffic jam. That's not what she sees when she looks out the window. She sees a million lives. A million people whipping past her. A million exciting, intriguing stories, each of them within her reach, ready to be plucked from the crowd and examined with awe and glee. It's just fucking intoxicating.

  “Oh my God!” she yells, pointing excitedly out the window. “There's a whole family on that motorbike! Did you see that?”

  I look out the window and grin. An hour ago I wouldn't have taken a second glance at such a sight. Yeah, two adults on a bike, with a young kid sandwiched between them and a toddle balanced between the handlebars. You see it a dozen times every day in Vietnam and it's absolutely no big deal, but right now I can't help but stare in wonder at them, just because Rose is amazed.

  She suddenly turns her attention away from the city outside and back to me, and the moment her eyes land on me I feel blessed, as if she's chosen me over the new and exciting world beyond her window. "Umm, I read all your books," she says, shyly.

  "Sorry?" I honestly didn't hear her. I was too preoccupied with the way the sunlight catches the tiny, almost invisible hairs on her skin.

  "I said I've read all of your books. Every one of 'em. Look." She leans forward over the front seat and digs around in her rucksack, and I almost have to bite my fist to distract myself from the sight of her panties just inches from my face. Between her legs I see the bulge of her pussy encased in pink cotton, and I feel my cock grow heavy against my thigh as I imagine pressing my fingers against that soft little bulge until a dark, wet patch begins to spread across the cotton. I can almost hear her mewling, frightened little whimper as she's touched by a man for the first time, and it makes my cock strain uncomfortably against my pants. I'd give anything to be able to slide it out and skewer her on my lap.

  "Here," she says, pulling out an old, well-thumbed copy of Road to Rangoon. She sits back down much closer to me, her thigh grazing mine, and I feel the hairs stand up on my arms. I can smell her from here. Her skin smells like baby powder, and her hair like fresh strawberries. It's the exact same scent shared by a million other women who use the same products, but on her it's somehow different. It makes my head swim, and I want nothing more than to bury my face in her neck. I want to inhale her.