Sedonia Guillone

I know it’s been terribly long since I last posted. But I am making progress on Blind Love, my novella that is part of a collaboration with awesome M/M author D.H. Starr.

The theme of our collection is “friends to lovers” and in blind love, Hirata, a samurai and his best friend, Sho, who was blinded by childhood illness, are separated when Sho is taken away to apprentice in the healing arts of massage and acupuncture (common occupations for blind men in feudal Japan). However, Hirata has sworn to find Sho when he’s old enough to leave his parents’ home. His long search yields results but not at all what he’d hoped for. Sho’s life has fashioned him into a drastically different man than he was a child and Hirata finds them in what appears to be a hopeless situation. What will happen to these best friends? Will the men they’ve become force them to part ways forever?

I’d like to share with you a snippet and thank you so much for reading! Warmly, Sedonia

Excerpt (unedited. may differ slightly from final)

Sho slid open the door to the house.

Daylight assaulted Hirata’s eyes. He squinted and grasped the doorpost.

“Are you all right, Hirata?” Sho lightly touched his elbow.

Hirata rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger and blinked several times. “I’ll be fine. The light…”

“I understand,” Sho murmured. “I still remember that kind of thing.” His touch left Hirata’s elbow. “Take your time.”

For some reason, Sho’s patience made him feel testy. “I’m fine,” he said and stepped outside. Letting his eyes adjust, Hirata began to see the surroundings that nighttime and his injured state had not allowed him to see days before.
The spot was beautiful, idyllic, really. A small dirt yard surrounding the front of the house, gave way to more lush, tall grass. Only a narrow path was visible, created by the constant treading of human feet down toward the river, beyond which lay forest topped by brilliant blue sky and only a few fluffy clouds. Birdsong twittered from the trees and a light breeze stirred the leaves. The sun warmed his face and body, bare except for the parts covered by his loincloth.

A line of rope tied to a pole stretched the distance, parallel to the path, ending at another pole at the river’s edge. Hirata assumed it to be a line to hang washing to dry until Sho stepped out beside him, grasped the rope with one hand, Hirata’s in the other and took a step. The rope was Sho’s guide between the river and the house.

“Come,” Sho said and gently tugged Hirata’s hand.

In halting steps, Hirata let Sho, also clad only in his loincloth, a washrag slung over one shoulder, lead him toward the water’s edge. Inwardly he grumbled at his own weakness. Weren’t normal samurai able to sustain such an injury as he’d received without needing so many days’ rest and nursing? Did he have to be so different in every way possible?
Glancing up he watched Sho’s fingers slide along the guide rope. His testy feeling intensified. As a child, Sho had adapted to his blindness seamlessly. As an adult, he’d gained even more skills. In addition to being an accomplished healer, he was as deadly a human weapon as any samurai or ninja. Hirata couldn’t help comparing himself to Sho and to every other human being he’d ever encountered. Everyone else seemed to fit somewhere in this world except him. Until last night, at least, after his horrible conversation with Sho, he’d held onto the belief that the fire of love and loyalty burning in his heart for Sho distinguished him as a samurai in the true sense. Now, that too, seemed a paltry kind of joke.

They reached the riverbank and Sho released the guide rope whose end was tied to a pole a mere few steps from the river. “The water should be nice and warm,” he said and, with Hirata’s hand in his, inched down the bank, toward a large rock protruding from the water. The surface of the rock reached from the water to the grassy slope, its edge an arm’s length from Sho’s guide pole and serving almost as a kind of makeshift platform. Ichi-san had apparently set everything up for them perfectly, Hirata thought with a touch of bitterness. No sighted people needed.

Sho took the first step into the water. “Ahh, it’s beautiful.” He tugged Hirata’s hand. “Come, let’s have a bath, then I’ll wash your hair.”

Hirata followed Sho into the river. Admittedly, the sun felt glorious on his back while the cool water enveloped him up to the waist. In his heavy mood, he didn’t want to allow these things to give him enjoyment, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never been truly able to shut the wonder of life out, even in the depths of missing Sho.

Releasing Hirata’s hand, Sho dipped under the water, remained under for several seconds then came back up under a curtain of cascading water. “Ah, that’s wonderful after being inside for days,” he said with an uncharacteristically wide smile. “Go on, Hirata, wet your hair.”

Hirata paused, caught himself staring at Sho. Sunlight made the droplets of water clinging to Sho’s skin shine. Water beaded down Sho’s chest and abdomen, making small rivulets in the furrows between his muscles. Truly he appeared some sort of god in human form, standing there, the water lapping at his waist.

Sho’s smile faded. No doubt he felt Hirata’s gaze on him. “What are you waiting for?” he murmured, smoothing one hand over his closely shorn head.

Wordlessly, Hirata obeyed. He went under and opened his eyes. In the clear water, he had a perfect view of Sho’s legs, the sloping thighs and calves, full of power. Sho had worn his loincloth into the water, but Hirata still caught a glimpse of the bulge in front.

Air ran out of his lungs and he surfaced. Since he’d taken the tie out of his hair before leaving the house, his now wet hair hung heavily over his shoulders. He pushed it back, off his face, his heart beating rather hard. A memory flashed in his mind, of the kabuki actor, Aoki, in sexual congress with Sho, riding him as if astride a horse. Hirata cleared his throat, dispelling the erotic image. “You were right.”

Sho’s smile returned. “Of course I am,” he said, dipping the washrag into the water and stepping toward Hirata. “Neither of us was ever one to stay indoors for any length of time.”

Before Hirata could answer, Sho was right in front of him. “Now, stand still and let me wash you so you don’t keep lifting your arm.”

“Tha-thank you.”

Sho lifted the washrag and sloshed it over Hirata’s back. Up, down, around, with the same caring touch he’d used in all his ministrations. Hirata tensed, in spite of how good the cloth felt against his skin, down his arms, under his arms then…over his chest and abdomen. Down below, his musuko stirred in his loincloth. The more Sho washed him, the more it hardened, rising until it pushed uncomfortably against the cloth. The sensation made Hirata feel oddly wild, abandoned, rather than uptight, as sexual desire usually made him feel.

Sho slung the washrag over his shoulder again and shifted around so that he stood once again at Hirata’s back. “Dip into the water once more time,” he said, “so I can get your scalp clean.”

Again Hirata obeyed and then rose up again. When he did so, Sho reached up. Burrowing his fingers into Hirata’s wet hair, he began to rub Hirata’s scalp vigorously in small circles.

Immediately, Hirata’s whole body relaxed. He closed his eyes and let his head loll back a bit. Sho’s touch was heavenly. And…he thought, feeling wanton again…he wanted it all over his body. Everywhere. “What about the rest of me?” he asked.

Sho’s hands stilled. “Excuse me?”

“The other parts of me, below the water. Don’t you wash them too?”

Yes, I know this is a poster for Fuurin Kazan done on NHK Television in Japan, and I did watch every single eipsode and loved it. Also, the picture gives me the visuals for when I write.

Which brings me to my current WIP, working title, “Blind Love”. I’m not sure I’m keeping this title, however, it does have good double meaning as you’ll see when I describe the storyline. Here’s a quick blurb and then the first chapter (unedited, of course). Oh, and for those of you familiar with Zatoichi the Blind Swordsman, you will recognize him in his cameo appearnace.

Hirata and Sho were inspearable as children. Their shared world was everything to them. Even when Sho went blind from illness, nothing came between them. Until the day Sho’s parents, wanting their son to have opportunities in life other than remaining homebound, send him away with a representative from the Blind Men’s Guild to apprentice as an anma, a masseur and acupuncturist. Though Hirata and Sho were only ten when they were forced apart, Hirata swears a promise he will one day find his friend. Which he does, seventeen years later after a long journey that nearly robs him of his will to live.

Or does he? Hirata could swear that the blind man trudging into a dice gambling parlor is his long lost dear friend, Sho. But the anma denies he is Sho and denies knowing anyone named Hirata. Yet, Hirata feels in his deepest heart this man is Sho. What happens next could only be the tale of a samurai and an anma who was raised by a hidden swordsman…

Excerpt (unedited):

Chapter One
Edo, Japan, during the Tokugawa Shogunate

The anma, the blind masseur, who was coming to take Sho away, trudged toward them. Hirata watched the man approach from where he stood, Sho on his left side, Sho’s parents nearby and his own mother and father on his right.
The anma appeared harmless enough, dressed in a kimono and cloak, his calves wrapped in gaiters, feet in tabi socks and dirty rope sandals, guiding himself in slow, measured steps, with a long cane. But to Hirata, he might as well be a demon because in just a few minutes, he’d leave again, taking Hirata’s heart with him.

Hirata grasped Sho’s hand. “Father,” he whispered, “there must be some other way.” No doubt, this anma would shave Sho’s hair close to the scalp, like his, dress Sho in one of those ratty cloaks and drag Sho around with him, hustling to rub strangers’ shoulders in exchange for a coin. Sho might not be a samurai, like himself and his family, but neither did
Sho deserve the fate to which both his own and Sho’s parents were tossing him.
“I’m sorry, my son. This is what Sho needs. His mother and father want this for him. He’ll be with others like him.”

Hirata glanced at Sho who stood motionless at his side. Of the two of them, Sho had always been the quiet one, saying very little, revealing nothing. Though they were both only in their tenth year, Sho always seemed much older. Sho couldn’t see the anma, only hear his footsteps in the dirt of the road, but the way Sho’s hand returned Hirata’s grip told Hirata without words, the way his friend felt. Terrified.

After today, there would be no more scampering on the rocks along the river, or climbing trees, or sword fighting with the wooden stocks from his father’s training school. Even after Sho had endured the illness that left him blind, Sho still did everything that Hirata did. In fact, the intensity of their play was heightened by Sho’s sharpened senses, which compensated for his loss of sight. Sho could hear sounds from miles away, long before a sighted person could hear them. And Sho could smell things from great distances, things that only a ninja or highly trained spy could probably smell—emotions. He and Sho were exactly the same age and since Sho’s parents worked as servants in his house, there was never a time he and Sho had not been friends.

This couldn’t happen.

Hirata stepped in front of Sho, pushing his friend behind him, still gripping his hand. “I won’t let them take him!” He glared at his father. Isn’t that what a samurai was supposed to do? To protect the one whom his heart was sworn to serve? Sho might be a peasant, but only because no one clearly saw him. If they really knew him, they’d understand he was more noble than any daimyo, even the shogun himself. Sho’s mother and father stood nearby, watching them. Sho’s mother’s eyes shone with tears but Hirata didn’t care. If they loved him so much, they shouldn’t be giving him away.

The anma had nearly reached them, his trudging steps growing ominously closer. Hirata stepped back, forcing Sho to step back behind him. Sho gripped his hand, Hirata felt, as much for balance as for protection.

“Sho has promise as a swordsman, even though he’s blind.”

“Sho is not a samurai. He’d never be allowed legally to carry a weapon. If he were a samurai, he could fill some sort of office, even with his blindness. But he’s not. There’s nothing for him without the Guild for the Blind. With their help, Sho has many choices. He could end up an anma in the home of a wealthy lord. He could become a composer, a musician, a banker, so many things. Without the Guild’s help, he’s confined to this house for the rest of his life. What would you have him do? Empty our night soil each day? Cook rice?” Hirata’s father gripped Hirata’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Hirata, if you really care for your friend, you must let Sho face his destiny.”

“His destiny is with me!” Hirata felt hot tears crowd his eyes. He fought them back. He’d never been able to control his emotions as a proper samurai should, and he wasn’t able to do it now. Especially when he was losing his best friend in the world. They might never be together again. “Father…please.” His voice fell to a whisper.

“Hirata, let him go.”

The anma reached them and came to a stop. He bowed. “I’m Zato no Ichi. I’ve come for the boy.”

Hirata’s glaze flew to the older man, whose closely shorn head glinted with silver amongst the ebony stubble. The anma called Ichi opened his eyes, just for a moment, revealing only whites before sliding his lids closed again. Hirata’s heart lurched. If Sho could see this man, he’d run away in fear. Then again, if Sho could see him, the anma wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Hirata’s father, still gripping Hirata’s shoulder, acknowledged the greeting with a bow of his head. “Ichi-san, I’m Yoken Morimasa. I represent the household that turns this child over to the care of you and your guild.”

A new wave of grief-filled terror washed over Hirata. “No!” he cried. Yanking out of his father’s grip, he dragged Sho and broke into a run, off the road, back toward his father’s compound which housed their home, the servants’ quarters and his father’s dojo. Sho tripped and stumbled on the raised stones of the pathway but recovered quickly each time.

Hirata led him to their hiding place, a space underneath the house. “Get under here, Sho.” He guided Sho, who willingly dropped to his hands and knees and crawled underneath the raised platform of the house’s floor and scooted between the heavy timbers that supported the house. Hirata crawled in after him and herded him closer to the center. No one would find them here. Perhaps if they hid long enough, Sho’s parents would give up and let Sho stay.

Hirata pulled Sho close and held him, panting from the sudden exertion. Sho was breathing heavily too.

After several moments, Sho stirred in his arms. “Hirata, I don’t want you to get into—“

“Sh! I hear something!”

“Hirata! Come out right now!”

Hirata stiffened at his father’s voice. No doubt, he’d shamed his father by his behavior, but he didn’t care, not if defying him meant Sho could stay.

Sho squirmed in his grip. “Hirata,” he whispered, “please. I don’t want you to be punished.”

Hirata squeezed him firmly. His father’s voice was drawing closer. Did his father know about their special hideout? “Let him punish me. Nothing else matters.” He bent his head close to Sho’s ear. “The stone can never be separated,” he whispered, referring to their special stone, the smooth disk Hirata had picked out of the stream during one of their outings, not long after Sho’s illness and recovery. Hirata had placed the stone on a larger rock and broken it in half with yet a third rock, giving one half to Sho and keeping the other for himself. As long as they were together, the stone was still complete, even though it had been split.

“I have my half,” Sho whispered. “It’s in my pack.”

Hirata felt the bulge of Sho’s meager belongings stuffed into the pack slung across his friend’s slim torso. “I have mine, too.” Icy shivers assaulted Hirata’s skin. “I’ll never let go of it.”

“Neither will I,” Sho said. “I promise.” He squeezed Hirata’s hand.

In that tiny gesture, Hirata felt that Sho, the wiser, maturer one of them, was speaking, telling him that his father was right. Destiny would reign over them. Not Hirata’s desires. Or Sho’s.

At the edge of the house, Hirata’s fathers’ sandaled feet came to a stop. Hirata clamped a hand over Sho’s mouth.

The next Hirata knew, his father had dropped to his hands and knees and peered into the shadows. “I know you’re both in there. Come out, now!”

The anma’s dirty rope sandals trudged up beside Hirata’s father. “Perhaps today isn’t the best day, Morimoto-san. I can return.”

“No. I apologize for my son’s behavior, Ichi-san. Postponing will only make it worse for both of them.

Hirata’s brother-in-law came running up. “Father, I’ll get them out for you.” He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled underneath.

“Stay back, Ken,” Hirata said, squeezing Sho tightly to himself.

But Ken had never had patience for Hirata’s emotional outbursts even though he always treated his young brother-in-law with respect. He honored his father-in-law more. “Honor your father’s wishes, Hirata. This behavior is beneath a samurai,” he said and grabbed both Hirata’s ankles in an iron grip.

Hirata struggled and kicked, but Ken was stronger. After a short battle, Hirata felt himself being dragged out, bringing Sho along with him in his fight to hang onto his friend.

The second Hirata was out from under the house, he was back in his father’s grip and Sho was pulled from him. Ken pried Sho’s tightly fisted hands from Hirata’s kimono. Hirata’s father held him fast while Sho was led away, his head bowed.
Sho’s hair had pulled from its tie and long strands of it hung loose around his face. His kimono was dirty and rumpled from the struggle.

“If you really care about Sho,” his father said gently, in spite of his iron hold around his son’s middle, “you’ll let him learn his trade. Let him have that dignity, Hirata.”

Hirata struggled, his face streaked with dirt and tears. “I’ll find you, Sho!” he yelled. “One day! I promise!”

Sho turned, his sightless eyes staring in a different direction even though he faced Hirata directly. Hirata saw the track of tears on Sho’s cheeks. Sho waved and then turned, letting the anma guide him back to the road, to where his parents waited to say good bye.

“I’ll find you, Sho. I promise.” Hirata whispered. His father held him tightly until Sho was long gone down the road.

Just this morning I sent Delicious Love Triangle off to Final Line Edits. Once those are done, I can release the book! Yay! It took me awhile to get finished but that’s because I was composing the story carefully, needing more time that with other books to get everything just so. I hope you will love it.

So, here’s a teaser from the story. In this scene, Shinji and Hiko are going to pose for Hana so she can make some sketches for her yaoi manga. However, her friends have more than just helping Hana to finish her graphic novel in mind. They both know that Hana loves them and won’t let herself be with them and they’re hoping that posing like this can help move things along. And well, they’re very fond of each other too. Thanks for reading!

Excerpt:

“I’m here.” Hana said near the partly open screen. She politely stood to the side until Hiko told her to come in. She appeared in the doorway, large drawing pad in hand. She looked at them, her eyes widening.
“We won’t bite you, Na-chan,” Hiko said. “Unless you get too close.”
A tiny smile came to her lips. Shinji had always loved her smile. She was like a little wood nymph with her large soft eyes, heart-shaped face and Cupid’s bow lips. She took a few steps into the room and knelt on the shaggy area rug over the tatami flooring Hiko had laid in each bedroom.
“Do you need a stool or something?” Hiko asked her.
She shook her head, slowly turning over the cover of the drawing pad and taking a pencil from behind her ear.
Shinji cleared his throat. “What do you want us to do?”
Uncertainty slipped through Hana’s huge eyes. “I…don’t know.”
“I remember some of the drawings in the manuscript.” Hiko climbed onto the bed on his knees. “Come here, Shin-chan. Get on your knees in front of me.” He winked.
Shinji followed the instruction, heart pounding anew. In seconds, he was kneeling in front of Hiko, face to face. Hiko’s wide torso made him feel so narrow. What felt like darts of invisible heat seemed to emanate from Hiko’s body and sink into his own skin, as if Hiko had a force field around him.
“From what I’ve seen of those manga,” Hiko went on, “there are all those passionate embraces. Why don’t we begin with one of those?” He looked at both of them, as if for approval.
“Sure,” Shinji said.
Hana gave one firm nod. “Hai.” She lifted her pencil, her gaze apprehensive yet intensely curious.
Hiko looked at him. His large dark eyes took on that simmering look again, the one he’d gotten just before their kiss earlier that night. “Ready?”
Shinji nodded. That jumping-off-the-precipice sensation overcame him again as Hiko’s brawny arms closed around him. The hardness and heat of the other man’s body invaded his chest and stomach. Their torsos pressed together and Hiko’s large, callused hands palmed his back. The touch was hot, vibrant, like brands on his bare skin.
Shinji’s heartbeat galloped. He returned the embrace. Hard, bunched muscles met his palms. The embrace brought their entire fronts together. Heat zinged through his cock at the light press through their underwear. Involuntarily, Shinji’s eyes fluttered closed. Hiko’s breath was warm against the side of his neck.
Hiko pulled him closer. One large hand slid up Shinji’s back and thick fingers burrowed into his hair. Hiko’s chest muscles brushed his nipples.
Hana dragged in a noisy breath. Her pencil scraped across the paper.
Hiko’s erection nestled firmly against his. The friction made Shinji’s cock tingle and heat flushed his chest. He fought not to pant as Hiko moved back and forth, so slowly, someone watching might not see it. His thumb rubbed one of the tendons in Shinji’s neck. Shinji’s breathing deepened. Hiko’s power, the command he must have as a lover showed in the burning yet restrained sensuality of his movements.
“Is this what you need, Na-chan?” Hiko asked, his breath pulsing warmly on Shinji’s neck.
“Hai.” Hana sounded breathless and her pencil never stopped its light skittering over the paper.
“You feel good, Shin-chan,” Hiko whispered, so close to his ear Hana could never have heard it. He followed the statement with a tiny lick on Shinji’s earlobe.
Shinji pulled in a breath. Lust skittered down his back and darted into his groin. He closed his eyes and tilted his head. Hiko’s lips landed on the side of his throat. And rested there.
Ohhh. Shinji stifled a moan. His hands rested on Hiko’s thick triceps, which flexed with each tiny movement. When Hiko brushed the tip of his tongue back and forth, Shinji dug his fingers into the muscle more deeply, his body surrendering to Hiko’s. In the haze of his mind, he heard Hana’s pencil scribble furiously over the paper.
Hiko lifted his face from Shinji’s neck and looked down at him, eyes looking glazed, almost…wild, his skin pale but flushed along the cheekbones. Then he turned to Hana. “How about another pose?”
“Ah, yes. That would be good.” Hana’s voice was tight, almost husky.
Hiko flashed her a devilish smile. “I know just the one. I’ve seen it on your storyboards,” Hiko said and slid his large hands down to the small of Shinji’s back and tugged. “Come, Shin-chan, straddle my lap.” In one motion, he sat back and brought Shinji down with him.
Their groins rubbed. Shinji’s breath hitched. Hiko’s cock bulged hard against his through their briefs and the pleasurable friction paralyzed him. He grasped Hiko’s shoulders and arched his back.
Hiko’s warm breath caressed his chest, and his large hands splayed over Shinji’s back. Hiko pressed his lips to the center of Shinji’s chest. The sensation sent delicious shivers into his nipples. Involuntarily, he tilted his head back, eyes closed, aware that he was only half-posing. The other half was really getting into the heat between him and Hiko.
Heavy breathing crashed in his ears and several moments passed before he distinguished the rhythm of his own breaths from Hiko’s and Hana’s.
She knelt nearby, sketching away. “I’m almost finished with this one.”
“Okay,” Hiko murmured then brushed his lips almost secretly back and forth over the same spot on Shinji’s chest. Darts of icy heat trilled through Shinji’s skin. His heart pounded and his erection was so tight now it was getting painful.
What would happen if Hana weren’t in the room? He imagined Hiko’s tongue sliding over his nipples or Hiko’s large hand pushing into his briefs and stroking his cock.
“Done.” Hana lowered her pencil and heaved a breath.
Hiko lifted his mouth from Shinji’s chest, eyes dark with hunger. His erection jumped against Shinji’s as if to say, ‘You and I aren’t finished yet.’
Shinji looked at Hana. Color stained her cheeks. Her smooth skin glowed from a sheen of perspiration and her eyes, though full of concentration, held a dazed look. Her nipples poked mercilessly at her bra and tank, as if they’d tear right through the material. Above the neckline, her chest showed a flush of dappled color. From the way she looked, her pussy was probably soaking wet too.
His erection surged against Hiko’s, which still pressed to his. Shinji’s mind reeled. He’d stayed so long in a safe zone that now he felt as if he’d swallowed some kind of pill that was making the world look fuzzy and strange.
“Do you need another pose, Na-chan?” Hiko asked.
She stared at them, her soft lips parted. “Um, well, only if it’s okay.”
Hiko chuckled. “Fine with me. Shinji?”
He nodded. “Fine.” His gaze dropped to Hiko’s lips. He liked the shape of his friend’s lips, firm and perfectly shaped, their dusky pink color inviting.
As if reading his mind, Hiko said, “A kiss for this pose.”
“Yes,” Hana said, sounding breathless.
Shinji heard the large pages of the pad being flipped over. Hiko’s large hands, still splayed on his back, eased him closer with a gentle but commanding tug. Electric fire jolted through Shinji’s body. Without thinking, he laced one hand into Hiko’s short but sleek hair. He tilted his face, leaning closer. Hiko’s warm breath caressed his lips and they hovered close, teasing each other with the closeness, the warmth of anticipation.
Hiko closed the space first. The touch of his lips sent a thrill through Shinji’s body. As if he were liquid, he melted against the larger man, burrowing his fingers deeper into Hiko’s hair. What’s going on with me? The question spiraled through Shinji’s fevered mind. Hiko’s tongue stole between his lips and glided against his tongue. Back and forth, in tiny licks, Hiko was tasting him, just enough so that they didn’t break their pose but were really kissing, not just posing.
For what felt like a long time they stayed that way, lips pressed together, tongues flirting with the deeper kiss they couldn’t explore. Instead, Shinji breathed in Hiko’s scent, felt his friend’s breath pass into him like an exchange of souls.
Did he love both his friends the same way?
Finally, Hana’s pencil stopped scraping over the paper. “I’m done.” Her voice was so tremulous Shinji wondered if she was about to come.
Hiko broke their kiss, pulling away with a tiny sound of suction. His broad chest rose and fell heavily and his lids half-covered his eyes.
Shinji looked into Hiko’s eyes. Desire like an electric current moved between them. If there’d been any question they were just posing and nothing else, the doubt was erased. The two of them were about to spill over the edge of something that would change them forever.
Hana shifted and he slid away from Hiko’s warm body and looked at her flushed face.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you so much.” She rose to her feet, the pad in front of her, like a shield.
“Do you have what you need?” Hiko asked.
She gave several quick nods. “I think so. I’ll work on these tonight.” As she spoke, she backed toward the door.
“We can do more tomorrow night, Na-chan.”
Hana nodded again at Hiko. “Yes, tomorrow. Thank you.” She backed through the door and went to her room, forgetting to slide the shoji closed.
Shinji’s heart lurched as he stared at the open space into the hallway. A short distance away, he heard Hana’s screen slide closed and click shut. “I think we scared her.”
But Hiko shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ll bet anything her panties are soaked. She probably ran to her room to, you know… He made a rubbing gesture with one hand down by his groin, mimicking the way a woman would touch herself.
The thought fueled the fire in Shinji’s cock. His hard-on still bulged against his boxer briefs.
Hiko’s hand covered his. “Shin-chan.”
Warmth skittered up Shinji’s arm. “Yeah?”
“Stay a while?”
Shinji tingled. Everywhere. He nodded. “Yes.”

There are times when an editor convinces an author do something for which the author kicks her/himself. Deleting this scene is an example of such an instance. It was really important to understanding Michael DiSanto’s character and why he had such difficulty forming a lasting, loving intimate relationship with someone and why he gave up the first love of his life, Toshi (yes, the hot detective from His Beautiful Samurai). The book has been received well by readers and critics alike, but most of them have mentioned how abruptly the book ends, jumping to Michael’s decision to make a commitment to Jack out of the blue.

Well, it wasn’t out of the blue and here is the scene that got cut. Had this scene been in the book, it would have explained everything! lol. Admittedly, this post only makes sense to people who’ve read the book but I wanted to make it accessible in case there are people who were interested in reading it. Here goes (Insert scene right before the very last scene of the book):

Michael nodded silently and followed Jack out of the bedroom, down the hall and stood there while the man slipped on his shoes.

Jack opened the door. He paused, looked at Michael and smiled, though his blue eyes still appeared troubled. “See you later.”

“Bye.” Michael watched him go down the steps and across the sidewalk to his car. He stood there until Jack had started the ignition and pulled away from the curb. When he closed the door and turned, Chie was standing in the hallway, looking up at him. He sighed. “Chie,” he said, “your friend here is a real jerk.”

Chie blinked and mewed. If she could talk, she’d probably agree with him. He went into the kitchen to feed her and make some coffee. Quietly he stood, leaning against the counter, listening to the water boil after he’d measured coffee into the press. Each time her remembered waking up with Jack looking at him the way he had, he winced. Could it be more in bad taste to talk in your sleep to your long ago lover while in bed with a new one? If Jack never wanted to have sex with him again, he’d sure as hell understand.

And yet, in spite of that, the sense there was more to this long-time dream than was obvious. Was it only occurring because he was still in love with Toshi and wanted him back? His years of experience with the human condition told him that simple interpretation was just that—simple, and people, himself included, were much more complex. Especially when, in this particular dream, Peter and Toshi had become interchangeable. That had never happened before.

The image of Toshi becoming Peter surged in his mind. His heart tightened, as if pressure were welling up inside of it. He thought of Peter, of that day and having come back out of the house from getting his drink of water and not finding Peter in the yard. That moment was the worst of his entire life. It had never left him and probably never would.

The water in the kettle started to boil. The bubbling and hissing made a backdrop to his concentration. For this first time, his looked inside for answers to his own condition rather than a murderer he was trying to profile. Dammit, he wanted to know. Needed to understand this dream that plagued him. What was it trying to tell him? What was he ignoring in his heart that could only come out in his sleeping state? The urgency was especially strong now. He didn’t want to lose Jack.

The water boiled. He turned the stove off and poured water into the press, a new memory surfaced, one he’d forced himself to forget after it happened. On the outside, it didn’t seem like a big deal, but as sensitive as he was, he knew how bad it really had been.

That first day he’d brought Toshi home to meet his parents. They knew how much he liked Toshi, and how that relationship had brightened his life. Yet, from the first moment they’d met Toshi, both their faces had held nothing but pain, their mannerisms tense and cold. Only then, sitting around the nearly silent dinner table, Michael had understood. They were thinking of Peter. His memory was like a ghost, haunting every gesture, every word in their lives and when they looked at Toshi, they saw Peter’s absence.

Michael pushed the press down on the coffee and poured some into a mug while the scenes rolled painfully through his mind and heart. Horrified at his parents’ response, he’d never brought Toshi back to his house. Until then, he’d been living at home, but not long afterward had found an apartment to share with a couple of other roommates, a place he could afford where he had his own room to be with Toshi. It had been a nightmare, really, another instance in which he felt he’d wounded his parents.

Michael sank into a chair at the kitchen table. The scene didn’t leave his mind, but now, because of the clarity he’d been experiencing, he relived the horror he’d felt with a new perspective. He’d always criticized himself for having paraded Toshi in front of his parents, not having considered they might respond the way they did, but now, he watched in his mind’s eye the introduction. He saw himself presenting Toshi to his parents, so happy, so…proud, really, because Toshi was such an impressive, sweet person. Michael put his mug down on the table. His heart pounded. Clarity stunned him so hard, he had to sit still and stare down at the floor. He’d been offering them a new son, a wonderful, intelligent, handsome man they could love in Peter’s absence. Of course, he hadn’t realized it consciously at the time, but now, in the present, it was starkly clear.

And they’d rejected Toshi, not outright with words, but with their response to him. Maybe they didn’t even realize what they were doing, but Michael did. Then, with their silence, they’d punished Michael for attempting to replace Peter. He’d felt like a criminal, as bad a person as the child he’d been leaving his little brother in the yard while he went inside for a drink of water. A person like that didn’t deserve a jewel like Toshi.

And so, when the time came for Toshi to graduate and return to Japan, Michael had let him go. He’d punished himself for giving up the relationship he treasured.

Oh God. The force of understanding hit his chest like a brick thrown at him. Michael slumped forward, head in his hands. Sudden gusting sobs wracked his body, unleashed by the shock delivered to him by Kinsey’s actions the other day.

Those other memories rolled through his mind, the film of his life being shown to him in stark relief. Toshi walking into the gateway, leaving him. The catch in his chest, the panic he’d felt, standing there, watching, not understanding why he hadn’t gone with Toshi. The well of pain had felt so deep he’d thought he’d drown.

His abundant tears slipped down his cheeks. The grief of having let Toshi go mingled with the grief over Peter. The two memories, the two people had become so deeply entwined within his psyche, he no longer knew where Toshi ended and Peter began. And yet as he cried, something else emerged, a new clarity.

He remembered himself, just after Peter’s kidnapping. He’d sit in the yard every day, watching, waiting for Peter to come back, terrified to search for him lest someone else grab him. At the same time, life in his home was unbearable, full of silent grief and cold distance.

Michael’s heart swelled. Compassion washed through him for that ten year old who’d believed Peter would still be outside to continue their ball game when he came back from the kitchen. He felt nothing but sympathy for that boy who’d grown up with a burden of guilt so great it had dictated his entire life, made him give up someone he’d loved. And he loved the young man who’d tried to give his parents a new son and then had punished himself for failing. The wet heat of Michael’s tears dampened his robe. They soaked in as his pain welled up and poured out, leaving a clean, sweet place inside.

He wiped his tears with the sleeve of his robe and then sat quietly for what felt like a long time. He thought of Toshi, remembering the bit of time they’d spent together in Tokyo. Michael had felt pulled to him, had wanted to make love with him again, but hadn’t even said a word because Toshi was so happy with that guy John and he never wanted to hurt Toshi. So he’d remained silent and returned to the States just as silently.

Thinking about it now however, even in Tokyo, Michael had felt the way their separate lives had changed them, made the romantic part of their friendship seem distant, a passion that had once blazed but had cooled now, never to be revived. Maybe that would have happened even if they’d stayed together. There was no way to know for sure, except to believe in the larger force of destiny. Life had separated him and Toshi. It had then brought John and Toshi to each other.

And after all this time, life had brought Jack.

Michael jumped from his chair. He turned to rush toward the bedroom, wanting to grab his cell phone and call Jack, when his eye fell on the clock. Damn! Nearly a couple of hours had passed and he had only fifteen minutes to get to his class. And then he had office hours.

Hurrying into the bedroom, he yanked off his robe, tossed it onto the rumpled bed and started to dress. While he buttoned up his shirt, he stared down at the chaotic sheets and covers on the bed. A pleasant shiver travelled through his body as he remembered the soul-searing, unbelievably hot lovemaking from the night before. Even the indentation on the pillows where their heads had pressed made Michael remember.

He’d loved having Jack with him, curling up together in the afterglow and falling asleep. He prayed they could have more nights like that. Many more.

But first, he had to teach his class. After all, Albert had helped him get this job and he didn’t want to hurt the reputation of his mentor and friend. Albert and Cynthia truly had stepped in and tried to be there for him in place of his parents. He never wanted to let them down. Though knowing them, they’d certainly still care for him if he did.

I recently read a reader’s review of Aki’s Love Song and she said it seemed to her that the J-rock star, Aki portrayed in this M/M romance is based on Hyde and the Aki’s band, Spider’s Web, on Hyde’s band, Arc-en-Ciel.

Pretty good guess, but only partially true. Though I’m a fan of Hyde’s voice and of the beautiful ballads on his Roentgen album like “Evergreen” and “Shallow Sleep”. But Gackt was much more the model for Aki than Hyde. The man that Aki is, as an artist and a person is modeled partly on my imagination and a composite of what I reaad in Gackt’s autobiography, Ein No Yume. I was very moved by many of the things he told about his life. In this account, he sheds his usually inscrutable “cool” exterior and talks in depth about his emotional life, his fears and vulnerabilities.

Wildly talented and dynamic, he just inspired the character of Aki with all his complexity and compelling personality.

By the way, leave a comment and you’re eligible to win a free copy of Aki’s Love Song. ; )

This post is reproduced from my guest spot on Madelynne Ellis’ blog. Right now she’s doing a sexy Advent Calendar which is really fun and cool!

Behind the book:

In Delicious Love Triangle, Hana is a clothing designer. She is a popular designer of of looks for the fashion tribes of Tokyo and works for one particular shop that features her work. The fashion tribes are a phenomena in Tokyo. The various styles originate spontaneously and are a vibrant part of the culture of young people in that city, changing every few weeks, literally. The looks there differ from anything we’re used to seeing in fashion – they’re fun, whimsical and very visually alive, incorporating so many different elements into one outfit. My favorite name of one of the types of fashion is Gothic Lolita. You can imagine. When I did my research for this story in order to portray the heroine, Hana, I went to http://www.style-arena.jp/en/ . However, the story opens with Hana being laid off from the store where she works because the owner’s new wife wants her position. Well, as the story unfolds, Hana finds a new, much, much better position!

In addition to be a clothes designer, Hana is a talented mangaka (Japanese for graphic novel artist). This is an example of one of her sketches.

Delicious Love Triangle

No sex between roommates! This is the rule that Hana and her two best friends, Hiko and Shinji live by. So, Hana decides, it’s not really breaking the rule to ask her two handsome buddies to pose in erotic positions for her while she sketches what she hopes to be the manlove graphic novel that will launch her career as a manga artist. After all, Hiko and Shinji are both straight. Even better, they’re both agreeable to the plan. It’s the perfect arrangement until…

Seeing Hiko and Shinji together arouses Hana to no end. How will she be able to control herself watching their naked bodies entwined, watching them engage in acts that are the stuff of her wildest fantasies? What’s more, bit by bit, the three of them are starting to break their most important rule.

Hiko and Shinji have both been in love with Hana for a long time and out of their love for her, they’ve respected her stupid rule about no sex. But when Hana asks them to pose for her, they see their perfect chance to do away with regulation and get the woman they love into a position of their own.

Content warning: Contains male/male sexual acts, voyeurism, exhibitionism and multiple partner sex.

Excerpt:

Ohhh. Hana covered her mouth to stifle her cry. Then she blinked. Was this possible? Keeping her hand firmly over her mouth she sank to her knees in the hallways and leaned forward as much as she dared. Her heart leaped into her throat. Had Hiko really just rolled on top of Shinji? Were they really naked in the bed together, their mouths locked together in a deep hot kiss?

The soji was slid back the few inches she’d left it when she’d gone back to her room to draw, fully expecting that Shinji would leave after her to go to his room. How absolutely wrong she’d been.

Her heart pounded, sending heated blood down every vein in her body. She could just feel it, like darts of fire. The searing warmth concentrated at the apex of her thighs, which pulsed now, and her breasts felt suddenly full and heavy, her nipples grazing her camisole.

Like lovers, her two friends undulated in the bed, their bodies entwined. Hana blinked again, still thinking the vision would dispel. But it didn’t. Hiko’s muscular body and pale skin contrasted with the tan hue of Shinji’s slim, leanly muscled frame. Shinji’s legs were locked around Hiko’s hips, the soles of his feet resting on the backs of Hiko’s sloping thighs. Like every yaoi manga she’d ever read, the two men sighed and moaned, and
emanated passion.

Guilt assailed her. She was violating their privacy, spying on them like this. But then, they shouldn’t have left the door slid back, right? She started to turn, pulled back by another masculine moan. Her gaze whipped up to the bed. Hiko had pulled from Shinji’s kiss and now nibbled at the other man’s collarbone. One of Hiko’s large hands spanned Shinji’s hip.

The throbbing in Hana’s pussy intensified. She sat, frozen, staring at them, feeling her eyes stretched open as wide as they’d go. Hiko’s tongue came out and licked across Shinji’s dark nipple. Shinji arched his back, as if to push his flesh deeper into Hiko’s mouth. Hana stifled another moan, lest her friends catch her spying. Her cheeks burned mercilessly, both with excitement and guilt, yet she couldn’t have moved even if
someone had set her on fire.

Gleaming ribbons of cum still streaked the two men’s muscles. Hana realized Shinji had climaxed all over Hiko when she’d passed by the door on her way to the kitchen for a drink of water. Hiko skimmed thick fingertips over Shinji’s stomach, gathering the milky fluid. Lifting his mouth from Shinji’s chest, he leaned back. Hana’s mouth gaped open. In all the years she’d known Hiko and Shinji, she’d never seen either of them naked. Hiko’s erection pointed upward with the angle of his body. Thick and veined, it jutting from a nest of inky black pubic hair that fanned around it and funneled into a thin trail up to his navel.

She gulped, her eyes feeling as if they were bulging from her head. She shifted her a few inches and felt then how swollen and moist her pussy was. Her gaze locked onto Hiko’s movements. He was smoothing the cum up and down the shaft of his cock. He gathered more cum and reached down, between Shinji’s legs. Ohhh. His thick fingertips worked over Shinji’s hole while Shinji groaned and arched his back. Shinji was a natural uke, the way he submitted to the man who was preparing to take him.

Little by little, I’m getting Delicious Love Triangle finished. Oftentimes, I need to put a piece down for a while, work on other things, then pick it back up again. I don’t know why it works this way but it does. I can be locked up on a piece for what feels like forever, then when I come back to it, a whole bunch will spill out in a short time. Oh well. Mine is not to question, but to obey the muse. Anyway, here is a short but hot excerpt from the work in progress. But before that, I’ll just remind you of the blurb so you have a sense of the story:

No sex between roommates! This is the rule that Hana and her two best friends, Hiko and Shinji live by. So, Hana decides, it’s not really breaking the rule to ask her two handsome buddies to pose in erotic positions for her while she sketches what she hopes to be the manlove graphic novel that will launch her career as a manga artist. After all, Hiko and Shinji are both straight. Even better, they’re both agreeable to the plan. It’s the perfect arrangement until…

Seeing Hiko and Shinji together arouses Hana to no end. How will she be able to control herself watching their naked bodies entwined, watching them engage in acts that are the stuff of her wildest fantasies? What’s more, bit by bit, the three of them are starting to break their most important rule.

Hiko and Shinji have both been in love with Hana for a long time and out of their love for her, they’ve respected her stupid rule about no sex. But when Hana asks them to pose for her, they see their perfect chance to do away with regulation and get the woman they love into a position of their own.

Content warning: Contains male/male sexual acts, voyeurism, exhibitionism and multiple partner sex.

Excerpt:

Ohhh. Hana covered her mouth to stifle her cry. Then she blinked. Was this possible? Keeping her hand firmly over her mouth she sank to her knees in the hallways and leaned forward as much as she dared. Her heart leaped into her throat. Had Hiko really just rolled on top of Shinji? Were they really naked in the bed together, their mouths locked together in a deep hot kiss?

The soji was slid back the few inches she’d left it when she’d gone back to her room to draw, fully expecting that Shinji would leave after her to go to his room. How absolutely wrong she’d been.

Her heart pounded, sending heated blood down every vein in her body. She could just feel it, like darts of fire. The searing warmth concentrated at the apex of her thighs, which pulsed now, and her breasts felt suddenly full and heavy, her nipples grazing her camisole.

Like lovers, her two friends undulated in the bed, their bodies entwined. Hana blinked again, still thinking the vision would dispel. But it didn’t. Hiko’s muscular body and pale skin contrasted with the tan hue of Shinji’s slim, leanly muscled frame. Shinji’s legs were locked around Hiko’s hips, the soles of his feet resting on the backs of Hiko’s sloping thighs. Like every yaoi manga she’d ever read, the two men sighed and moaned, and emanated passion.

Guilt assailed her. She was violating their privacy, spying on them like this. But then, they shouldn’t have left the door slid back, right? She started to turn, pulled back by another masculine moan. Her gaze whipped up to the bed. Hiko had pulled from Shinji’s kiss and now nibbled at the other man’s collarbone. One of Hiko’s large hands spanned Shinji’s hip.

The throbbing in Hana’s pussy intensified. She sat, frozen, staring at them, feeling her eyes stretched open as wide as they’d go. Hiko’s tongue came out and licked across Shinji’s dark nipple. Shinji arched his back, as if to push his flesh deeper into Hiko’s mouth. Hana stifled another moan, lest her friends catch her spying. Her cheeks burned mercilessly, both with excitement and guilt, yet she couldn’t have moved even if someone had set her on fire.

Gleaming ribbons of cum still streaked the two men’s muscles. Hana realized Shinji had climaxed all over Hiko when she’d passed by the door on her way to the kitchen for a drink of water. Hiko skimmed thick fingertips over Shinji’s stomach, gathering the milky fluid. Lifting his mouth from Shinji’s chest, he leaned back.
Hana’s mouth gaped open. In all the years she’d known Hiko and Shinji, she’d never seen either of them naked. Hiko’s erection pointed upward with the angle of his body. Thick and veined, it jutting from a nest of inky black pubic hair that fanned around it and funneled into a thin trail up to his navel.

She gulped, her eyes feeling as if they were bulging from her head. She shifted her a few inches and felt then how swollen and moist her pussy was. Her gaze locked onto Hiko’s movements. He was smoothing the cum up and down the shaft of his cock. He gathered more cum and reached down, between Shinji’s legs. Ohhh. His thick fingertips worked over Shinji’s hole while Shinji groaned and arched his back. Shinji was a natural uke, the way he submitted to the man who was preparing to take him.

Finally after three years of writing stories set in Japan, I feel like I’m getting the hang of honorifics, the suffixes used after names. Admittedly, in past books, I’ve made some errors. I’ve used -san where I should have used -kun or nothing, and other such mistakes that make me cringe.

You maybe wondering the relevance of the photo of the little boy. Other than the fact that he’s so cute, the title of the picture is Tomohito-kun, -kun being a suffix used by older people when addressing a younger male.

Perhaps the most important thing about the suffixes is their subtlety. Although there are basic guidelines for the use of each suffix, these honorifics are also incredibly subtle. I’ve found that when I’m not sure which one to use, I just need to take a moment and feel my way into the characters, feel in my heart their relationship to each other and then the appropriate honorific comes to mind. Now, working on Beautiful Samurai, Old Ghosts, when I re-read what I’m currently writing, I feel there is a much more natural flow to the language and that the way they address each other is basically appropriate.

One thing I’ve also read about the use of honorifics and which takes away the sense of rigidity I had when using them in previous novels is the fact that they’re often fluid. A person addressing another may use one honorific that is appropriate to their relationship in one context and then use a different one in another context. Bearing that in mind, I have a much easier time understanding how to use these suffixes and I’ve found that they are a beautiful and very refined way of addressing another human being.

Just when I have enough works-in-progress on my plate, another inspiration bubbles up. This one? The third in my Toshi Genjin/John Holmes Beautiful Samurai series from Torquere Press. This book will bring together my beloved men from the White Tigers series, in particular Kiku, Basho and Timothy as well as crime psychologist Michael Di Santo from my upcoming Acts of Passion. Michael was Toshi’s first lover during Toshi’s college years in the States and so you can imagine, his presence in Tokyo will add an extra element of tension for Toshi and John’s still budding relationship!

In Beautiful Samurai, Old Ghosts, Toshi and John return to the White Tiger at Kiku’s request to solve an old crime in which Kiku’s cook at the White Tiger, Basho, was victimized. In order for Basho to be able to travel to the UK with his lover Timothy, this crime will have to be solved. Otherwise, Basho is in danger of being murdered any time he might try to leave the country.

In comes Michael Di Santo, guest lecturing at a university in Tokyo. Michael contacts Toshi in the vague hope of reviving old passions. Toshi needs his help on this current case and well, the events that ensue are for the rest of the story! I have included an unedited snippet from what I’ve written so far. Hope you like it!

Excerpt:
Prologue

Toshi, please don’t leave me. I love you.

Michael waited for Toshi to answer, to drop his suitcase and take Michael in his arms, but Toshi just stood there, large, perfectly almond-shaped eyes wide, staring back at him. “You know I have to leave, Michael,” he said. “We both know it.” He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. His face was emotionless. Loveless.

Michael’s panic assaulted him, a wave of prickly heat through his entire body. Didn’t Toshi understand what he was doing? “I was wrong,” he said, hearing the panic in his own voice. “I want you to stay.”

Still, Toshi remained silent, clutching the handle of his suitcase, as if that little act alone could prove his determination. Behind him, the large plate glass windows framed Toshi’s slim form. Through the window Michael glimpsed the huge jet that would take his lover back to Tokyo, away from him forever. The rumble of the engine hummed, growing louder with each second, until the noise reverberated through Michael’s very soul. It made his very teeth chatter. “No, Toshi, no!”

Michael reached out but Toshi slipped from his grasp. He turned, suitcase in hand and walked slowly toward the gate. No one stood at the entrance to take Toshi’s ticket and Toshi passed right through without looking back.

“No!” Michael ran, his lungs burned, his heart pumped, but no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t get near Toshi. Toshi disappeared down the gateway, vanishing into the mist that shrouded the jet’s entrance. Michael halted, gasping for breath. The whirring grind of the jet was deafening. Louder and louder it grew—

Michael’s eyes jerked open. His lungs burned. His mouth was parched, as if he’d been eating sand. He pulled in a breath, only to find his mouth had been hanging open. The deafening whir of jet motor continued, not fading as his nightmare was fading. Blinking, he sat up. His muscles ached and protested the movement, the effect of being crammed into an airplane seat for how many hours? As long as it took to get from San Francisco to Tokyo.

He heaved a deep breath and wilted back into his seat. He’d rather have gotten up and moved around but the obese man stuffed into the seat next to him and the equally thin woman asleep in her aisle seat made such a thing impossible. He’d have to wait until landing. It couldn’t be too much longer now, judging from the faint pink light in the pale sky out the jet’s window.

A flight attendant was making her way down the aisle, serving morning coffee. Michael smelled the delicious aroma like a balm and lowered his tray table. If he couldn’t get up and walk around, he could at least enjoy a cup of coffee. A cup usually helped to dispel the recurring dream that still haunted him to this day.

And now he was actually, for the first time in—was it ten years?—going to be in the same city as Toshi. Not that they would see each other…necessarily. Toshi didn’t know he was coming. Really, Toshi didn’t know anything about him anymore since they’d not spoken in forever. Though Toshi’s cell phone number was still programmed into his phone.

A little while later he’d collected his luggage and passed through customs. “Dr. Di Santo?” A voice beckoned him just as he went through the gate out into the main glassed in terminal. A bustle of people in front him cleared, revealing the source of the voice. A short, stout balding man with a genial smile held up a sign with Michael’s name. He recognized Dr. Yamada, head of the psychology department at Meiji University, the man who’d invited him to guest lecture about criminal profiling the spring term.

Michael went toward him and bowed.

“Excuse my English,” Dr. Yamada said when they’d finished the polite greetings. “It’s not so good.”

Michael smiled at him. “Then we’ll speak in Japanese, as we’ve been doing,” he said in Japanese.” People never thought Michael spoke Japanese, considering his Italian last name and sort of Caucasian appearance, but his mother’s parents had emigrated to California from Tokyo during the American Occupation after World War Two and his mother and then he, in turn, had grown up bi-lingual. In fact he was sure his fluency in Japanese had enabled him to get closer to Toshi in the first place, as he’d been the one to help Toshi learn English during their time together.

“Of course. Of course.” Dr. Yamada reached for one of Michael’s bags. “This way. I have a taxi waiting. I’ll see you to your new lodgings.”

“Thank you.” Michael followed his host through Narita Airport and out to the curb where a driver already had the trunk open for Michael’s baggage. When the trunk had been closed, Michael slipped into the backseat next to Dr. Yamada and they pulled away from the curb. Michael sighed and settled back. In the distance, the Tokyo skyline jutted in an uneven line of sky scrapers against an awakening sky. Pinks and grays were fading with the sunrise, giving in to clear blue. The sight gave him fleeting memories of visits to family here in his teens with his parents; vertical neon signs in Japanese, flashing myriads colors, like a giant bubble gum machine, bustling crowded streets full of stores and unexpected corners with delicate gardens, stone bridges and traditional temples with arches and chanting priests.

Though he carried on polite conversation with his host, the sights through the window reminded him more of Toshi, and his former lover’s presence. Perhaps once he was settled he’d call Toshi’s number. Yes, that’s what he’d do. Not that he’d try to get back together with Toshi. But maybe, just maybe, they could have some time together. The way they used to.

I thought of a couple more that I’d forgotten about.

Nat and Ryu from Men of Phuket: Tongue-Thai’d and upcoming sequel Thai’ing the Knot from Total-E-Bound (which I’m really excited about, by the way!) – Love Song by Gackt

And two songs that come to mind for the White Tigers series in general:

Good Riddance – Green Day
Bubbly – Colby Caillat

Dave and Danny – Danny’s Dragon – Total-E-Bound – Crazy for You by Madonna