by H. L. Valdez
“Fortune, did you hear those peculiar sounds?”
“I guess not,” he answered, as Velvet motioned him over, as she walked backward toward the entryway. Standing at the edge of the stairway, they strained to hear the low, far-reaching monotone fog-horn-like sound.
“I hear it now," Justin said, quizzically.
“What is it?” Velvet questioned.
“We have company.” Butch stated looking at Marco, walking up the stairs carrying wood. “Sounds like a conch shell. Usually, Shinto priests use the shell to call people to worship,”
“Maybe they’re signaling us? Or maybe they heard the gun shot last night,” Primo added, looking at Rita as she walked up the steps carrying twigs and branches.
“Let's get lunch ready," Marco suggested. "Butch, try the transmitter,” he added, as Butch nodded and went about attempting radio contact with a relay ship anchored at a distant sea outpost. Marco walked outside, ambling around the large wooden veranda listening attentively to the monotone sounds vibrating through the deep forest. Rita wiped the sweat from her brow as Velvet walked up to her. Both women stared at each other in a silent reaffirmation of their commitment to themselves, the mission, and the team.
“We’re not making contact,” Butch replied, as the women stood over him.
“Try every frequency,” Velvet suggested, calmly sitting on the floor next to him as Rita turned and walked away. The following moments were filled with contemplation as Primo and Justin began preparing the afternoon meal. Primo blew on the embers in the fireplace as small blue-gold flames burst around stacked kindling sitting atop hot embers. Rita poured coffee into two bamboo cups then walked outside searching for Marco. Snaking her way around the large circular shaped deck, she became hidden from view, concealed by over grown thick foliage and overhanging bamboo trees.
"You're hard to find back here," she said softly, handing him the coffee.
“Where did this come from?” He asked, grasping the green wooden cup as he crouched in the sheltered meditation corner.
“From the Majestic Hotel in Saigon. It’s a French roast,” she quipped, as Marco’s eyes melted into hers. In that brief silent moment they were deferential to each other. The momentum swept away symbols of success and achievement. Marco took a pensive pause, becoming self-conscious of his inner desire. Rita took a deep breath inhaling the fragrant fresh air.
“Maybe a guy has to chase his own tail before he reaches insight?” Marco said softly.
“Just be yourself.” She said smoothly, occupied with pleasure thoughts.
“We’re so close, yet so far,” he whispered gently.
“Marco, I feel wanted and desired. I feel your energy. It's emotion for emotion. I want you. And for once in my life, I’m not in an emotional vertigo,” she whispered with self-conscious surprise, looking down at him.
“Our mission will determine our path, Rita. Until then, we’ll share the same dream,” Marco answered gently, as chills shook his body with desire.
“You're a real man Marco. I like that,” she whispered with an admiring, moist smile. Marco looked at her with intense desire, glancing at her large succulent lips. He tingled as he sat. She quivered in moist anticipation. As Marco slowly stood up, Rita dropped her cup, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him toward her, passionately pressing her eager lips against his mouth. Marco hesitated, and then dropped his cup as Rita inserted her curious tongue into his mouth, rolling it around his warm tongue, then sucked it into her sensual mouth. Marco's third leg began to swell as Rita felt his hardening penis pressing against her warm, wet, wanton crotch.
“You got my worm wiggling,” Marco whispered, fantasizing about Rita's tongue and where else she could give him pleasure.
“Let me work it,” she whispered. “Just let go,” she suggested squeezing his turgid penis between her fingers. Marco was getting weaker, succumbing to Rita’s femininity as she drew him tighter against her body, rubbing her inviting thighs back and forth against his throbbing erection. She felt his firm penis between her legs then began sucking and tugging Marco's tongue even harder. His tongue was in pain but it was a pleasant hurt-so-good agony as Rita stretched his tongue to its threshold. Rubbing herself harder against his muscular, athletic groin, Marco clutched her thin waist and began thinking with his glands and hands, caressing and rubbing her chiseled torso. Marco gasped for air, and then sucked Rita's tongue into his mouth as she wrapped her arms around his rippled body, withering in his strong arms. Groaning, Rita hopped up wrapping her legs around Marco straddling him as he held her firmly by the buttocks as they passionately kissed and hungrily rubbed against each other into a mutual explosion of sexual release, sending their bodies shaking in ecstasy, satisfying their basic drive for sexual fulfillment. Marco, feeling exhausted and recharged by the kinetic explosion, gripped Rita's head in his hands kissing her passionately. She grabbed his hair, kissing him back with unrelenting lust, holding him tight in her torrid embrace. Marco was overwhelmed by her exotic sexuality as his hands freely explored her small, full, firm breasts, and responsive body.
“Thank you,” he said softly as they gently French-kissed.
“There’s plenty more,” she assured him, with a lingering kiss. “Just keep coming back.”
“You’re terrific,” he replied, easing her down slowly over his erection.
“This is heaven,” she said, squeezing his hard penis between her milky thighs.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said, his pants saturated in semen.
“Lead the way. I’ll follow,” she said, gleefully.
Broken Link
11 July 1964. From the meditation tower high above the temple’s roof, a warm breeze ruffled Velvet’s hair as she peered through high-powered binoculars. Adjusting the focus, she scanned the mingling of rugged ravines, lily adorned sheer cliffs, and verdant hills. She was curiously focusing on the mountains honey combed-like natural caves and rocky outcropping. Hibiscus grew around a vast number of tombs carved into the side of the mountain where a partially hidden smoke stack protruded near the barely visible terraced agricultural slope. At her side, Butch stared at the dark Indian red water clouds, piercing through acres of thick vapor that seemed to be on fire. Wild crows were hurriedly flying home to roost, preparing for the night. Nesting on the faded blue tiled roof, wild birds lifted and turned their heads toward faint melodic sounds echoing from the black crevices of the distant volcanic cliffs.
“Something is wrong on this Island,” Velvet said, bewildered, standing next to Butch as thousands of leaves rustled in the tropical wind. “We need to map this place out.”
“This island chain is one of the last unexplored regions of Japan. The island is still primitive, secluded, and wild,” Butch answered.
“We need to investigate that smoke stack,” she urged, glancing into Butch’s eyes. In that moment, a mysterious rhythm vibrated inside of them, as though they shared the same emotional tendency toward each other. Velvet was beautiful and natural, not pretentious. Butch stood close to her as they turned, gazing at the distant cliffs. Butch respected her high level of interpersonal skill. He knew she worked with you, not for you, and wanted understanding, not direction.
“Butch, let’s get personal for a minute,” she began. “What happened between us two years ago in the States, is over. It needs to stay in the past. I never thought we would be working together again.”
“But here we are. I ignored my wife for you. Did you forget that?” He asked, shaking his head.
“I never asked you to do that.” She said with a hard expression.
“What happened to you? What changed your mind?”
“I guess I had a different attitude toward love and sex. I was lonely,” she answered, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
"So your love and the investigation in New York ended at the same time?" Butch implied with hurt feelings, remaining quiet for a moment.
“Seems that way.”
"I lost big time, Velvet. You
left me trapped in emotional quicksand. I lost my desire to love and trust."
"But, you got the dog." Velvet said, making light of his feelings. "No, but seriously, you have to deal with it. Romance is a fuzzy situation. Love is a gray area. You know that," she said with sexual wisdom, refined through a parade of intimate relationships.
"Love never ends, even when we cannot experience it. I still have feelings for you.” He answered with gloomy eyes.
"That's a dangerous place to be, Butch. You over invested in me. Capital S-H-I-T. Don't put me in this spot. I don't like it. Make amends with your wife."
“You're my type of challenge Velvet. Come on.”
“What’s your outlook, Butch?” she asked staring into his brown eyes.
“Life is change,” he sighed, turning to the quacking ducks in the shrubs, and cautiously scanning the bamboo trees, thinking they were being watched. “Outreach has to be met with desire. Snap back to originality. Now is the time to revitalize us," he pleaded.
“You snap back. We had our time. But that was then and there, and this is here and now. Listen, I’m tired of transient relationships and the serial monogamy cycle. I need to change my life. For me, life is one huge negotiation, so I focus on reason, resolution, and truth. Now, I’m trying to integrate my history into a balanced present state of being."
“Heavy stuff. But, it’s negligent homicide not to be involved with you again. Come on Velvet.” He pleaded, again.
“Our situation has a lot of ambiguity and discord. For us to survive this mission, it’s a question of attitude, will, and ambition. We need to stay focused.”
“I believe that life is hope. If you feel your thoughts, your thoughts will become your being,” Butch answered, putting his hands on Velvet's waist.
“Butch, love all, trust none; forgive all, forget none; respect all, worship none. I must release the past, control my present, and prepare for my future,” she said, removing his hands from her waist.
“But, I still feel good about you...it goes deep into my soul.” He agonized.
“We all have a history, we all have goals and dreams," Velvet answered, feeling uncomfortable, making a sour face.
“Velvet, I’m in the shadow of love here.”
“Well stay in the shadows. That’s my advice. In action, I watch the timing. The timing is off for us. Besides, I'm not ready for intimacy.”
“I got it. I got it. I accept it.” He said, begrudgingly.
“Relationships are hard work. I don’t have the energy.”
“It’s a Greek tragedy for me. I accept it. OK then, let’s have a truce.” He agonized, trying to negotiate her attitude.
“Look, I can sense a yin-yang with you," She answered softly, trying to laying him down easy in a confrontive-supportive manner. "But I choose the people I’m with. I don’t want them thrust upon me.”
“Like now, and this situation? Is that what you mean?”
“This is what I know. My insides are shivering, Butch, and I’m not interested in negotiating or social contracting for a relationship. I still need to be alone," she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I need to recover from life.”
"I'm a risk taker. If I worried about what’s going to happen, I wouldn’t accomplish anything. I’m responsible for my own happiness and pleasure,” he concluded, putting his hand on her shoulder and shaking her gently.
“No repeat performances," she said, turning her head to the side. "You’re good at making assumptions. I hope you're good at making deductions and connections. It’s a question of being happy with yourself first.” She said, removing his hand from her shoulder
“I guess I’m not happy.”
“I know you’re not happy. And you know what? I can’t make you happy.”
“What should I do?”
“Examine what you need to strengthen and repair within yourself.”
“That’s easy? I don’t know how to do that.”
“If it were easy, you’d be happy right now. Stay focused on you and your marriage. Mental health is hard work.”
“Right. Right. My marriage.”
“Put your motor in neutral and turn your radar off. Come on, let’s join the others,” she said smiling, squeezing his huge bicep pushing him toward the stairs.
“Right. Right.”
"Try and be flexible, Butch," she suggested, walking down the spiral stairs ahead of him.
"I tried being flexible. It felt uncomfortable. Didn't feel right."
"I think you’re high on structure and low on flexibility, old friend. You need more balance in your life."
"If I loosen up, does that mean you'll come back to me?"
"Loosen up for yourself, not for me. I'm going to be emotionally selfish for a while," Velvet said shaking her head.
“How do I turn the corner on this?”
“Love your wife. You have a wife. Try loving her. Stay focused on her.”
“Right. Right. That didn’t quite work out.”
“Go back and try it again. She’s still young. Man up to it.”
“I have no idea of what to say to her or how to start talking with her.”
“Let see, how about saying, I love you or I miss you. Try those little ice breakers for openers.”
“Hmmm?”
“Do something.”
“Like what?”
“Call her,” she suggested, pausing on the stairs.
“What about us?” he said, in a pleading tone.
“There is no us, it’s over. Let’s move on! Keep it professional.” She complained, frowning.
“Got it. Got it,” he replied, nodding in agreement. “Move on! Keep it professional. Right.”
“Call your wife.”
“Call my wife.”
The Encounter
Moments Later
Inside the temple, Rita was sitting on the worn wooden floor cleaning and oiling her pistol. Marco sat beside her eating bananas and sprouts from the exotic Yaeyama coconut palm. Across the room, Justin sat near the fireplace eating breadfruit. Leisurely, Butch and Velvet walked into the room. Spanky stood guard, rigidly growling at the entrance, his wide eyes fixed on the thick bamboo trees. Butch looked at Spanky, sniffing some undefined odor. Cautiously, Butch walked behind Velvet, watching Spanky. Suddenly, Spanky’s deep growls turned into wild barking. Velvet and Butch looked up and froze in their tracks. Slowly, Butch cat-walked toward the wide entrance as the group paused. Spanky barked rapidly, crouching into an attack stance as Primo walked into the room holding his sawed-off shotgun to the head of an old undernourished, gaunt, Japanese man with long matted white hair, wearing a tattered World War II Japanese Army jacket. The long strip of the fundoshi loincloth was wrapped between his buttocks and tied around his waist. Surprised, the group jumped to their feet, puzzled by the turn of events, staring at their first prisoner.
"I found him a half-mile from here," Primo said proudly, easing his weapon away from the man's skull.
“Everyone stay still. Butch, you're up,” Marco said in hushed tones, as Butch nodded his head without turning.
“Spanky! Stop!” Butch blurted, snapping his fingers, immediately retrieving the growling husky animal to his side.
“Konichi-wa,” Butch said, bowing slowly and edging forward.
"No talking," the bare-foot old man shouted in raspy Japanese, scratching his unkempt white beard. Pensively, the team watched Butch attempt to bridge the cultural gap, trying to communicate. Spanky sat silently at his master’s side looking up at his intense face for direction. Butch put his left hand behind his back and extended his right hand palm up in a cupped position, and bent his knee.
“Ohikae Nassutte!” Butch said in a rough voice that seemed out of character. Velvet stood fascinated as the scarred face prisoner returned the same greeting and gesture that established their presence.
“Marco, what does it mean?” Rita whispered, standing behind him, pressing her breasts snugly against his back.
“It’s called Jing
i. They’re starting the ceremony to cut Jingi. It’s part of the moral code,” he replied, as the wiry old soldier removed his soiled coat.
"Velvet, look at his tattoo," Rita whispered gazing at the nationalistic, and faded full-body tattoo of cherry blossoms surrounding Mount Fuji, covering the man's chest, stomach, and back. Butch inched forward as Primo unzipped his pant leg pocket and began to pull a .44 magnum pistol from his jump suit.
"Hold on. No shooting. Stay calm." Marco whispered. Puzzled, Rita and Velvet watched Butch unzip his jumpsuit and cautiously remove it over his shoulders, revealing his muscular arms and back. Pushing the jumpsuit past his waist and to the floor, he stepped out of his clothing and cinched his undergarment to match the loincloth appearance of the primitive man before him. Standing as equals, Butch revealed his intricate tattoo suit of a carp swimming up a waterfall. Only the open space between his chest and part of his washboard hard stomach remained untouched.
"Him too?" Rita gasped, studying the definition of his muscles and the contours of his body. Velvet gazed at Butch's muscles, reliving their steamy nights, recalling how cold his tattooed body felt against hers when they slept together.
"What does all this mean?" Rita asked quizzically, standing behind Marco, pressing her warm body against his.
"For the Yakuza, the tattoo is the badge which suggests a bond and stronger ties," he answered, tilting his head back touching hers. "They are part of the Nakama, or inner circle, like those who are in the inside. They have the presence and values of old Bushi soldiers. They value a code of ethics known as Bushido, or way of the warrior. They live by ceremony, rituals, and a defined code of etiquette," Marco stated while closely watching Butch.