The Seabird of Sanematsu by Kei Swanson

through the house with the speed of a fire in the paper-and-wood structure.

    Sena, the foster mother who oversaw the girls, met Matsumoto in the main room and welcomed him to her unworthy establishment. He accepted sake while he endured the formalities. Although they never spoke of the business at hand, the woman gauged his desires from his responses and attitude. She took her leave and began the preparations.

    A meal was served, during which an apprentice of the third rank played her samisen. Another girl entertained him with a dance after he had eaten; he continued to drink. All this artistic entertainment was as brief as decorum would allow. Matsumoto was not interested in dance and song.

    Sena returned and suggested a soaking bath and massage for her master, after which she would have all in readiness to attend his needs. He agreed.

    Lounging in the steaming water, Matsumoto fantasized about the sexual play he was about to engage in. He had pillowed with charges of this house before. Sena’s house, not one in which the inhabitants were proud to be, was the last step on the descent into prostitution for the members of the Willow World.

    His thoughts of his last visit, the moans and weeping, the body and the instruments, deepened into a passionate vision to awaken the fleshy appendage between his legs. Halfway through the fantasy he realized it was Sanematsu’s yabanjin he envisioned. He barked for the attendant and left the tub.

    The masseuse had difficulty kneading warmed oil into the samurai’s taut muscles. His impatience and hostility would not allow him to remain until she could succeed in easing the tense fibers.

    Edgy and eager, he entered the Pleasure Room assigned to him. The aroma of spicy incense invested the air and candles flickered, obscuring the soft yet threadbare futon. Cushions littered the floor, and a closed wooden box sat at hand. A teenage boy lay in a corner, clad in a woman’s gauzy kosode, a drugged glaze to his eyes. Sena had recently acquired him for Matsumoto’s use. His long, straight hair was cut with bangs over his eyes like a girl child’s. His soft features had just the faint beginnings of masculinity. The kosode, loose at the top, revealed a smooth chest without musculature.

    Fuku, a minor maid, entered with a tray of sake and settled Matsumoto on the futon; he was treated to slight flashes of breast as she moved. Her hair was dressed above her collar to allow her nape, the area a Nihonese man found more sensual than breast or genitals, to be seen.

    The impoverished house insured Matsumoto was the only visitor who received first-rate sake, plentiful and at the proper temperature. His bill, which Nami would receive and pay without question, would be of such an amount as to allow Sena to replace what he drank plus some.

    Events moved forward with Fuku performing the favorite sexual pleasure Matsumoto enjoyed. Even though she attended him with perfect technique, he found some infraction for which to punish her. His closed fist struck her cheek, and his blood surged.

    Eager to enjoy further passion, he waved the boy to his side. When he was near, with one hand Matsumoto ripped the kosode from his body. The boy stood abjectly. This was how he liked his boys--and his girls, for that matter. How he wished it were the barbarian’s fruit he held in his hand.

    In his frustration, his grip caused the boy to cry out. Warmed by the sake, Matsumoto reclined and indicated for his attendants to continue.

    The woman stood, her bruised face ignored, and dropped her kosode with feigned bashfulness. She undid her hair, and it fell in waves around her. The boy came to assist her as she knelt and opened Matsumoto’s kosode. He was pleased as hot tongues and curious hands handled him. Fuku’s lengthy hair provided purchase for him to pull her up until she lay over his chest.

    He always started with the woman. The boy would finish the satisfaction of his lust…and they would begin