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Sunday, July 14, 2013

Noboko Makes Me Dinner

So... with a brief bow and the handing over of a pair of grocery bags, Noboko had softened her stance towards me... I think.

Perhaps this Japanese babe thought I was incapable of cooking a meal? But didn't I prove her incorrect when a few days earlier I had made my famous chili.

I would say my chili was famous amongst a handful of lucky gajin (foreigners) that friend Matthew and Ashley had partaken off.. Christine, too. Cathy. and a few others women I had slept with. Oh yeah... and that cooking class of 50 Nihonjin (Japanese) that Matthew and I taught once... Matthew demonstrated how to make ice cream cake, and I did the chili - and since we each got paid, I am calling us professional chefs.

So... why did Noboko bring over groceries?

Surely she peeked into my two foot tall fridge and saw it crammed with food. Western food and three trays of natto (fermented soy beans), but there was food...

I think when people cook for you, it's a personal gesture... of friendship... or love... or the I want to screw your brains out kind of thing. Uh.. Matthew... that was friendship.

I even made it for my mom when she came over to visit back in 1992. That was a different kind of love.

Anyhow.. Noboko....

This time... her second time in my apartment... she was wise enough to not worry about the lack of slippers in my apartment... and instead opened up her handbag and pulled out a pair of her own.

I'm mortified. Is this woman who spoke English as well as I... who dressed in the more colorful and chic European-style of Osaka (hip Tokyo-ites dressed in a lot of black)... could she be so Japanese so as to not follow the rules of her gaijin host?

Whatever. That's reading too much into things, and to be honest, the smell of apple blossoms from her shampoo quickly captivated me into a world of physical horniness.

Despite being told I have a large nose, it actually fits on my face well enough.... but at that time (and even now), it doesn't usually smell well enough to discern scents... but Noboko... her I could inhale...she made me dizzy with... lust... love?

She led the way into my apartment through the 15-foot long hallway and through the noren (fabric dividers hung between typical Japanese rooms) that had the image of a sumo wrestler copied upon it from some famous ukiyo-e painting... I placed the groceries onto the dining room table... a small wooden, western-style table with a pair of matching chairs... and watched her as she told me to go and sit down and watch television while she prepared dinner for us.

Domestic? You bet your sweet bippy. Bippy could mean elf, but I mean it to mean 'butt'

Ashley had cooked for me once at my place - spaghetti and meatballs - which I was also able to make, but Noboko began cooking rice, strips of beef, strips of veggies, noodles... and fried it all up into a pile of goodness that still couldn't overpower her shampoo.

I really did just want to bury my head in hair. Amongst other places of course. I am me, after all. And, if I am going to be honest in these diaries, I'm going to be honest.

Still... I already knew that if I slept with Noboko, it wouldn't be a simple conquest... it would mean something more. I think you know what I mean.

I had offered to help Noboko in the kitchen... and she seemed taken aback... but I insisted on helping her cut the red peppers, dice the onions, wash and peel the carrots... and I'm sure it confused her.

I know I was the first gaijin she had ever cooked for or eaten dinner with. And I am sure she was wondering if all foreign men were like this. Uh, no... some are, but many are not.

But I wanted to show her that I would treat her like my equal... something I was betting she had never had happen to her before. That simply is NOT the way things are done in Japan. It's why she told me to go watch TV while she cooked dinner. It's why I didn't.

We sat at the dining table and ate her meal.

It was the tastiest food I had ever eaten... because she had made it for us.

Says Noboko: "I'm not a very good cook, but I like it."

I understood her, but I couldn't understand her. I told her it was delicious and had seconds.

Finished, she began to clean up... so I helped her... and that long sideways glance she gave me showed me I was an enigma to her.

Noboko was a mid-September girl... a Virgo.

Here's what has to say about Virgo women: 
A Virgo woman’s most outstanding characteristics are efficiency and her critical nature. A Virgo lady believes that she is extremely competent and organized and that is usually right also in most of the cases. She is also highly loyal and works unselfishly for the good of the ones she loves. She doesn’t think the world or the man of her life owes her anything and that makes her self-sufficient. One of the Virgo female’s most shining virtue is her gentle and unselfish devotion to the man she loves. She is a born homemaker with a great imagination and splendid creativity.

I knew all of this - a man must have hobbies - but I have no idea if Noboko fits that mod or not.

Here's what that site says about Scorpio men. That's me, in case you were wondering.
A Scorpio man is an invincible person. He is an extremist with calm and steady surface and smoldering passion within him. He is very intense; he can reach levels of intensity that other men don’t even know exists. Beneath the soft voice of Scorpio man lays his subtle strategies to enhance his career and personal life. He is one person who loves luxury and comforts immensely. He goes to any length to keep the ones he loves safe and sound. He is very loyal and faithful to the woman he loves. When he loves a woman he completely gives his entire heart to her.

It has me to an effing capital 'T'.

After she washed and I dried the dishes--I never did that before as I just let the washed dishes dry on the own overnight... but I am trying to impress... --we adjourned to the couch.

I'm not sure when her stupid flipper slippers came off, but I noticed when she sat on my couch in the left corner seat and curled her feet and legs up under her bottom, showing me plenty of sexy leg... albeit covered up by pantyhose.

Pantyhose looks sexy when a woman is walking, but much less so when you are sitting on a couch together hoping to see skin.

Rather than sit in the middle seat right beside her, I sat on the far side of the three-seater green fabric couch.

I groaned outwardly and told how great her dinner was.

She slid over to the middle of the couch.

I might not be the smartest man in the world, but that was a sign.

I lifted my left arm up and she continued to slide all the way over and placed her head on my chest... her hair under my twitching nose... her legs still piled under her... her left arm on my thigh... and I moved that left arm down onto the middle of her back... my right hand over onto the back of her hand on my leg.

Man... was I in an uncomfortable position, but I'll be damned if I shift to make myself more comfortable, because dammit, despite the uncomfortable position, I am damn comfortable. If you know what I mean.

Aside from some twitching in my pants... okay a lot of twitching... hell, I'm twitching as I'm writing this... memories... we held that position for what seemed like forever, but was probably maybe only 20 seconds.

I began to stroke her hair, and moved my hand down her back, stopping at her waist. She tensed briefly.

Sign? Yes. But what kind of sign? 

I inhaled her hair deeply.

And perhaps for the first time ever, she noticed, and without much effort twisted her head to look up at me.

"What are you doing, An-do-ryu-kun?" she asked in a little sing-song voice I had never heard from her before. Oh my.
'I think I know that voice,' said the twitching head.

'She called you 'An-do-ryu-kun' you knucklehead... she likes you.'

'I know, 'I argued. 'That's why she is sitting with her head on my chest.' 

I told you I was a knucklehead.

I replied: "I love how your hair smells... the apple blossoms."

"I know," she says and moves her head up to kiss me.

Andrew Joseph

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