My father (the doctor) used to say, “the best medicine in the world is an ounce of prevention.” It was so cliché to me that I could have sworn that he had plagiarized the phrase from something, but I took the philosophy to heart regardless.
Oh, if you had seen the great pains I went to avoid the fallen angels of my desires; if you had watched how I redirected my gaze to my feet when those glowing beauties smiled in my direction, or had you heard the excuses I concocted to escape social convention at the homes of my students (where one might meet young family members), you might see me in a different light! Let if be said that Hideki treated his disease in very strong doses of prevention, so strong that an outsider may label me a pedophobe (“a person who fears or hates children”). I could not let myself give in to the temptation crafted by the perfection that walked among my fellow humans. I could not allow myself to be distracted by those tiny, slender limbs, or the round face still purified by traces of baby fat. I could not. I would not.
Had you met me in those days, you may have found a decent, attractive young man, shining with potential for the future. The sheer charm and intellect this man radiated would swoon any woman, but he was unshaken by the advances of the opposite sex. You may even begin to doubt that this man was a heterosexual, had you have been there. It was very little would you have known of how much I suffered. The hormones of the human body were my natural enemy. It seemed to be forever that was I plagued by desires that could never be quenched. If you had seen this deeper, hidden side of this bright young man, and had you seen the good morals he desperately tried to keep in spite of it all, you would have looked upon him with pity, not disgust.
During my years as a teacher, I never once alluded to my disease. I climbed in my reputation as a conductor of the passing of knowledge. I taught at the local high school, an extended branch of the elementary school where my mother worked. This may seem like a dangerous situation, but I assure you that my duties at said high school never crossed into my mother’s workplace. I made sure of it. My medicine was prevention; I could not afford to skimp on a proper dosage.
However, sometimes one runs out of medicine. With increasingly better foresight, this will become increasingly unlikely. However, there is always a modicum of a possibility that the Mistress of Fate or some other destiny-oriented deity will ensure that one lacks the medicine he needs.
Ah, but I’m still speaking in metaphors. My apologies. Allow me to say that again, in clearer words, so that the average layman may understand. (Not that you are average or a layman by any meaning of the words, dear Angel.) You see, I was on a small vacation from my duties as a teacher – school term had not started yet for that year. I usually spent my “vacations” by reading, or writing, or taking walks around nice scenery like one of these local parks I particularly liked, among a few other things. I’ll admit; my life was very ordinary, but I still managed to enjoy it.
It was during one such walk that I let my guard down; it was then that I allowed myself to glimpse an ethereal beauty beyond any other creature of her kind. I had decided to settle onto a bench overlooking a crystal-like pond. There were only a few trees to shade me from the warm noon sun. In my hands, a book. The title escapes me, but I recall the subject matter being a simple romance. After some time, a mother and her daughter came by; they seemed to be having a picnic.
If I had been treating my disease, I would have stepped away then to avoid the girl who accompanied her mother. She appeared to be at the tender age of eleven or twelve, which was quite dangerous for me. However, I let my guard down. I reasoned that I could read my book and ignore the two there. They would have their picnic, and then they would leave, and I would be fine.
Oh, if only I had responded to my conscience! If only I had been thinking more clearly that day. Nay, nay, if only I could say that I had given in to my moral deliberation and stepped away from that girl and her mother. Alas, I will not lie: there the forbidden fruit that sat, her supple limbs exposed in the warm summer air, her round cheeks and small lips and illustrious eyes all contributing to that glamorous face of hers; I was tempted, tempted beyond any prior enticement my poor mortal body had been subjected to in the past.
In the face of temptation, I failed. I failed to fight it, I failed to run from it: instead I bore the full weight of it. At first, I went back to my reading and successfully ignored the newcomers. After a half hour or so, the two had fallen asleep on their picnic blanket. By that point, I was unable to fight temptation any longer, and turned to watch the sleeping beauty. I could safely view the girl from afar without receiving any strange stares from her mother.
I followed the steady rise and fall of her chest. She wore a simple dress; it wasn’t baggy, nor tight, but fit comfortably and gave the perfect view of her small, precious body. Her long black hair was tied into a ponytail and adorned with several ribbons that complimented her nicely. I must have stared at her for years, soaking in every detail of her beauty.
After a time, her eyes fluttered open, meeting mine. I glanced away quickly, pretending I had been reading. That only seemed to further her curiosity, however. She rose to her feet, stretching with a yawn, and then approached my bench.
“Hey, mister.”
I ignore her. Perhaps if I had ignored her for long enough, she would go away, and I wouldn’t say something I’d end up regretting.
The girl was unperturbed. “Mister?”
The words on the page made no sense to me. I read the same sentence three times. I was feeling clammy and sweaty. Was the sun really so hot?
“Mister, why were you staring at me like that?”
Perhaps I could intimidate her away. I fixed her with my best cold grown-up stare. “Huh? What are you talking about, young lady?” To call her that... somehow, using those words only made her all the more enchanting.
She furrowed her brow. “You were staring at me for a while... you looked like you were hungry. Did you want a snack? We’ve got a lot of food left over—”
“No,” I spat through gritted teeth.
Of course, that was a lie. Of course I was
hungry. Not for any normal food of nourishment, but rather for the fruits of lust. All around my brain, warnings were flaring up. My conscience and other moral compasses were sending a vast number of alarms across my body, but at the same time, other parts of me were filled with longing. Alas, she was a seductress, a goddess; she lived amongst us mortals to seduce young men like me. She had cast an inescapable spell over me, and even with such a moral compass as mine, I could not resist her. Surely it would work out, I thought. Surely the girl and her mother would depart and I would be free of the spell. So, I gave in; I decided to speak to her, at least. A simple conversation. It would be harmless.
“I mean...” I pause. The words on the page may as well have been in a foreign language. With a sigh, I set the book down and looked right into the girl’s captivating eyes. “I’m sorry for staring. You’re... you’re a beautiful young girl.” Alas, I did not give her true beauty the proper justice in that first conversation.
She glanced away from my gaze, her cheeks dyed rose-red by my compliment. My heart began to beat at a constant, rapid rate, like the pendulum of a longcase clock. For every second that passed, a million thoughts flowed through the river of my mind. It was an eternity in those short beautiful moments, but it was sickeningly unsatisfying.
“I’m sorry,” I added, smiling. “I did not mean to embarrass you. You reminded me of an extraordinary rose I once had in my garden. Tell me...” I place two fingers on her forehead, as if I were feeling for fever. “...what is this flower’s name?”
“You mean me? Yuriko Inoue,” she said.
“Ah! I take it back. You are not a rose,” I said, pulling my hand away from her. “You’re a lily! ‘Lily-child...’ Your name is almost as beautiful as you are. As for me, I am Hideki Wakahisa. It is an eternal pleasure.”
An eternal pleasure. The way her dress casually concealed her upper torso region was taunting; I could just imagine the tiny, gleaming breast buds that rested beneath the layer of fabric. My manhood, concealed by the book on my lap, throbbed demandingly.
“Uh, Mister Wakahisa, what are you doing out here in the park? Aren’t you lonely on this bench by yourself?”
A bit of an odd question to jump to, but it only served to prove that Yuriko was not any normal child. She was obviously special. She seemed so
alive... that familiar spark radiated from her, just like it had when I was near Mari as a child. I welcomed the spark; I greeted the familiarity with a grin that nothing could destroy.
“No, I am alright. My book keeps me company.”
I hold up the book in question. Again, I cannot recall the title, which is only a sad reminder of the fragility of human memory.
“Oh, you like books, huh?” she said it with a noticeable drone in her voice.
“Are you not enlivened by them?” I said, making a sweeping gesture to the heavens. “It is a great privilege to be able to read the knowledge of ages long past, or be entertained by the arts of another mind.”
“Hmph. I don’t get it.”
“Lily-child, do not fret. I know many people, even grown-ups such as myself, who do not appreciate books in the same way I do. We are all different from one another. For example, I like books, and I like you, but others may—”
I stopped mid-sentence. I did not mean to say that. She narrowed her eyes, staring at me with puzzlement.
“...I mean, you’re a wonderful young lady. That’s all. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
She accepted the excuse. Bless the innocence of children. Bless them for the social cues and sexual undertones that float over their heads. Bless them for the way they move and hold their bodies; for the way they reveal so much without realizing. Ignorance is truly blissful. Even then, the girl was leaning forwards a bit from the waist. I could easily glimpse the top of her collar bones.
It was then that the sleeping woman awoke; the one I thought was Yuriko’s mother. I came to learn that she was not the mother of Yuriko, but instead one Keine Kamishirasawa... arguably one of the best teachers in the village, as well as one of the village protectors. I had not met her before, but the rumours seemed to be true: she was a beautiful woman, all things considered. Except that ridiculous hat of hers was quite unnecessary.
She was familiar with my name, because apparently she and my mother were friends. We exchanged small talk, and the woman even invited me to check out her school sometime. I brushed it off with a noncommittal “sure.” The two departed. I can still remember the smile Yuriko gave me as they moved away, and how it sent me into a bliss I had not known for years. A smile was good.
At home later that day, I relieved my urges in the company of none but myself. As I settled into bed, I decided that I would at the very least see the workplace of Miss Kamishirasawa and my mother. Prevention was my medicine, but there was no harm in looking, right?
That’s what I told myself. Anything to see Yuriko again.
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>>1524 Wow, I managed to keep my word after all.
