Detained in NYC
Copyright© 2025 by Midori Greengrass
Chapter 32
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 32 - An artist is caught up in the dragnet.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Ma/Ma NonConsensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Wife Watching White Male Oriental Female Oral Sex
Pam had seen how I felt about Akemi. Literally. She walked into a restaurant once where we were. I saw her approaching to pass our table at an angle (she didn’t see us fortunately though that pained me) and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Pam and I had been talking; she still was, realized I wasn’t listening and said, “Hey, what’s going on? Snap to it” kind of thing. Saw how distracted I was but didn’t know why.
I wanted her not to see the reason, see Akemi. And I literally tried to put my body between her and the view, sitting with the white tablecloth before me, leaning my torso far to one side. But Pam saw past me, saw what it was that had gotten my attention- obviously; Akemi was so striking.
And I said, “Looks like a ghost.” To explain my reaction. Haunting, I meant, suggesting that anyone would gaze raptly as I was, that it wasn’t a sign I had personal feelings for her, though obviously I did. Even then, I kept staring, mesmerized, nothing would make me look away.
Pam had been laughing, only slightly annoyed by my inability to focus on our conversation. I’d hoped that lightness would sustain but it didn’t.
Sheer coincidence, by the way. Akemi must have come to meet friends, of course had no idea I’d be there, same restaurant, same timing. Amazing how worlds collide. And when it happens it feels inevitable.
Pam reacted badly, dismissive, disdainful as if in her view the Akemi “phenomenon” was nothing to take seriously. That was defensive of Pam, and I didn’t hold it against her. She murmured something like she’d “seen her type before,” made a face, disapproving of the beautiful woman whose look had captivated me, caught and held my eye.
Pam shaped her mouth in imitation of Akemi’s, pursed her lips, as if suggesting the distinctive, gorgeous turn of Akemi’s was an affectation or at least exaggerated, that she was deliberately putting on a show, presenting herself as attractive. I’d always thought there was nothing fake about her. Her beauty, the extraordinary sculpted form of her mouth was natural, not a pout she assumed for effect. She couldn’t change that if she wanted to!
Yes, people noticed. Her face, her eyes- liquescent, wide and narrow, open as if in a permanent state of longing, invitation or at least appeal- her broad high cheeks, her qualities both regal and vulnerable, extraordinary, transcendent yet earthy, attracted attention from men and women alike. But mine was personal. She and I had something together. And I found that amazing, felt myself the luckiest man on earth, and really didn’t give a damn if Pam saw or what she thought.
I couldn’t turn to check, didn’t want to lose sight of Akemi for a second, but sensed men in the restaurant beside me were also looking- that had to be the case- and I sharpened my gaze as if to burn a path to her for myself only, as if in competition with everyone else, one I was determined to win.
I really felt that and still did- I mean, when Akemi disappeared, before I found out she’d been arrested and detained by an immigration cop (on false charges) and of course afterward as well, when I did know- and come to think of it, knowing how others reacted to her in the restaurant and beyond probably also explains why I understood my friend Nelson’s interest and could almost forgive what happened between them a year earlier- although I never knew the details, which left me free to imagine harmless scenarios, not only the worst case.
Whatever other effect it might have had, seeing Akemi in the restaurant, appearing there totally unexpectedly- yeah, her figure phantom-like in my view at least, the glow and elegance of her face really otherworldly- made me want to start running, get in the best shape I could for her, and I did.
As for Nelson, there was a time when he met with fans individually, they came in to see him in an office at the old theater for brief private conferences- maybe to talk about their own work as well as his since many were themselves aspiring film-makers or artists like Akemi. He’d autograph a copy of his film for each.
Mitchell waited with some other film buffs, friends of Nelson.
“She’s been in there a long time,” Mitchell said.
“Yeah,” the woman beside him grinned. They and the rest were aligned in a row on a bench. There were no comfortable seats.