He came over to my house that day. The only senpai I had ever trusted. I never really called him senpai either, the word had too many bad memories for me – for all of us. I don’t remember why he came over, but it was afternoon – during the club activities we boycotted. No one was home, and with him there it didn't really seem like my home at all. He was somehow bigger than the apartment, or the room he inhabited. Of course, I only saw him outside, and sometimes in the hallways in school. Rarely. My house seemed so very small with him in it.
For the life of me I couldn't tell what it was we were supposed to do. If he wanted to talk to my parents, or if we were supposed to study – yet none of those seem plausible. He was in a different grade – in a different world all together. So maybe it was I who asked him? It’s possible. Why he didn't say no though… I don’t know. Sometimes he would walk to the same direction as I did after practice. I just assumed he lived somewhere near.
The kitchen I eat breakfast in every day. It was like he bent the walls outwards. The ceiling seemed so much higher and the floor so much further down. I opened a window and I could hear the kindergarten children giggling outside. Glancing at him I remember thinking it was the first time I saw him smile like that. It was different from the stern smile he gave us sometimes, more like the smile from the time he told us to challenge him every step of the way.
That day, I didn't challenge him. I was just trying to be around him. To me he was like a beacon on a hilltop. I could see him from afar but I couldn't touch him or feel him there. He moved and startled me many times, appearing in places I didn't expect. He wasn't even silent, it was more like my mind refused to believe he was there – that he could change the space I lived in so much by just being there. I was scared, terrified, yet yearning and hoping I could reach him. His eyes would follow me sometimes, like he were uncomfortable, like I was, and I made a show about not noticing the distance between us.
Maybe I asked him if he wanted to drink, but I remember reaching over the sink for the tap. I had left him sitting down by the kitchen table yet he was behind me and his larger hands covered mine. He closed the tap carelessly and the dripping of water drove me crazy, or maybe it was his presence, the heat of his body against my back.
He breathed slowly. In. Out. In. Out. I was trapped and the scent of his body – the sweat and the shampoo – were making my head spin. My heartbeat was way up there, but I timed my shallow breathing to his, trying to make it something he wouldn't notice, wouldn't hear as loud as I did. He shifted closer and started pressing kisses against my neck. Taking everything account I was strangely calm. He was in control of the space I felt most comfortable in. He had taken it over from the moment he stepped in. Minutes upon minutes he had dominated every fiber of my consciousness. He was truly amazing and I… was nothing.
His hands moved on my belly, rubbing it in tiny, comforting circles and my hands held onto the edge of the sink tightly, afraid to let go. It was unreal. I was scared to be dreaming, to have never brought him to my home at all. And he tugged my shirt up enough, for his hands to touch bare skin. I relaxed. My upper body fell forward, powerlessly, numb and I leaned upon my hands, then my elbows. My hair hung on my face, looking more red than ever before. I couldn't think.
“Kamio”, his voice was hoarse upon my neck. “This…you’re being awfully easy.” He said it and I lifted my head, not seeing anything but the dripping tap through the red curtain of my hair. A familiar sink, yet it was strange. There was a hollow feeling inside my stomach, like hunger. “Kamio.”
“…Tachibana-san.” It was okay. I wanted him to come closer. When he was so far away I felt lonelier than when he wasn't there. He was the shining hope I had found, yet a hope which I could only see wasn't enough. It was so, so far away.
“You… Do you know what I want to do?” I didn't want to think, but he was making me. I hated him. I…wanted him. “…what I’m going to do, if you don’t tell me to stop?” That moment I wasn't a boy, or a girl. I didn't feel like I was anything. Everything he was, a strong presence which longed for me – something I couldn't understand, why me? Why me? - a shape which pulled me together. “I didn't come here to do this”, he said, like he were begging.
His hands went lower, they groped my crotch and I could feel myself becoming solid under his hand. As solid as I felt him against my butt. All these places I felt belonged to my body, yet were all separate and together. I felt like I were in a fewer-like dream – hallucinating.
“Tachibana-san…” I moaned and his hands fumbled on the button of my pants. He exposed me almost too fast, like he knew what was happening when I didn't, but I did and the mood he created was overpowering all my senses, and I wanted, wanted, groping the darkness for something still shapeless and nameless. I was scared yet excited, terrified yet willingly moving towards my unbecoming.
“Have you done this before?” He asked and I shook my head, mouthing “No”, and I thought my voice caught the last sound of the word. I wished he would talk, and he was very quiet, while his body moved, grinding against mine. My breath was coming in gasps and his hand found its way on my bare buttocks, kneading in circles slowly, calmingly, and I trusted. I found my trust in him burning like a fire. I hoped my parents or my sister would come in, so we could stop. I hoped none of them would.
His finger burned when he probed it slowly deeper into me. Instinctively I pushed against it, and he pushed it in to the last knuckle. The finger burned a bit more when he started pulling it out. My muscles clenched around it, yet he could go against the demands of my body. He wriggled the finger and it felt strange. Not too uncomfortable. “What about this?” he whispered. I wanted to lie and say yes, but I shook my head again. “No? These are all your first times then.” His voice was gentle, tight around the edges, and I could live with the finger he added in me with the first one after spitting onto them. He was gentle, working his way one-trackedly now, and my dick ached. I had never been so hard before.
The three fingers were almost too much and I couldn't keep the most embarrassing sounds in. He wasn't hurting me – even when he pulled his fingers out and I ached more, and when I felt him uncovering his cock and felt it as a pressure on my hole, skin against skin, he didn't hurt me. For a moment I wondered if I was supposed to love him but it was a fleeting thought. the moment was right. He was doing it right. My ring gave out and he entered me, slowly, probing deeper, pulling back a little and probed deeper again. I was stretching, but it wasn't a bad feeling, like the feelings of my body had become like letters from a distant country. I hadn't been touched before, but I thought that touching another person lost to being touched by someone else. His hand worked on my dick, not too fast. It felt good.
He started moving. In. Out. In time with his breathing. My breathing. I gasped. He moaned into my shoulder. He moved in again and I was wondering why I wasn't moaning like I was supposed to. Even if it felt quite nice, unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I forgot my parents and my sister. I forgot where I was. I forgot everything but him. And he moved inside me more and more steadily. Strong. Unstoppable.
“Kamio”, he told me and his hand let go of my dick. The hand came up on my chest, my chin, turning my head upwards and to the side. I could see his eyes by a mere glimpse and he kissed me with lots of tongue, almost too much. I arched my back and my hips pressed tighter against the counter, squeezing my dick against the hard cold surface. I groaned and he pulled back. “Kamio, I need to see. Your face is so cute. Turn around.” And he pulled out of me in a slow move and I felt cold, lonely. Only for a moment though.
I turned around to face him and seeing his face made my cheeks suddenly burn with shame. It was short-lived as well. He lifted my leg up by my knee and stroked his cock a few times with his hand before taking it back on my hole. He had to lift me up more before he could get himself inside me but he did it, and it was all that mattered to me. I adjusted my position, wrapping my free leg behind his back. The counter was painful against my back but I hardly noticed it, staring at his face for as long as I could see it.
Everything was him. I saw him, heard him, breathed him, tasted him as he kissed me whenever his mouth found its way to my mouth. He moaned “Kamio” over and over again, thrusting deep inside me. He wasn't in a hurry, it seemed. The afternoon felt like a small eternity. Only when he got closer to his finish did he rough me up a little, but to my sex-hazed mind even that felt good. With grunts which were almost growls to my sensitive ears he milked himself inside me with three or four deep passionate thrusts and sagged against me then. I had almost accidentally ended up on top of the edge of the sink, so having his heavily breathing weight on me wasn't too uncomfortable. After his breathing evened out he wrapped his hand back around my cock and brought me to my peak embarrassingly fast, letting me ride out my orgasm to the last uncontrollable contraction.
He held me until his cock had all softened up inside me, still, unmoving. He didn't let me move either, until he finally pulled out. I let myself slide down from the sink to my feet. My knees refused to hold my weight at first, but I didn't fall since he was still there. He reached around me and washed his hands under the tap. This time he closed it properly. After he put himself back in his pants and zipped them up. He must have said something, but I don’t remember a word after he left me alone in my body. I was proud and ashamed at the same time. I think I also said something, to answer whatever he said. He didn't stay.
Only when I was alone I could let my knees give out and feeling particularly dramatic I laid down on the floor. I had to move my toes on top of the carpet. It was warmer than the bare floor. Upon his leaving the dream-like atmosphere disappeared. My home was normal. The kitchen was like it had always been. I cried. I didn't feel like I had lost anything. I just didn't feel like I had gained anything either. He had gathered my bits and pieces into a one, solid body and dissolved them again. Knowingly or not he taught me he was only my hope, not the answer to finding out who I was supposed to be. I was still nothing, while he was everything.
Everything that happened later molded our relationship again. He was my captain and I was the vice-captain. I never found out why he chose me, because even I knew not to think he would choose me as a compensation for fucking me that day. We never did it again. We didn't talk about it. Like it never actually happened. To me the afternoon in my house was always like a dream, but I knew it happened. Even my vivid imagination couldn't make up the pain in my sensitive places.