“The Basics – i.”
A slender digit slipped past her lips as in tandem, her tongue slithered forth to greet the intrusion. A sated grin crawled over her features before a soft, yet stifled moan broke from her slender throat. With a ripple indicative of a swallow, the young Asian woman pulled her finger free from her mouth. After cleaning off the excess sauce that clung to her fingers, the very same digits slipped through her loosed, dark tresses and pooled them into a haphazard bun.
‘Makoto – you would be proud’, impressed her thoughts while her eyes took in the main course she had just berthed from her own kitchen. “Perfect...”
Setting the roast to rest in the center of her dining table, she gave pause. Her senses had been honed since her teenaged years. After all, she was part of a select group that was...special. And now, at twenty-seven, her skills though somewhat dulled, kicked into overdrive tonight. The baby fine hairs collected at the nape of her neck, stood on end as the Japanese woman felt eyes roam her every curve. Casually, she righted herself, while her eyes danced to the far recesses of her dimly lit domicile. Candles nested in contemporary candelabras stationed at every nook served as a light source; well – in tandem with the flickering of the television just tucked in the adjacent living room.
Her hands clopped gently at her jean covered thighs; fists clenching and unclenching suddenly fully aware that her henshin was nowhere near. She felt naked, vulnerable, a feeling she’s not been familiar with since that night. How the singer longed to erase that mark in her history... Minako hated this feeling. For as long as she was able, she had been in control of everything she’s done. Being dependant on someone still caused an uncomfortable roil in the pit of her stomach.
But...She felt it, too little too late – a presence behind her. Before the Japanese woman could fully turn about to face her assailant, her arms were folded and tucked into her body by two massive ones. The urgency and strength overwhelmed her – the fears clouded her mind immediately. Though not as much as his musky, earthen scent.
“...??”, came her breathless reply, “Terry...”, she finally managed half relieved.
“Happy six-month anniversary, baby,” a guttural growl reverberated through her body.
“You know how I am about being surprised,” she murmured in perfect English; canting her head to one side as Terry’s lips began to assault the overly sensitized flesh of her neck. But the sensual salutation was halted as the sounds of a newscast rung through the abode.
‘Now for Entertainment news...International Pop Star, Minako Aino is purportedly reported to conclude her world tour in the land of the Rising Sun – her native Japan!’
‘That should be exciting, seeing how she’s not been back to Japan in ages – an attempt to revitalize a slowly waning career, your guess is as good as ours. As I hear, Tamara – she’s not the top dog to look for any longer.’
‘Age can do that to those names in the spotlight for so long – doesn’t stop her from being the most well loved icon, eh? But a more important question arises, how will her Romantically Linked boy toy be received?’
‘Perfect segue, Tamara – And in this week’s Sports Fest, Terry Lapps, aka, the Lapp-Dawg, of the Atlanta Falcons has once again made his was through the headlines after another....’
The television clicked off and Minako found herself relieved from her beau’s grip. The hulking wide receiver for the Falcons lobbed the remote onto the nearest black, leathered sofa. “just news baby, just news...fucking hounds. GOD!” A mammoth hand raced over his bald-head before following his comment with a disgruntled groan.
“...You know how I feel about that Terry. You really need to -,” Minako’s chiding silenced as the thick pad of Terry’s singular finger pressed to her lips.
“...Watch my temper, I know...I KNOW. Just can’t stand when they razz you like that.”
The much taller African American male dipped his head forth and stole a kiss from the slightly older Japanese woman. Ever since his collegiate years, Terry had been head over heels in love with Aino Minako, the Japanese star. He was one of a million, or billions in the world that worshipped the ground she walked on. Terry perhaps, was borderline obsessed, to the point where he forced himself to learn her language, in hopes to one day communicate. Unknown to him at that time – Minako was already versed well in English.
The almighty shined on him the day he won the coveted Heismann. Awarded to the best collegiate Football player. A party had been thrown in his honor; apparently...a few stars had been rather supportive in his career. One, to his amazement, had been an actor, who had brought his very popular date with him...The woman that would forever change his life.
“Aino...Minako...”
She laughed at the sound of her name, coated with a Georgian accent; her chocolate eyes erupted in a dazzling twinkle; he loved everything about her. That laugh, her lightly colored hair, that infectious smile. Even the ever slight ‘crow’s feet’ that graced the corner of her eyes... Her beauty was non comparative. Ethereal.
“I lov...”, he was never allowed to finish. With a negation offered with just a look from her eyes, he groaned.
“It’s how I FEEL Minako, why can’t I say ithuh?”
Minako tenderly smiled, and brushed her lips over his brow. Walking backward, she tugged him by his hand, “Dinner is getting cold.”
With a sigh, he shrugged grudgingly, he knew better than to pursue talking to a brick wall. Settling himself at the nearest seat, Terry began to feed. “almost better’n momma’s southern dishes, babe...Can’t be your recipe though,” a teasing comment no less.
Minako rolled her eyes and nursed her own morsels, before stabbing at her plate and offering curtly, “If you have to know, hai...It’s a friend’s.”
Terry nodded before easing himself off his seat and ambled his way at Minako’s side.
She hadn’t realized her younger lover was knelt at her side, till she felt the gentle pressure of his gruff hand supporting the butt of her chin. Lifting her gaze, she met his.
“You do more than most friends would, Minako – Be thankful you didn’t lose complete contact with them, eh?”
...somewhat...
For all his bravada on the playing field, a temper that rivals her friend’s own – she felt a gentle tug of her lips at the thought of her - and loathing of the paparazzi, Terry was a gentle, understanding soul. She was...glad...to have found him at a time she needed someone. He, figuratively saved her.
Those errant thoughts were shoved from her mind forcibly. She had to concentrate to bring her back to the now of it all. Decimating the cobwebs from her mind, the Japanese woman nodded shakily. He was right of course. There were times she had forgotten their faces, but never their effervescent voices. Though her calls had become infrequent, they were always there.
Save for one.
From what she understood, she wouldn’t be the only one returning home for their reunion.
But will she return also? All Minako had of or even remotely from her, were the occasional one-lined electronic mails, and an old photo from their teenaged years. It was from a show she had manipulated to get the idol on to. A photo that was frayed at the edges and never left her wallet. One cherished possession of a childhood friend.
At least...she writes. Well...wrote.
But four moths had passed since their last correspondence. Longer still, as she’s not heard her friend’s voice, nor seen how she’s grown. But, Minako reasoned silently, she should have known. Both she and her friend had devout passions for what they did. It’s not a wonder that they, in particular had drifted. Though Minako’s particular occupation made her accessible through the mass media, the others had kept tabs. Who knew where the miko was now...
‘Deli’, one had written.
‘Papua New Guinea,’ another had said one night over the phone.
‘Where’s that?’, joined the final, vacuous reply.
She had laughed then.
Breathing in and exhaling slowly, Minako afforded a slight bob of her head in acknowledgment to the knelt man. “I...I’m sorry,” was her all too soft reply. Stiffening her back, the worldly Songstress glanced to a photograph placed precariously on a nearby mantle, “It’s been so long...”
Young, vibrant and alive. They were all given a second chance at life. There they sat, all five faces grinning broadly. All, were eagerly looking forward to conquering their given realms.
“...People change, baby,” offered Terry gently as if reading her mind, Minako was tugged back, “Yeah you miss ‘em, but don’t expect too much to stay the same huh? Especially with that one.” She didn’t need to see who he had meant, her descriptions of the would-be miko painted a raw picture.
“No offense, I wouldn’t wanna meet her on her best day – she ever smile?”
The icon had gone silent, pondering a good deal on how to convey herself. For all the times they had shared and all the little tirades they’ve had with one another, only one answer would suffice.
And it came as a gentle caress of emotion, which dusted over Minako’s lips. She smiled knowingly before returning to her meal. The truth of the matter was...deeply seeded within her, she yearned to see that chased smile that the miko hid.
Would she ever see it again, was the sole question that remained.
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