The Blonde Samurai (24 page)

I shan’t forget those long hours, my pains coming closer together and leaving me no breath for a sigh, my samurai patient and watchful…wrapping his kimono jacket around me to keep me warm, his gesture making me smile. It made the pains more bearable, reminding me of the Irish tradition of a woman wearing the coat of her baby’s father so he may share her pains. I no longer feared the oncoming night nor the dawn, restless as I was to bring my child out of its solitude. Shintaro built a small fire while Nami set water to boil in a round iron pot. (Had the gods told them the child was to be born in this verdant spot?) Akira stretched a canopy of green silk between the trees to enclose us, while keeping watch for intruders. ’Tis amusing to me, to observe how I, an Occidental woman, who ran from the wrath of my husband, found comfort in the arms of this samurai, the gentle woman wedded to him and the strong young warrior who loved him. Where once I may have feared being drawn too deeply into their lives, they were now significant links in a chain that bound me to this land.

You may scoff and say I have idealized the way of the warrior, but I wish for you to experience
Bushido-
as you would a drop of pure, fine oil from a flower, a perfume, if you will, so you may apply it to your life as you would scent to your skin and make it yours alone.

I lay under the silken canopy stretched between the trees to keep out the night chill, the sound of insects chirping and keeping time with my ragged breathing as if they knew their pleasant sounds helped me to stay calm. But I shall not lie; the grinding pain in my groin became unbearable, coming at intermittent times then moving to my belly. It became so severe in my back and hips I am sweating as I write, dots of perspiration blurring the words upon the linen paper as I
wished then I could blur the pain. Did you entreat your physician to employ chloroform, dear lady reader, to ease the discomfort as Queen Victoria did? If not, and so as not to make you suffer the indescribable pain of labor, I shall pause here to catch my breath. Pace the carpet if you must and warm yourself with hot tea, for the sacred event of birth is something this memoirist must leave in the hands of the gods.

I breathed deep…
slow
…in then out…bore down, pushed, then pushed again harder.
Nothing.
Shintaro held me under the arms from behind while I squatted…Nami pushing upward around my anus. Sweat dripped down my face and into my ears, saltiness on my lips…water,
water
…I needed water…but the natives didn’t drink water…someone put a small piece of wood into my hand…
a lucky charm from the goddess of mercy to help me through childbirth,
Nami told me…
I want water,
my tongue was so dry it felt swollen…she lay a moist cloth on my forehead…I opened my mouth and squeezed the cloth until drops of water tickled my tongue like a fairy’s toe…the pain, the pain, oh dear God, the
pain.
By the sainted head of my mother, I never dreamed such pain would come…push, yes,
push
…I was
trying
…trying, I cried out in English…a man’s voice, deep and demanding, cursed the gods for abandoning me…then he touched my cheek, comforting me…I squeezed my eyes shut and bore down…
pushing downward
…then again…
again
for how long I don’t know…until…oh, yes, yes…I clenched my teeth and pushed the baby out…I let out a loud sigh as my samurai eased me down onto the prepared bedding…sobbing I was when I heard a baby’s cry. Through the sweat dripping into my eyes, I could see Shintaro draw his short sword then cut the cord, but not too close to the baby’s navel, then Akira tied it. I strained to see my
baby…there, Nami had the child…so red and wrinkly…Shintaro placing hot, wet cloths on my belly…oh,
another contraction
…I moaned as the afterbirth gushed out of me…I lay back and gazed upward, the dawn lifting the shadows…a light breeze as soft as a baby’s breath fanning my burning face…I saw Nami clearing the infant’s mouth and nostrils before cleaning it then wrapping the child in a thick flannel kimono…
red,
the color of birth.

I looked up to see her hand the child to Shintaro, and the warmth of his smile gave to his eyes an expression of pride and wonderment before he placed the baby into my waiting arms. I couldn’t stop smiling at him when he said, “The gods have blessed us with a daughter.”

“I
refuse to let you go.”

“I find it ironic, Shintaro, that once you ordered me to leave, and now you order me to stay?”

“You have a child—”

“
We
have a child, you and I. But my baby will not be safe here if I remain.” I paced up and down, frantic, trying to make him understand I didn’t trust James, that he might send soldiers to find me and kill my little girl.
And
Shintaro.

Frustrated, I sat down on a square pillow next to my child asleep on the straw matting and stroked her cheek.
So innocent.
I had no choice. I must leave everything I loved to save them.

“We will go where your soldiers cannot find us,” said my samurai, indicating they would break camp and travel farther west.

I nodded, understanding. “You and the baby will be safe there, but I can’t keep on running. I must go back to London and be a wife to a man I hate.”

“I will not give you up.”

“You
must.
Nothing can change what I have to do.”

“
You
have changed
me,
yet you ask me to accept that when a man finds the perfect blossom,” he said, resorting to poetry to express himself since his status of samurai allowed him no other way, “it can never be his.”

“I will always belong to you, Shintaro. You must believe me.”

I picked up the baby and took her to my breast, her tiny mouth latching onto my nipple and suckling. A twinge of pain made me gasp, but I wanted to nurse her for as long as I could. Nami had insisted the baby suck seaweed tea dissolved in water from a little silk bag for three days. Then, on the seventh day, we visited the shrine near the small sanctuary atop the hill and, as tradition dictated, Nami, who had assisted at the child’s birth and was due much respect, named her.

Reiko.
Beautiful child.

“Nami will care for our daughter,” I said approvingly. “She is a good woman…and she loves you, Shintaro.”

“She is as gentle as the wings of a butterfly, but
you,
you are the blaze of crimson of the autumnal leaves, tongues of fire branding my soul with your touch, the smoothness of your skin, your hair like gold blossoms, all bringing me inescapable pleasure.” He rested his hand on my bare bosom and stared, his face filled with passion, into mine.

“You flatter me with your words of poetry, Shintaro, but you refuse to listen to me. Why?”

“You come from a strange shore, have learned our ways, but—”

“But I am not born samurai, is that what you wish to say?” I paused, choosing my words carefully, “Or because I am
gaijin?
”

He refused to answer me. Why were men so stubborn, even samurai? Didn’t he understand that by fulfilling my duty to my husband and my family, I would prove to him I had embraced their moral code?

“Is it not true
Bushido-
demands loyalty?” I continued. “And familial duty?” I put the baby over my shoulder and loosened the cords on her chemise before patting her lightly on the back. “’Tis the only way we can appease the gods for our sins and keep our daughter safe.”

He grunted, understanding. We both feared for our child’s safety,
he
because he believed a child belonged to the gods until the age of seven and could be taken from him at any time, and
me
because the devil himself in the form of my husband could do the same.

I cannot say we found common ground as the days passed, my Irish temper roused with a determination to keep my child safe, forgetting Shintaro was the lord and not used to such actions, especially from a woman. I have no excuse except to say I suffered from a deep melancholia after the birth of my child. I found strength by reflecting on the unruffled water of a lake not far from the village. There, as is the way of the warrior, I calmed my mind, my spirit, able to see my life clearly without putting emphasis on any one thing, and to find peace within myself.

We talked and talked and talked, Shintaro and I: when the baby woke up at nights for feeding; carrying her on my back as we walked through the village; breathing in the orange blossoms while we sat on the veranda in the late afternoons, but in the end he knew I was right. I made preparations to return to the settlement, but I shall never forget those precious days after the birth of my daughter and the traditions I hold
so dear: Nami burying a pen and ink with the afterbirth to assure the child’s skill with calligraphy (important for the daughter of a samurai), along with a fan so she would rise in the world (to become a geisha? I wondered); Shintaro insisting I not be separated from the others after childbirth; the celebration meal of rice colored by red beans. And when I told him about the ancient Irish tradition of placing cooked rice on the tip of his blade and feeding it to the baby (so the child wouldn’t die by the sword), he found that barbaric, making us both laugh.

After childbirth, I can unequivocally say you may have been advised by your physician or midwife to remain in bed for two weeks and not to climb stairs for six weeks. Sound advice, but what about sex? Oh, don’t be so prudish. That’s why you purchased this book, isn’t it? Yes, I realize you may not wish to have more children and, since birth control material is difficult to procure in England (try reading
The Fruits of Philosophy,
if you can get a copy), you may avoid sex. Do I hear a snicker or two? Most likely ’tis from those stalwart matrons who prefer their husband’s poker find its way into a pantry maid to save them the difficulty of birthing a child once their duty is done and they produce an heir or two (a spare, if you will). But to those of you who divine the touch of your husband as a way of finding a soothing satisfaction, I have a solution I can personally recommend.

Two
men.

I shall not be so indelicate as to advise you to allow the gentlemen to probe you with their fingers
or
their cocks, but to do as I did on a summer night when the already suffocating heat raised a fever in me
and
in my samurai. The smell of arousal was everywhere as the
andon
burned low, the scent of
fragrant oil filling my nostrils, its slickness rubbed on nude bodies tempting me with an eroticism I could not resist. I had qualms about the mother in me eclipsing the sexual creature, so it was with real delight I welcomed my samurai’s embraces. I did not revolt against my femininity, dear lady reader, but encouraged it, both sexually and maternally. And so I pass this advice along to you to encourage you not to deny yourself and his lordship mutual physical pleasure after birthing a child. So with your permission, ’tis a fond memory I shall indulge in…

Nude. I lay on my stomach, artful hands massaging my shoulders, back, buttocks, easing the fatigue in my knotted muscles, loosening my tightened ligaments, the silky futon keeping my skin cool while the samurai took their time to pleasure me, their bodies hot, their touch hotter. I breathed in the salty smell of perspiration, theirs and mine, mixing together in a provocative scent. I moaned when Shintaro placed his hand on the nape of my neck and my shoulders, caressing me with a gentleness I found so natural, so soothing it made me forget my pussy was dry and tender, my breasts full and painful, my nipples cracking.

The game quickened, the ménage in play heated, my surrender coming in short gasps when I turned over onto my back and Shintaro curved his hands under my breasts, pushing them up slightly, grunting his approval, then anointing my nipples with plum-blossom oil in a slow, deliberate manner. Sighing at his touch, I arched my back in a long euphoric stretch, lifting my belly while Akira brushed the insides of my thighs with his fingers, the smell of scented wood from his nails a pleasant stimulant. He licked me with long, long strokes, making me shiver with pleasure before running his
fingers through the bristling hairs on my pussy, pulling on them just enough to stir an ache of intense arousal in me. I knew it wouldn’t be long until I reached a point of release. Hands everywhere, tongues hot and wet, licking my nipples and my clit with a knowing touch, eager to please me. I could concentrate on nothing but the heat of their mouths pleasuring me, as if both samurai claimed me as their own. I dug my nails into the silk, the intensity of stimulation building,
building,
my breathing ragged in the heavy, slow-moving air until I trembled, then shuddered uncontrollably when my release came…rolling and wavelike…and seemingly never-ending.

Wrapping me in silk, hands gentle upon my breasts, my belly, my samurai bade me rest and sip the hot tea mysteriously left for me, while their sweaty bodies seethed with the hunger for raw, sexual games. Muscles gripping, hips grinding, cocks thrusting as my samurai performed for me, their nude bodies bathed in shiny sweat, wrestling, muscles flexing, cocks erect, their deep love for each other, devotion and sincere respect reflected in their actions. How Shintaro would engage the young warrior in a contest of strength to show his love; how Akira could temper his lord’s anger by merely touching his kimono sleeve with his hand; both knowing their love was like a flower blossoming at dawn, only to be swept away by the cold wind at twilight.

On this night I watched Akira warm a pool of oil in his hand and rub the musky scent on his lord’s hard chest, massaging its slickness into the curvature of his muscles, over his strong back down to the deep chiseled hollows on the sides of his buttocks, his massive thighs. Shintaro flexed his muscles at his expert touch, grunting when the younger samurai
grabbed his cock and ran his hand up and down the length of his hard shaft, moving his body in a steady rhythm, faster,
faster,
Akira’s cock rising with need, his dark soulful eyes telling his lord what he desired.

Sipping green tea, I squirmed as my pussy began twitching, so involved was I with their coupling, my other hand caressing myself as if
I
stroked my samurai. A stirring desire rekindled within me. I couldn’t stop watching as Akira continued kneading every inch of his lord’s body, arousing him with the heat of his hands warming his flesh, attentive to his hard abdomen, his nipples, then returning to his cock and making Shintaro buck with desire. He ordered the younger samurai to stand while he planted his cock firmly against his arse, then spread his buttocks and inserted an oiled finger inside him, stretching his hole and penetrating him, then inching inside him in slow, steady movements. He held his buttocks as he pushed forward until all of him was in the young warrior, pumping, thrusting, grinding until their ecstasy reached a rising pitch that erupted like a battle cry. I can still hear their wild shouts echoing in my head like two fierce warriors raging a tempest with such passion and savagery I couldn’t stop myself from being drawn into their flame of sensuality, their lingering touch upon my body entreating me to join them in their orgasm. I slid my hand between my thighs and inserted a finger inside me, sighing with delight at finding it slippery, the dryness gone, and began rubbing my burning clit slowly, then faster as the fire inside me intensified until a glittering trail of sensations raced through me, mirroring my lord’s wild excited thrusts.

It was the last time, dear lady reader, any woman, Occidental or Oriental, witnessed such a sensual, erotic scene
between these two samurai. I’ve attempted to re-create the vividness of that night in such a way that you will never forget it but will understand that in the pursuit of their forbidden desires, they explored their maleness and found a wholeness not known to most men.

How fortunate we are to have shared in that desire.

The day of farewells. The dawn is lead-gray, misty and wistful. Air is humid. This morning, as on every morning, I suckled my baby to my breast, my nipples sore, my fatigue dissipating when her now-familiar scent filled me with warmth and love and wonder. Reiko never seemed to cry, a trait among native babies, instead gurgling and cooing, happy and content. Except today. Somehow she knew this was the last time I would hold her in my arms, kiss her plump cheeks, tousle the fine hair atop her perfectly round head, rub her belly and watch her wiggle her little toes.

My tears fall without shame, my heart breaking, remembering how Nami took Reiko from my aching arms and Shintaro helped me mount my horse. The summer rains would soon be upon us and I must return to my husband before he sent soldiers looking for me, putting them all in danger. Physically I was strong, mentally and emotionally I was determined to
stay
strong so my heart would not break. My samurai had made me a woman, a mother, bringing out my virtues, my faults, my strengths. Laughing, crying, touching, healing, pleasuring me everywhere with his tongue, his cock. I shall never forget him.

We kept silent, Shintaro, Akira and I, making our way over the hill on horseback, past the ravine, the scent of pine overwhelming my senses. I took deep breaths but I couldn’t smell the orange blossoms, as if they closed their petals to show their
sadness, knowing I would not return. Nothing more needed to be said…nothing could be said…it was the way of the warrior.

I need not have fretted about James wondering what happened to me. Being the sly rogue he is, James had told the physician attending me that my child was stillborn and he had me committed to an asylum in Ōzaka for puerperal insanity (the only hospital there is an abandoned temple filled with a few patients). No doubt this is where the rumor started that I had been committed to an asylum.

Greedy, sullen, ambitious, licentious.
Nothing new about my husband, but what I did find surprising was his jubilance at seeing me. As if I were a restless ghost returned to him with a purse filled with gold.

“We leave for London within the month,” he was quick to tell me. The physician told him I wouldn’t be ready until then to make the journey. He also told James that “sexual excesses” could have a damaging effect upon me, alleviating my fear of him forcing himself upon me, at least temporarily. No one questioned his story about me being in an asylum (the foreign residents are not as sophisticated as you, dear lady reader), and I was plied with condolence cards and visits from the dutiful wives in the settlement, drinking tea and listening to their own woeful stories of losing a child. I must admit, I found their presence comforting since I was without my samurai, a fierce rushing of blood to my lower region making me moan with desire every time I caught the scent of fragrant blossoms on a breeze or crushed the silk of my futon over my breasts at night. I craved their penetrating touch: Shintaro’s hot, heated breath on the back of my neck, Akira’s hands parting my thighs. Their warmth, their hunger
for pleasure, their expression of absolute truth in each other’s embrace and in my arms. Though Shintaro had never spoken to me of love (I sensed his deep pride as a samurai prevented him from doing so), I believe I had opened his eyes to a new feeling that encompassed more than sex. And Nami, her quiet beauty so pleasant to capture in my mind, her enduring faithfulness, refinement of feeling and passionate belief in love. She understood how much I missed my baby…my throat tightening, my chest hurting every time I thought about my child…and how she wiggled her little toes when I rubbed her belly.