A Defiant Girl
by R. Mendosa

It is drizzling. In the dark, the flickering bar signs emit a 
melancholy aura. I am in town by myself; I like being by myself. I 
walk to the railroad station. Catch a train? Nah. I'll explore new 
horizons. I make a right turn, going up the street, parallel to the 
rails. I have never explored this area before. I move through the dark
narrow foreign terrain, carefully stepping over mud holes and rocks. 
Halfway down the block, almost at the side of the road, illuminated by
the anemic glow of a bar sign, I spot a one thousand yen bill on the 
ground. I stop and quickly bend to snatch it up; as my fingers grasp 
it, a small hand also touches the bill. 

I straighten up, the bill clutched tightly in my hand, and look down 
into the face of a short, 4'10, almost chubby, maybe 105 pounds, 
pretty but petulant faced young Japanese girl. She is wearing *geta*, 
which indicates to me that she is probably not a bar girl. Bar girls 
usually don't wear wooden *geta* shoes, during business hours.

The young girl is wearing a short tight gray and black checkered skirt
which just tops her bare knees, and a blue American style blouse, with
buttons down the front. Her attire, except for the *geta*, tells me 
that she is influenced by American things. She may have a GI boyfriend,
I reason.

"I'm sorry. Maybe you saw it first," I say to her, hoping that she 
understands English.

"No. You get first," she responds, in a tough, young voice.

I look into her eyes. They are bright, complementing her slightly 
cocky manner; the boldness of youth.

"I split with you," I say, affecting bar English, hoping to start a 
relationship with possibilities.

"No, no. You find. You keep."

"Can I buy you a drink?" I ask her.

"I don't drink."

I pause for a moment, looking at her with interest. Maybe, it wasn't
meant to be. "Well, sayonara then," I say and turn to leave.

"You want drink?" She calls to me. 

I hesitate. I look back, meeting her eyes, gauging her sincerity.

"You buy and bring my place?" she offers, affecting a more submissive 
pose, cocking her head slightly, glancing at the ground, then back up,
remeeting my eyes with a questioning gaze. 

I am startled. Am I being picked up by a regular woman, a non-bar 
hostess? I surmise that she has relationships with Americans but, 
otherwise, she is a respectable Japanese girl I have encountered over 
a muddy bill laying in the street.

"Okay," I respond.

We find a Japanese liquor store and I buy five large bottles of beer. 

She watches me drink. She is on the futon, on her side. Her body is 
nice and compact, I notice, as the Asahi cools my throat. I sit 
quietly, watching her watch me. We try to make small talk, but it goes
nowhere. We are intent on looking at each other's bodies.

"You want make love?" She asks me.

I reach for my belt; she helps me unbuckle and pulls my zipper down. I
lay back on the *tatami* floor, and she yanks my denims off. I sit up 
and remove my shirt, socks and underwear. 

She sits back on her ass and takes off her top. She is not wearing a 
brassiere. Her tits stick straight out. Her body is chubby, but 
compact. She is built. She leans slightly back, unzips her skirt, and 
quickly tugs it off and down, revealing two fine full thighed, roundly
calved, legs. She is meaty fine! She quickly pulls off her panties and
her silky black cunt hairs are revealed.

I move over to her. She lays back and I climb on top of her. Her 
small, but thick, thighs spread so nicely; her legs pull up, her heels
hook over my shoulders. I slide easily into her target, looking at her
smooth skinned face, feeling her calves squashing my ears. She looks 
like she just got out of school! I picture her in one of those 
Japanese school girl sailor suit uniforms, navy blue, almost black, 
the broad sailor collar with the white border stripes falling over her
shoulders, the blue tie knotted thickly in the front. I get harder and
whip into her like it is the best pussy I had ever had. It really is 
good. 

She is no virgin. She has picked me up because she wants to fuck. She 
may have even dropped the thousand yen note on the street as a ploy. 
That way she could have her pick of who she wanted. I suspect that I 
have been selected like a vegetable at the green grocer, but I do not 
care. Use me, slice and dice me, steam me, butter me, I don't care. I 
am her sustenance.

I fuck into her hard, holding onto her firm buttocks, bending my head 
down to lick her protruding young girls nipples. I am a "fuggin' 
machine," I think, thoughts of Mailer's Naked and the Dead racing 
through my brain, as her full hips whirl under me. With the alcohol in
me, I know that I can last a reasonably long time. After about half an
hour of good fucking, with both of us gasping and making lovers' 
noises, I finally gush into her. She grips me tightly, grinding her 
sturdiness into me. I consider asking her to marry me, but the 
irrationality passes as I feel my cock losing its firmness in her.

I fall off of her. She lays there for a moment, her firm young woman 
thighs spread wide. Then, she rolls over, reaches for my pants, pulls 
out my wallet, quickly extracts the five hundred yen note left over 
from the beer purchase, and boldly sticks it into her purse.

"That's mine!" I protest. 

"No, mine!" she protests back, confirming that I have been used as a 
living dildo.

"Well, the beer is mine," I shoot back at at her, reaching for the 
last Asahi. I pop it open and swig directly from the bottle as I 
dress. I glare at her. 

She remains naked on the floor, watching me, glaring back at me, 
defiantly.