Mitchell's Take
Copyright© 2026 by Midori Greengrass
Chapter 11
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 11 - husband's perspective
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction White Male Oriental Female Oral Sex Voyeurism
Over the news came an interview with a young man supporter of the far right hate group in his country, Italy. The feed flashed an image of fascist armband worn by a passerby, on the sidewalk shared with journalist and zealous true believer. The scene brimmed with excitement of a movement in the ascendant, winning. The guy being interviewed, young, scrawny, a punk really, spoke of his delight that the right had strengthened its hold on the United States, adding he hoped the same would happen in Italy. He and his friends would do everything they could to ensure it did, including use of violence, sabotage as necessary. The confidence he expressed that the Movement would spread across all of Europe seemed genuine enough. Terrifying.
Watching, Mitchell thought it really looked like the Nazi thing happening all over again- no one had believed that possible, but there it was, including the colors of that armband, red and black.
The guy on screen told the reporter his dream- one he now thought in reach- was to bring all like-minded people- meaning haters, young men mostly, full of rage, but people of all ages and genders, anyone willing to work for the movement- call them to join each other in a single country and make it their global base of operations.
“That would be bad,” Mitchell said. He was speaking to some of his students, who didn’t quite understand because the interview took place in English, and Mitchell tried to explain.
The students should know about this. The so-called America-Firsters blamed everything on foreigners, people like them, showed no mercy. Everyone in the class had to stay on guard for themselves and family.
“Their idea is for far-right militias from around the world to gather in some country- he said probably not the United States, it’s too large and too varied, just keep the movement in power there- but in a small nation completely cleared of the opposition and ready for the taking, probably somewhere in Europe, Eastern, former Soviet satellite maybe, like Slovenia, a backwater easy to grab and make a stronghold.”
The young scrawny punk had laughed, grinned as he talked about it, all but salivating at the thought of causing destruction, the people he and his would hurt. Personally weak and obviously keen on making up for that, wreaking revenge against those better endowed, better educated.
“There must be millions of them worldwide. Imagine them all together. It would be a blight on the planet. They could do a lot of damage! How to defeat that? By a mass attack? Nuclear weapon to wipe them out once and for all?”
Mitchell realized it was terrible to think of that, he was thinking just like them, but what could be done, what would work? They were proliferating, like a cancer on the world, or like an insect infestation. Yes, he was thinking like them, looking at other people as non-human. They were still people!
Mitchell woke from the dream in a sweat. It was too real.
He thought of Akemi, of how he always wanted her physically, even when the situation didn’t call for it, how she’d sometimes laugh at his amorousness which knew no bounds. He’d approach and be all over her like an octopus from one of those erotic Japanese prints, “shunga” from the Edo period, and of how she’d make love to him back, opening, softening, entwining her tentacles with his, unless it was really impossible, they were somewhere public, in which case they’d have to wait till they got home. And he’d carry an erection until then, like a log in his pocket.
He wanted and brought forward all kinds of sex with Akemi, kissing, sucking, fucking, handling, from face to between the legs and on down and back up, her hair, her smell, her taste, and his to her, a surging tide of sex, high and higher, independent will, unaffected by conditions, a force majeure.
This- his luck of having Akemi and her wanting him to- it seemed unbelievable- and also the dark cloud over everything now, that of her absence!- stayed with him even when he got to work in the morning, heavy thoughts also of the dream lingering, a weight, as he gathered food from the buffet tables.
He’d decided to have breakfast at the college dining room, no point eating at home without Akemi there to enjoy the meal with, and his thoughts remained in the clouds, far from the reality, his surroundings, right up until the moment a colleague joined him, plunked his dull yellow hard plastic tray with the non-slip textured surface down on the table by his, at right angle to it. There was momentary confusion- on Mitchell’s part- about whose glass of water was whose.
“Oh, that’s yours,” Mitchell said, realizing he had distractedly reached for the wrong one. He hoped his fingerprints left on the glass wouldn’t bother his friend. Too late anyway.