Convenience Boy and Other Stories of Japan (Rei Shimura Series) by Sujata Massey

Author:Sujata Massey [Massey, Sujata]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Ikat Press
Published: 2011-07-09T00:00:00+00:00

“Miho! You will miss the train if you don’t get up right now!”

Miho Haneda was too tired to groan as her mother pulled off her quilt. She’d been half-awake, going over the memory of two weeks earlier: the hands stroking her body, then the mouth. She had wanted to stay in bed reliving the experience. But now there was chilly air on her skin—the atmosphere of a typical Japanese house in late autumn. Getting out of bed was always hard; but this morning, the process was extra-miserable.

“Ara!” Mrs. Haneda exclaimed as she shook out the quilt. “Naked again and in December! You will catch pneumonia if you do not wear pajamas. Go to the bathroom, take your shower and dress, and I’ll have some hot soup for you waiting downstairs.”

Miho stood up, not bothering to hide herself. For much of her twenty-three years, she’d been embarrassed about her body, but lately she had been feeling so alive that she’d stopped minding that her knees were so bony and her bottom too flat. She no longer cared that nobody seemed to notice her at Sendai Electronics, where a year after university she’d become an office lady just like all the others: navy blue uniform, sheer hose, artificial smile, voice pitched at the high, breathy point that the male bosses expected.

As she went into the bathroom, turned on the water heater and splashed warm water on her face, Miho counted. Twelve times—or was it thirteen? There had only been two nights missed in the last two weeks since he’d started visiting her bed. Thirteen times, yes, that was it. She was having more sex now than she’d ever had in her life—and to think it was under her parents’ roof. It was convenient. Convenience Boy, she privately called him, because he did exactly what she wanted—all without her having to tell him, and without even knowing his name.

As Miho drowsily brushed her teeth, she thought about how all she longed to know was who the Convenience Boy was, and to see his face and all the rest of him. She did not care if he was plain. But on their last night together, when she’d stretched out a hand towards the lamp, he had whisked it out of reach, then flipped her over on her stomach and begun loving her in a new way that had her biting the quilt, it felt so good. It didn’t matter who he was, Miho had thought as her core splintered into a hundred shining fragments. But in light of day, she knew this was not right. She would not miss the appointment she’d made for her lunch hour: the meeting that could turn mystery into truth.

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