This is a little racey. In fact, its probably NSFW. It involves me and a part time job that led to a lot more. It also represents a time when I was a little less worried what the world thought of me. Enjoy. Or not. /eavier
Women generally don’t make sushi, in fact if you walk into a sushi bar or restaurant, nine times out of ten, the chef behind all those parcels of delight and wonder will be male. It has something to do with the fact that women’s hands are too warm, a fact that perplexed me, as every woman I knew at the time seemed to have blood flow that stopped at their wrists.
No matter. The chick I was seeing at the time was addicted to the stuff and used to try and get me to join her. I had always liked tuna, so she used my fondness for yellow fin to coax me into trying my first piece of sushi. I feigned disgust, much as one does when they receive their first unexpected kiss age eight, even though they’re cracking fat down south.
The creamed tuna roll didn’t give me bamboo but it did activate some part of my brain that said whatever I’d just eaten was something I should explore further. Needless to say, my second encounter with sushi really wasn’t a mess around affair. I dived straight into the deep end with a teriyaki chicken / salmon roll combo at St Pierre’s and regretted not a second of that decision. As those thin delectable portions of salmon swam around on my tongue, I knew I was hooked.
As time went by, I began to grow tired of the everyman combos and so like every junkie that senses that the glow is disappearing from their habit, I found myself searching out for the next big thing. That’s how I found Murakami’s.
I was studying advertising at the time and working at a local movie theatre. I was an usher, which meant that 90% of the time I did nothing but watch movies and talk rubbish, turning up at the end of each session to clean it up. Even this chore wasn’t really one. You used to find money that had fallen out of a back pocket and had lodged itself down the back of a theatre seat. That’s how I found a 25% off lunchtime voucher for Murakami’s on Eden. I thought little of it but jammed it into my pocket where all the vouchers and coins that I’d found that evening went.
On returning home that night and emptying my pockets on the bedroom dresser, I saw that I’d found $6.40 in change, a half price voucher from a local barber, two Bacon McMuffin vouchers and the one from Murakami’s. As a poor student, I considered the night’s finds no less than an absolute haul.
While been dragged around sale windows the following Saturday, we came across Murakami’s and being the smooth bastard I thought I was, I shouted my girlfriend to our first true sushi experience. I was little worried about removing my shoes, but on seeing that everyone else had, I quickly did so and jammed the offenders hard under the reed matts.
Let’s just get it out of the way now. I find Japanese women hot. They’re so delicate and feminine. Needless to say, our hostess was just lovely.
The food was also superb. It made the stuff we ordered from St Pierre’s pale by comparison. In fact, I knew from that lunch onward, that Murakami’s was gonna play a significant part in my life.
The Murakami’s themselves were a nice unassuming Japanese couple, which had turned their skill at making sushi into a very profitable family business. I knew this, because the place was always packed to the gills except when it wasn’t, which usually meant that the Murakami’s had closed up shop and gone home for the evening.
I got to know Keiko and Ichiro very well and when the opportunity came up to work for them I thought long and hard about it. On the one hand, the movies really was a sweet gig that allowed me to turn up stoned and hide in the back of a theatre all night while getting my $8.50 an hour. The only problem really was that one of the female supervisors had a hard on for me. Which is an ironic turn of phrase really because if you caught her on the right angle, you’d swear she was packing cock. Anyway, Maris (her name) would get me doing every crap job possible but all in all, there were plenty of perks in the form of free movie tickets and the oh-so-flexible work hours.
On the other hand, while working for the Murakami’s would mean that while I could no longer work stoned, it would mean that I would get free sushi for my girlfriend which would probably help in upping my monthly blowjob allowance. It would also mean that I’d get to bang around town all evening on a 50cc monster delivering the goods to happy customers.
I marked my last day at the movies by not turning up at all, instead opting to go away for the weekend and drink. Student life rules if you’ve got a place to crash and money for pot and booze. It really does.
In the first few weeks, I quickly realised what an affluent set the Murakami’s catered to in the evenings. While at the counter waiting for my next delivery instructions, I’d gaze at all the folks who thought themselves a little bit special for not opting for steak that evening. Miso soups would be drained, refilled and redrained, sake’s sipped and Asahi’s sucked. And of course there would always be the overweight middle-aged gentleman that would be a little too boisterous in his first use of wasabi.
Ichiro and Keiko took the entertaining of their patrons very seriously, both of them splitting up at the bar, one going clockwise, the other anti, meeting exactly in the middle at the same time like some sort of well planned military operation. The prefect hosts, kind, gracious and with food worth returning over and over for. They just seemed such a nice unassuming couple with a very successful business. So you can imagine my surprise when I found out they were swingers. But that’s another story.
A couple, regulars you would call them, would alternate by having sushi Saturday afternoons, dine in the Friday evening next. They were around 35 and by all my guesses, childless. They were a very good-looking pair that would handsomely tip me in a country that does not normally tip. On takeaway evenings, I would turn up, she would always answer the door and I would hand over the sushi for payment.
The only strange part would be when the girl would insist on feeding me a piece of their delivered sushi. The first time this happened, she was drunk. Answer the door in her bra and knickers drunk. I declined but it’s hard to do so convincingly when your tongue is lolling around in an open mouth. I accepted and it became a regular thing. The next time I turned up she was wearing tight blue jeans and a white halter neck skivy. She was totally embarrassed about the whole bra and knickers first reception and I feigned my embarrassment at the whole affair. Truth be told, when she gave me another piece of sushi right then and there to say sorry, I wanted to right there and then have her. Not any of this garden variety take her to bed nonsense, but a good old `howsyafather’ outside the front gate while the neighbours looked on.
Annoyingly, her fella was a good sort. He was a fairly Clark Kent looking type of guy that knew he’d really landed on his feet by landing her. He nervously invited me in one afternoon (Murakami’s closed early on Saturday’s) and seeing as they were my last delivery, I agreed hesitantly. The apartment was amazing but what really threw me was her lack of attire. She was back in the bra and knickers combo that I’d first met her in, framed nicely by an undone babydoll. I seemed to have collected a glass of wine from somewhere and as I looked at her and back down at it, I wondered how on earth it had found it’s way into my hand.
Let’s start off by saying that I was brought up properly. I don’t stare at girls unless I’ve paid especially for the honour. Her slightly parted lips, in fact the entire way she was looking at me, was unsettling me completely. I could feel myself getting wood in my leathers and as I said something to the effect of “hey sorry, I better leave” she jumped to her feet, simultaneously fastening her babydoll and grabbing my arm in one movement.
“Please sit down, we just want to ask you something”. she started,
“I’m sorry if I scared you, it’s just that, Simon (she looked at him and back to me) and I really like you and we were hoping you’d help us”
“ummmmmmmmm…….” I stammered.
“I know you have a girlfriend, that’s cool with us. What we really want is someone we trust” she continued,
Her eyes were amazing and by now, I was a sweating, trembling mess.
“For what” I asked.
Coy smile. “To film us”.
This is how my second job started. I was supplied a camera, a set of Hi-8 tapes and as much white wine as I wanted that evening. In exchange for my unwavering silence about what I was about to see, I was given an envelope with $300 and given a level of creative autonomy and subject matter that any aspiring porn director would lose himself over.
First off, I was asked to sit in a large brown leather single seater facing its larger three-seater cousin. Kim (her name) was by now drunk and Simon thoroughly uncomfortable, but noticeably excited in his slacks. As he pressed play on their hi-fi, I slunk in behind the lens and watched as he began to remove her babydoll, tonguing her neck.
They were both incredibly excited that one of their fantasies was been realised. That was easy to see. As the clothes began to disappear they all of a sudden stopped, giggled at each other and paper scissored rocked. I kept filming wondering what on earth they were doing, but when she lost and started tugging at his pants, I kinda guessed that he was gonna be the first to receive `treatment’.
She started at his neck, a rampant excited tongue that moved down over his torso and down into his navel. He was very excited by now and I kinda knew from the look in his eye as he looked at the camera and back at her that he was gonna be lucky to get his pants off before he lost it. He knew it too and hurriedly ushered me over for a `closer look’.
I moved over and got my first real look at a male erection that wasn’t my own. I was side on to them both now, the lens about a foot and half from where the action was going on. She had it in her right hand, deeply stroking it, periodically stopping to vacuum his head before she’d look up into his eyes and tell him what a dirty boy he was.
A breathless “I’m gonna cum baby” is all he got out. Thick jets of cream burst forth, all over her lips, jaw and torso. As she sat there milking every last drop out of him, I could see that they were both disappointed that it hadn’t lasted longer. As she wiped off with a waiting roll of handy towel, he excused himself and disappeared off to the toilet, visibly blushing.
I was absolutely speechless at what had just happened. All I could smell was his semen that reminded me of something ammonia based. For something to do, I nailed back my wine and just looked back at her. “Are you OK?” she asked. I found that question highly ironic and found an uncomfortable giggle trying to escape; after all, it was her who had just had a couple of teaspoons shot all over her face. A little too quickly I replied “yeah, yeah, cool, you? You all good?”
“You don’t understand how much this means to us, we’ve been looking for someone for ages.”
“Cool” is all I could manage. I wasn’t cool, I was out of my element and my loins were aching. I expected some sort of X-rated candid camera to bust from the pantry and a troop of singing monkeys to float by.
“If you don’t mind, we’d like you to stick around” she smiled at me, “for…you know”. I didn’t know, but I had a feeling. The second part involved him seeing too her. He came back in and she nodded to him. He looked back at me and smiled, somewhat relieved that I was still here. Starting at her toes, and in a scene that made me very uncomfortable, he began to thoroughly suck each one of them before making his ascent. As he travelled north, I came to realise what a fit little ‘area’ she had. Even through a straining lens, I could see the white fabric tight against her lips, a little wet spot roughly two centimetres in diameter where it was supposed to be. Her breathing was becoming more laboured as he ran his lips over the taught material, pushing her legs further and higher apart so that her knees came to rest roughly up around her head height. His index fingers slipped under the back of knickers and in one movement, I saw more of her than should have been legal. The first thing she did was moan and look straight at the lens as he slowly pushed his tongue in between her lips, deep into her gummyhole.
Clit flicking was next the order of the day and as she stared deeply moaning into the camera’s eye, I felt the scene in front of me slowly taking a toll on my reality. Closely followed was the dirty talk. “Stuff your fingers in my dirty little hole” sounds quite comical written. I can assure you it’s not, viewed at 2x optical zoom, and heard from a woman who’s on heat. He in turn more than once turned to me and exclaimed a variety of “look at this dirty little pussy” as he spread her lips wide with one hand and fingered her with the other. Then, something new happened. Her “Simon, that’s so dirty” only encouraged him further. Pretty soon, while his left finger twiddled at 85bpm over her clit, his right hand was doing a similar speed up and down his cock. His tongue however, was flicking hard and fast over an area south of her pussy.
This was about the point that I started to feel faint. Heartbeat throbbing in cock faint. This was the first time that I’d seen a couple fucking, when I wasn’t one of the parties involved. As he flipped her over and thrust his cock deep into her doggy, I knew the end was nigh for all parties present. The more he smacked her bum, the more high-pitched her screams became and the more guttural his groans became in turn.
She was now on top of him in reverse cowgirl, her cheeks and chest flushed red with exertion. All I could see of him was his hairy legs, a right forearm and the hand attached that was no less that attacking her clitoris, occasionally stopping to pull hard on her labia. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she was loving it.
This would have been the point where I could lie, say I flipped my engorged throbbing member from my leathers and proceeded to join the fun. Problem is, I didn’t even think of that. The camera was a sweaty mess and I was fully concentrating on just holding it steady. When I refocused, he was on his knees, and she was finishing him off. I stopped recording and told them I had to go “right now”. On the way out the door, I tripped over the coffee table and stood on the cats tail.
It was all too much. Much too much. As I got round the corner, I threw the scooter up on to the curb and yanked my pants down. It took two strokes, coating a fledgling young camellia in the crossfire. As I stood there breathing hard, I looked up to see a family with teenagers BBQing in their front yard. The kids hadn’t seen me, but the parents had, a sweaty sushi delivery boy with his cock in his hand. As I raised my hand I realised I hadn’t been to the Murakami house before. I had now. No one knew what to say and I drove home at pace, wondering if I could get my job back at the movies Monday.