Cherry Blossom Girls International

by Harmon Cooper

  Ingrid was reading something, and upon closer examination I saw that it was a book on physiology, which was probably a smart thing for her to be reading.

  Actually, these girls really did need some schooling, but I definitely wasn’t a person that could be considered a teacher. I would add that to the bucket list of things that we needed to eventually have happen. For now, we were a superhero team on a mission, undercover missionaries.

  Fuck yeah.

  Chapter Eleven: First Class

  I was glad I didn’t drift off to sleep.

  I was seriously thinking about it, and after watching the latest DisNike Marvel movie, and wondering if Vince Porter had done the costumes for it, I was definitely starting to wind down. A dinner of sorts had been served to us an hour or so ago, not bad food either, and I had drunk two bottles of Chardonnay.

  Classy AF.

  The flight attendant had even passed out a goodie bag to each of us to eat if we got hungry.

  Everything was as it should be, and that’s when Grace squeezed my hand.

  “Follow me,” she said in a whisper, moving over my body, arching her back in a way that rubbed her ass against my chest as she got out of her seat. I stood, and looked to the others to see if they had any thoughts about what Grace and I were planning to do.

  Dorian had dozed off, a sleep mask over her eyes.

  Chloe was interested in whatever she was watching, as was Veronique, Ingrid asleep next to her, her head on the tray table.

  Michelle was looking out the window, completely distracted by whatever was going on outside, and likely controlled by Grace.

  This left Stella, who was going for one of the snacks that the flight attendant had passed out. If Stella saw us, she didn’t make any indication of it as we passed by—again, likely Grace.

  In fact, no one looked at us.

  It was as if the two of us were invisible, Grace’s hand behind her back as she led me toward first class.

  A flight attendant drew the curtain aside, allowing us to pass through.

  “Your cabin is ready,” said the man, nodding toward the front of first class. “It’ll be the second door on the left.”

  “Thank you,” Grace told him, her eyes white ovals.

  Nope, no one here saw us move to the cabin in question either, Grace not even hiding the fact that we were about to have a little mile high fun.

  About halfway through first class, she turned and kissed me, her tongue flitting against my lip.

  “Not here,” I reminded her.

  “I know, I know,” she said as we continued forward. We came to the free cabin, and let ourselves in.

  I had never seen anything like it in my life.

  There was a straight up bed in the private cabin, a TV, a table that one could theoretically work at, the whole nine yards. How they fit all this in the airplane, I had no idea, but this was definitely how we needed to travel the next time we flew overseas.

  Grace pulled off her Manchester Missions shirt, and as she did, her form started to change. She was now the Japanese woman I’d seen earlier, the one in the oversized shirt with slits at the side.

  As she looked at me, her pupils began to enlarge, almost as if she were an anime character.

  “It’s weird,” I told her, and Grace smirked at me.

  I started to go for her, but she stopped me, telling me to remain standing. She got onto the soft bed and bent forward, almost as if she were attempting a frog pose or something. Her leggings morphed into a skirt, which she naturally hiked up by spreading her hips even wider.

  As if I was being controlled by a greater force, I got on my knees and started licking her from behind, tasting her, burying my face in her ass cheeks.

  Grace moaned lightly, occasionally looking over her shoulder at me, her eyes now red and powerful, my erection pressed against the front of my jeans to the point that it was hurting.

  Eventually, she thrust her hips back a little bit, indicating I was to move away. I did so immediately, and Grace rolled onto her back and spread her legs, fingering herself in front of me for a moment.

  She was now in the form of a woman I used to follow on GoogleFace, a Latina with caramel skin and a beautiful ass, small breasts, her hair pink. She kept going at it, her fingers moving up and down, everything glistening from her wetness and my saliva.

  I still had my Missions shirt on, but I most definitely had my pants off by this point, ready to plow right in.

  And wa-lah.

  Grace’s voice appeared in the corners of my mind, whispering, asking me what my fantasy was. And the thing was, I didn’t really know what my fantasy was in that moment. My fantasy was already my life, and my life had taken me to places that most would never see or go.

  I was living my goddamn fantasy.

  And in that moment, I craved authenticity.

  “I want you, the real you,” I told her.

  And Grace knew exactly what I meant as her form began to change, her skin now light, her hair turning brown, her breasts shrinking, everything about her a size smaller than it was just a moment ago.

  It was Grace, Sabine, the name she had been given before she met me.

  “If it’s what you want,” she said as she lifted her arms toward me.

  I practically fell into her, using my hands for support, my eyes momentarily skipping from Grace’s face to the window, the sea of clouds outside the window, the sun on the horizon, our souls high above the world where no one could ever touch us.

  I rubbed the tip of my penis against her clit for just a moment, inhaling her essence, wanting to put it inside so badly that it almost pained me.

  “You have to see this…”

  Grace turned, one hand coming back to spread her ass cheeks a little, to help guide me in. Both of us watched the clouds below, the pinks, dark blues, yellow, orange and lime greens—all the colors that the sun had cast upon them.

  I was going slowly now, trying not to pound it out, feeling my cock go all the way in, and come all the way out, the tip stopping at just the last moment.

  Grace revealed her neck to me, her hair falling onto the top of her back. I kissed her, started moving just a bit faster, trying to go deeper.

  I could have lasted.

  It felt good to know that.

  We could have switched positions, Grace climbing on top, or positioning herself so I could go at it sideways.

  But she was moaning loudly now, her vagina quivering, and I’d been with her enough to know that this meant she was close to orgasming. With a deep breath I kept at it, making sure my rhythm was steady, hoping that we would be able to climax at the same time.

  Grace made a gulping noise, and let out a deep breath.

  And that was all I could take.

  I finished inside her, sighing as a wave of emotion rolled over me.

  She didn’t have to say anything.

  I kept it in for a moment, still moving at a slow pace, even though my penis was throbbing.

  Eventually, we stopped, and Grace started to clean up.

  She returned to me with a wet napkin, already back in her Scandinavian beauty form, guiding the wet napkin over the shaft of my penis, pinching the head so just a little more came out, giggling as she did so.

  “What did you think?” she finally asked as she sat next to me, back in her clothing.

  “There aren’t words to describe my feeling right now,” I told her.

  “Do you love me?” she whispered.

  “More than anything in this world…” I looked out the window. “That world.”

  Chapter Twelve: Lost in Translation

  I slept like a baby. Seriously. After my little excursion with Grace into first class, it wasn’t difficult catching a few Zzzzs.

  Looking back, I was pretty sure she aided me in my slumber, her or Chloe, because I fell into a pretty deep coma for the next eight hours or so.

  And I would have stayed that way too if it hadn’t been for a flight attendant coming by with a br
eakfast which consisted of an omelet, a pancake with the syrup baked inside of it (wtf!?), orange juice, coffee and a snack bar for later.

  The captain let us know that we would be starting our descent into Tokyo in about thirty minutes, and that the flight attendants would also pass out Customs paperwork for us to fill out.

  As I munched down on breakfast, noticing that Veronique had already finished her coffee, a Customs form was slapped on my tray table, nearly disrupting my orange juice.

  “We will fill the forms out at the border,” Grace said as she took a sip of her coffee.

  “Do you want your pancake?” Michelle called back to me.

  “Of course I do,” I started to say.

  The flight attendant, who stood directly behind us, stopped whatever she was doing and went to the food station, returning with another tray for Michelle.

  “Thanks, Jill,” Michelle said as she dug in.

  “Did you sleep?” I asked Chloe, who was half-watching an action movie starring a bunch of buff dudes from the WWE.

  “Earlier,” she said, without taking her headphones out. “But I woke up in time to catch this one.”

  “I never fancied you as an action movie type of gal,” I told her as I went for my omelet. It was salty, a bit chewy, but not too bad.

  “It’s amazing what normals can do with cinematography,” she said.

  “We are all people,” I reminded her.

  Dorian laughed. “Of all of us, you are the only one who isn’t a person.”

  “That’s right, Pastor Edward is a mutant,” Michelle said, laughing from her seat in front of Dorian.

  “Poor mutant pastor,” said Stella, a rare smile on her face.

  “And what were you doing this whole time?” I asked the vector manipulator. “Just watching movies?”

  “I got some much-needed beauty rest, and I was able to do my taxes,” she said, showing me a crossword puzzle.

  I laughed. “If only taxes were that easy.”

  “Are we going to have to start paying taxes?” Michelle called over to me.

  “No,” Ingrid answered her.

  “Whatever we’re doing should definitely be considered a Schedule C.”

  “What’s that mean?” Grace asked me, her eyes going white. “Even you don’t really know what that means, do you? You heard that joke in a movie.”

  “I know that it has something to do with independent contractors... ”

  “I can get behind that,” Veronique said as she reached her hand up and pressed the button to call the flight attendant, presumably to order another coffee.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “Just a joke.”

  I was about to tell the metal vampire that jokes were supposed to be funny, but I figured it’d be just as smart to keep my trap shut.

  It was smooth sailing from there on out, the CBGs and one CBB cruising in like we were on a second Perry Expedition. I’d read a book about Commodore Matthew Perry once, how the US basically forced Japan to open up to them in the 1850s by bombing their harbor.

  According to a history teacher I had back at Southern Connecticut, this attack could be traced to the late nineteenth century Japanese imperialism that eventually led the country to go to war with us in the 1940s.

  And here we were, just about to hit the runway, best fwends after all these years.

  And what a weird friendship it was between Americans and the Japanese. From what I’d seen in my own country, and from what I would definitely experience in the near future, both of us borrowed extensively from each other.

  You couldn’t throw a stone in America without hitting a Toyota, Honda or Sony product.

  But that worked both ways.

  If it hadn’t been for Betty Boop, we wouldn’t have anime in its current form.

  The GIs bringing over comic books in the late 1940s and 50s were what spawned manga and anime as we know it. Odd to see it come full circle, to now inspire Americans like myself to binge watch subtitle-laced fantasy harems.

  And I would have gone on and on thinking about the things that we had borrowed from each other, but the plane landed, my nerves had settled, and it was time to get my sci-fi writing ass out of the hot seat.

  Again, things were smooth as butter as we exited the airplane, passed the quarantine area, heading straight to Customs with the requested paperwork in our hands.

  There was a lot of walking, and occasionally I would see a Japanese airport attendant bow slightly in our direction as they moved past us, the workers always cleaning, polishing or moving items.

  “I can’t wait to take some pictures,” said Michelle, beaming up at me.

  “You don’t have a camera,” I reminded her. We were now on a moving walkway, and with my phone in hand, I connected to the airport’s Wi-Fi.

  “But you’ll let me borrow yours, right?” she asked.

  “If you’re nice,” I told her, jokingly. “Sure.”

  “I’m always nice, right?” she asked Dorian.

  “I don’t know. Sometimes you’re mean.”

  “You are definitely mean when you’re hungry,” said Ingrid, who was next to Chloe, the path still moving us forward as we stood stationary.

  “Not true! Tell them it’s not true, Gideon!”

  “Relax, everyone, let’s just get through this.”

  We moved past a giant window to the outside world, to Japan. And while I couldn’t see anything interesting yet, I was definitely getting a vibe. Maybe it was the light piano music piping from a speaker, or the robot scooting around on a pair of wheels, polishing the metal railing.

  Or maybe that was in my head.

  The moving path stopped, and we got onto another one, the length of this one giving me enough time to pen a quick email to Father and save it, figuring he would check the draft box at some point.

  We neared the Customs checkpoint and Grace stopped us, her hands coming out in a dramatic way.

  “What is it?” I asked her.

  Her eyes twitched some; Grace cocked her head to the left a bit.

  “Grace, talk to me,” I told her, tuning into any of the psychic vibes I could pick up. Since I had her power on deck, I could hear the chatter of people’s minds, and I came to the quick realization that all the chatter was in…

  Japanese.

  “Shit. I totally should have thought this through,” I said, bringing my hand my forehead. “I… fuck… I really meant to look into this!”

  “What’s going on?” Michelle asked, looking around and watching people move past us.

  “We can do this,” I told Grace. “You can still make them do stuff, right?”

  “Maybe I can help,” said Chloe, her throat starting to glow.

  “You could put them all to sleep,” Dorian suggested.

  “I can do other things as well, like bring them under our spell, that sort of thing. And I don’t need to disrupt their minds in the same way as Grace to do it. I have the gift of sound, and as you know, music is a universal language. Ha!” Chloe said, giving our group a cute smirk.

  “I can make it work,” said Grace, “but it’s not going to be the same as before. I don’t believe I’ll be able to communicate with them. But my commands are quite primitive in nature, and things like ‘let us through’ or ‘don’t check our documents’ are easier to communicate through images. So that’s what I will do.”

  “Hold on. Just to be clear here, you’re going to push images into their heads that allow you to manipulate them?”

  “That’s right,” she told me with a shrug. “At least until we can get a translator. You trust me, right?”

  “I trust you. Let’s just get through security and go from there.”

  “Good point.”

  We got in line, Grace at the front of the group. Once we got closer to the security checkpoint, they tried to separate us and send us along two different lines.

  This was Grace’s first test.

  I had never seen her concentrate so
hard, her brow furrowing, the Japanese woman politely dividing us into separate lines, stopping, looking at Grace, and then ushering us all into the same line.

  The next Japanese immigration official we encountered spoke English. She stood at the next checkpoint, reminding people to get their passports and Customs documents out.

  Grace locked eyes with her and it was all over.

  She waited for all of us to pass, and then tugged on a rope that stopped others from using our lane. The woman diverted the people standing behind us into a different lane, and then she led us directly to the Customs officer.

  “This works too,” I told Grace under my breath as she communicated to the woman, and the woman spoke to the man that would inevitably stamp the passports we didn’t have.

  Grace was so concentrated on both controlling the woman and sending images to the man that she actually ran into the counter, this act throwing her off for a moment, the man blinking and looking at us curiously for a moment as cognizance spread over his face.

  But Grace latched back on, and soon, by the hair on our chinny chin chins, we had made it through Customs.

  We were through!

  “We’re going to have to be extra careful,” I told the group as soon as we stopped in front of the baggage claim area. The woman who Grace had used as a mind slave was still with us, and she was just about to bow and turn away when Grace stopped her.

  I caught Dorian looking up at a television near the baggage claim area. A clean-cut Japanese newscaster was speaking frantically as a video played over his shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” I asked the Japanese woman.

  “It seems that there is a terrorist attack,” she told me in accented English, her voice completely monotone.

  I swallowed hard. “Did you say a terrorist attack?”

  The woman nodded. “In Shibuya. At the crosswalk. A Japanese terrorist group is attacking people.”

  “Okay,” I said, after a deep breath in. “What do we do?”

  “This isn’t our fight…” Veronique started to tell me.