The Best Laid Plans
...written on 2001-07-27, @ 10:59 p.m.
Tales of Kim's Life in Japan
Sat July 21, 2001
Friday was a wonderful day for me. I had a Japanese man on his hands and knees sweating in my apartment. Yes siree, that was nice.
What? Details, you say? Oh, alright.
I spoke of the home decorating shop in my last entry. Well, Yasuyo and I went to check it out and arranged to have a professional visit my place to see about changing the floor in my kitchen. The next week two men came by and they measured the space and showed me my options. I was pressed for time due to meetings and my pending Kyoto trip on Friday, so I made the date for when I got back.
The more I thought about it though, the more I wanted to come home to a new floor, so I had Fred call them back on Thursday and arrange to have someone come by on Friday morning.
I had been in a dither about which cushion flooring to choose. They had given me three sample books and I had many little post its marking my preferences throughout the book. One of the men that came to my apartment however, took two of those books away, saying that they were outdated. It was better to be working out of one book and I finally got my choices down to three, then two, then finally the one I selected.
I was told that the job would take about two hours and that someone would be there Friday at 9am. I was a little worried as all the other appointments that had been made with me were late in arriving. I was stressing enough about this trip already and didn't relish the idea of a possible setback in trip time.
Yasuo Sono showed up at my door at 9am sharp on Friday. He lugged in the big roll of faux wood flooring and his tools, took off his shoes and began peering at the work area. At that time, I didn't really notice any of his features, but he had a very pleasant demeanor. As he set to work however, I would find that his attractiveness would swell tenfold.
I still had packing to do, so I left the sliding doors open so I could watch Sono-san work. I put on a CDof a popular Japanese artist, an acoustical guitar player by the name of Masaharu Fukuyama. I asked Sono-san if that was ok, and only just a few minutes into his work he was so concentrated that my question seemed to bring him back from another world. Once he understood what I was asking he smiled and said "Daijyobu" (Ok).
I went about my tatami room piling clothes and getting all my stuff together and every now and then I would glance over at Sono-san to see how he was doing.
With the strains of acoustical guitar music and singing in the background, I watched Yasuo on his knees, facing away from me, as he reached out wide in front of himself with both arms to flatten the air pockets in the new flooring. Back and forth, to and fro, went his motions and I sighed as I observed the movement of his substantial triceps. That did it, I was hooked. I just had to stop what I was doing and watch him work.
It was at this time that I took stock of his build. He wasn't the thin wiry type, nor was he bulky or misshapen at all. He appeared to me to be a sturdy rectangle of a man. Thick strong arms that paired well with his round solid looking legs that were connected to a muscular butt (a rarity in the men and women here).
So there I was with my mouth agape, watching his brown skinned arms putting on flooring adhesive with the grace of a ballerina, when he looked at the refrigerator and indicated that we should move it.
Zip, zap, ZOOM! In an instant I was by his side. As we both bent to hug the half size refrigerator, our arms brushed against each other and a sensual tingle ran through me. We moved the refrigerator over next to the washing machine. I was about to return to my "observation deck" when I noticed he was sweating profusely. I asked him if he would like some juice or tea. He preferred tea, and as I was going to give him some I realized all of my glasses were on the other side of the kitchen where the exposed adhesive lay, barring any trespass. Yasuo gently stretched over to the dish drainer and snagged two clean glasses. I filled his with the cold peach and berry herbal tea and mine with orange juice. He drank two glasses of the tea and resumed working.
One hour had passed and he had the majority of the kitchen completed. We moved the refrigerator back and then had to move the washing machine. This was a little trickier and he had to go look for a tool in his car. He came back with the tool and with another "Sei no" (all together now), we hoisted the machine to the finished side of the kitchen. Less than an hour later he was cleaning up and making trips down to his car to put everything away. I, in the meantime, had washed some kyoho grapes and had put them in the freezer to cool.
Just as Yasuo was going to say good bye, I offered him the grapes and a chair to sit in. We started to converse in Japanese. I asked him how long he had been working in his field. He said 10 years and that he enjoyed it. He asked me where I was from and how long I had been here, and I answered. I was very impressed at how he comprehended my level of Japanese and matched his own to mine.
With each question, he began to eat the grapes more slowly. Kyoho grapes are big dark purple thick skinned grapes with a tart juicy inside with some little seeds. He would take the grape by one end, holding tightly onto the skin, and squeeze the pulp into his mouth, eat it and then put the seeds into the bowl I had set on top of the refrigerator.
I guess you could say I had planned it. From the moment I put on the CD, a familiar welcoming artist, to the many attentions while he worked and then our later conversation, it was all leading to a seduction, conscious or not.
The grape was waiting in between his pursed lips. In a pause, a heart clutching pause, with nary a come hither look or word, just an intuitive understanding, my lips met his and then my teeth pierced the grape, sending a burst of succulent juice into our mouths.
The surprise, the jolt, the exhilaration of something tantalizingly new. The feel of him sucking air into his chest as I straddled him in the chair locking my arms around his neck as he grabbed a fistful of my hair. Another grape, another kiss. Another grape, another kiss.
"Gochiso sama deshita." (Thank you for the feast) said Sono-san as he came to his feet and wiped his brow with the kerchief that had been tied around his head, putting the last seeds of the last grape into the bowl.
"Hmm?" I said, as I shook myself back to reality. "Oh! Do itashimashite. Otsukare sama deshita!" (You're welcome. Good job!) With many a bow and many thank yous, Yasuo Sono-san left my apartment looking much better than it had when he first arrived and leaving me wishing that it had been a bigger bunch of grapes.