Dear Forum, today I would like to present another short story from my pen. Before that, however, once again the, how shall I put it, security note: English is not my native language. I hope you still enjoy this text. P.S.: Criticism is always welcome. Best regards from Germany (ex-football world champion)
Full moon
My name is Yuko. I am 22 years old and work as a high-class escort. I don’t care whether you judge me or disdain me. I am what I am. After my high school graduation in the small town H. in the district F. I wanted to start my studies. At the beginning of the semester I was instructed to enroll in architecture at the University of Kyoto. Only a few months after my move I started working as a high-end prostitute. No, nothing special in my life has gone wrong. My parents love me, I get along very well with my younger sister and at school I also had no particular problems. My family’s financial support for my academic studies was and is sufficient. With a student job, as most of my fellows do, I would probably also make ends meet. Of course, I didn’t choose this profession willingly either. I’m not an addict to sex, nor do I have a masochistic disposition. It was more… coincidence… curiosity… adventurousness? Even today, almost four years later, it is not easy for me to answer this question. Usually I don’t talk about my situation. With whom would I do that? You’re an exception. The fact is, I like what I do. The agency places three clients with me per month. I prefer to speak of “encounters”. Three “encounters” are perfect. Three times a month I’m ready to give pleasure. Pleasure to receive. To get involved with the unknown. Three times a month I usually meet somewhat older, distinguished businessmen who take me into a world of luxury and sensuality. Desire, devotion, dedication. My role is clearly defined as the “recipient”. My “encounters” almost always have very clear ideas about my hair colour, my clothing or my accent. And, of course, as far as sexual matters are concerned. Almost every time I get a new name, age, profession and a story. For one evening and one night I slip into the role of another person, who makes an unfulfilled dream come true for my “encounter”. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not an actress, I have no special talent for imitation. I don’t have to, I just receive the attributes that are meant for me and the rest is pure fantasy. Three times a month. That is a precise arrangement.
That’s why I wasn’t surprised when I was sent a pack of disposable contact lenses for an “encounter”. In the briefing of the agency I was informed that I should insert the lenses at least five hours before the meeting so that my eyes could get used to the new situation. So this time there was no name, no dresses worn, only contact lenses. The package said L-2.00PWR/R-2.25PWR. Since I was not wearing glasses, I watched a video on YouTube how the lenses are brought into the eyes. When I finally made it, I felt very uncomfortable the foreign bodies under my lids. The pressure reddened my eyes and I had problems focusing on my surroundings. After a while, however, I calmed down and soon I could see almost everything again as usual. The agency had expressly pointed out that wearing contact lenses would not cause me any damage. I relaxed and prepared myself for my “encounter” in the evening. Finally it was time to leave. I left my little student flat, it was just getting dark outside, and set off for the tube. It was a pleasantly warm evening in May. People wore still long coats, but many hadn’t buttoned them up. When I reached the underground station S., I involuntarily looked at the timetable. The schedule hung in a glass box, which had obviously been badly polished by the cleaning service. The numbers were completely blurred and illegible. But I didn’t want to get angry, because I still had work to do. Less than twenty minutes later I entered the restaurant in the noble Higashiyama quarter. A waiter in a pretty uniform helped me out of my light summer cape and I told the maitre d’ head my name. I felt his gaze looking at me from top to bottom as he busyly searched for my name on an amazingly small written reservation list. Then his face lit up and he led me into the old venerable guest room. Was it the glare of all those candles? The seductive scent of exquisite food and old wines? The abrupt change from the dim vestibule to the bright dining room? Suddenly I had the feeling that everything in front of me was floating in a sea of colours and undefinable shapes. I became insecure and slowed my pace. I was afraid to bump into other guests. A slight panic came over me. I had to keep up with the waiter, it popped into my head, otherwise I would lose him in the big room. Without thinking about it further, I blinked my eyes. That helped a little. With a beating heart I finally reached the table of my “encounter”.
Hiroshi looked younger than I had expected him. A thin, fine gentleman. Meticulously smooth shaved, black hair and a strikingly light complexion. A simple white shirt, unobtrusive jeans and elaborately crafted leather shoes. His entire charisma told of a man to whom the gods had joyfully given their gifts. With friendly eyes he looked up at me - his calm and self-confidence stood in stark contrast to my feelings of uncertainty. At least my vision had returned to normal. Before I could say anything else, Hiroshi had got up, greeted me warmly and placed me safely on my chair. As with any encounter in normal life, the first one or two minutes are crucial. Hiroshi made it very easy for me to like him. He was an intelligent and attentive interlocutor. Like most Japanese, he had a tendency towards seriousness - unlike many Japanese men, he sometimes showed an almost mischievous sense of humour. During our first evening I soon realized that Hiroshi was particularly fascinated by my eyes. Or should I say, of the inability of my eyes to see clearly and well that evening. He obviously enjoyed every blink and helpless eye squint. We laughed together about my attempts to decipher the menu and again and again he had his fun to draw my attention to guests who were sitting farther away. It was a cheerful meal - and what happened then was not then and is still not meant for your ears today.
About a month later, I received another request from my agency. In a yellow envelope was a pack with three contact lenses each for the left and right eye. This time the question was whether I was ready to wear the lenses for about 24 hours on the day of the “encounter” starting at about eight in the morning? A limousine would pick me up outside my apartment at 9:00. At the idea of a reunion with Hiroshi, there was a smile around my lips. Drowned in thought, my hands played with the box with the lenses. Then I looked at the prescription: L(OS)-6.00PWR / R(OD)-6.75PWR. As already mentioned, I was not wearing glasses. But the increase of about… now… four units, combined with last time’s experience with contact lenses, made it clear to me that this would probably mean a much more severe loss of vision. My kitchen clock ticked quietly. I swallowed. Deep in my bowels I felt a clear arousal. I tried to imagine how much of the world I would still see under these circumstances. I couldn’t do it. Normally, my “encounters” take place on weekends. But Hiroshi had chosen a Tuesday. Contrary to my habit, I had slept restlessly the night before and finally got up at 6 o’clock. I had had a bowl of tea for breakfast and told myself that I could just as well work on my housework on “The Japanese Temple Building in the Heian Period” until the limousine arrived. So I got ready and put in the contact lenses I had received. How surprised I was when I looked around. I didn’t recognize anything in my room. Even my reflection was completely blurry. I could only barely imagine the contours of my face - and I was only 50 cm away from the mirror. Carefully I groped my way to my desk where my working papers were lying. Nothing! The paper seemed to be completely blank. My breath accelerated. Only when I brought my eyes closer and closer to the pages, I could recognize that there was something written. Almost - I could see that the sheets were described at all. But when I tried to read the characters I slammed my nose rudely onto the desk. Confused, I rubbed my nose tip. How could this be? Was I blind for today? Was this Hiroshi’s wish? The hours up to the arrival of the car were agonizingly slow. Why didn’t I take my lenses off for that long? Honestly, I don’t know. At some point I fought my way down the stairs. At some point I stood in front of the street door. In the utter nothing of an early day that I couldn’t see. It frightened me that I couldn’t recognize the trees on the other side of the road. There were just strange shadows. Darker and lighter spots. It frightened me that I didn’t even notice the strong red of our front door. Yes, there were colours, but was it really red? I didn’t know. At the same time I was stormed with all my might by an unbelievable amount of noises. The street in front of me made an infernal noise, although it is a rather modest back street. The crows scolded loudly above me. Ragged conversations flew towards my ears and disappeared in an unknown direction. If someone like that saw me from my fellow students… would they be surprised? Slowly the calm returned to me. If Hiroshi saw me like that… The thought suddenly appeared in my brain that he was already there. Very close to me. Watching me quietly. Again I felt an excitement within me, which I knew was not good at a professional “encounter”. “You look wonderful, Yuko.” The voice came out of the indefinable mist in front of me. So he was actually here. How long has it been? “And soon you’ll look even more beautiful.” I liked that calm, sonorous voice that spoke so unagitatedly. What did he just say? “Come take my arm. I’ll show you to our car. Cause I can’t wait.” It was a big, heavy car. That much was clear. The rich noises, the hardly audible engine, the smell of nappa leather, burl wood… since when can I smell burl wood? My imagination was obviously highly irritated and yet I felt anything but uncomfortable. Carefully the limousine slowed down and came to a halt. “We are here. If madam Yuko wants to be kind enough to give me her hand?” “Where are we going, Hiroshi?” “I understand that I shamelessly exploit your situation. But I hope you’ll give me a few more minutes - then you’ll know.” A little doorbell rang. The smell of a clean room spread to my nose. A bright, friendly place - I didn’t have the slightest idea where I was. “Yuko, this is Master Oshida. Master Oshida, this is the young lady I told you about. Well, Yuko, to cut a long story short, I abducted you to an optician’s. Like I said, you’re a wonderful woman, Yuko. But I hope you’ll allow me to ask you to make yourself a tiny bit more beautiful.” I felt my ears glowing, I felt the blood in my cheeks, I was sure if I could have seen myself now, I would be the most red-faced girl of all Japan. “Master Oshida has, according to my information, passed a pair of glasses, which he will now adapt to you. Yuko… I… I’d do anything to see you with those glasses for a moment.” The openness of these words touched me deeply. I nodded my head decisively. The next thing I knew, something cold on my nose. And at the same moment the light seemed to have been turned on. Suddenly I could see everything again. The colours shone with an unprecedented intensity. The contours were clear and sharp. The whole room seemed to glow. Master Oshida held a round mirror for me to look at. In the middle of my face in front of my eyes -
- maybe I should say a few words about my “normal” appearance first. As I told you before, I am 22 years old. And like most Japanese women, I have black hair. Mine are medium long, they fall smooth on my shoulders. I am almost exactly 1 meter and 66 centimeters tall and have a slim, sporty body. That’s not least because I’ve been practicing judo twice a week since elementary school. Rather untypical for a Japanese woman I have a large bosom - you can of course speculate again whether this has something to do with my secret career choice. But I’m telling you: Don’t do that. I have the common asian flat face, it is quite light and between my dark hair one could think that the full moon has risen. My nose is rather inconspicuous. My mouth is quite small and my eyes -
- and in front of my eyes there were these huge spectacles. And yet it was also small, delicate spectacles. A thin black frame. Circular metal. With large, round glasses. The frame fitted exactly as if it had been made just for me. Or as if a close observer with the help of a master optician had chosen the perfect setting for my face. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “You’re beautiful,” Hiroshi said almost simultaneously. Master Oshida nodded. Hiroshi beamed. I looked around the eyewear store. A very tidy place, dominated by natural-coloured wooden shelves with only a few glasses on display. But something was strange. I had the impression that all objects were slightly arched. Kind of bent, like I’m looking through a peephole. But the optician calmed me down. My brain and optic nerve were not yet accustomed to the sight through the polished lenses. After only a few days this funny effect would be lost. After only a few days… I looked at Hiroshi, but his quiet smiling face did not reveal what he thought. At close range it would hardly be noticeable to me any more. And that was true, too. When I looked at my new, spectacled face in the little mirror right in front of me, everything looked the same. The smooth black hair, the small mouth… but this time the full moon was surrounded by a narrow frame. I turned my head to see myself more in profile, then something new came to my attention. The actually completely smooth glasses got grooves at the edges. Lots of narrow grooves. Like reflections. Endless repetitions. The glass seemed much thicker at this point. Again a pleasant wave of excitement opened up from the center of my body and electrified me to the tips of my hair. “How can it be” I asked Hiroshi, “that I feel I see so much better than ever before? I mean, except for this crazy vault, everything seems clearer, more intense, sharper and clearer to me.” “That’s a secret, Yuko.” Hiroshi slowly replied, “A secret I want to find out with you.” Now I was finally sure that not only I could hear the blood throbbing in the ears.
To be continued