Disco Wednesdayyy 03

Part 1: Kozue

5



I put Kozue to sleep and spent the night on her room’s sofa again. The big Kozue didn’t appear, but she did in my dreams and I started having sex with her. “I have Norma Braun,” I told Kozue. She said that she knew. “I’m better,” she laughed. We kissed. She might be right, I thought. In the first place, I hadn’t even kissed Norma. They couldn’t be compared. “I’m willing to bet my boobs are softer than hers. Mine might be a little smaller, but their shape is great,” she said as she showed off her white chest; I put her pale nipples in my mouth. Kozue raised her voice, then laughed a little. Kozue was under me. She was twisting strongly and greatly between my arms. It was my first time doing it with a kid, but there wasn’t any real problem, huh, I thought. Kozue extended her hands towards my abdomen, started rubbing my hard cock with the palm of her hand, massaged my balls, then went back up and grabbed it from the base. She seemed used to it, so I asked her if she had any experience. “Of course, I’m a high-schooler, you know. Everyone has sex in American high schools too, no?” she said as she stroked my dick, enlaced her thighs around my legs, and pushed her hips against me. I lowered her shorts and removed my underwear. Kozue grabbed my dick again, so I warned her, “I’m putting it in, okay?” “Is it fine?” she asked. I recalled the small Kozue, wondered whether I should feel uncomfortable because of that, and pondered over why I didn’t feel that way, but Kozue said, “No no, I’m asking if it’s fine regarding Norma-san.” I told her Norma had nothing to do with it. “I mean, I said you could look forward to her,” she said. But Norma got married, I thought, and went to continue. “If you don’t care then it’s fine,” Kozue said. “But if you love me, then do so perfectly. Don’t leave me alone, love only me for the rest of your life, forget about Norma-san, collect stickers for my enormous cards, gather all the backs I want to ride and make them bend, lick my butthole, call me pretty all the time.” I penetrated her wet spot after saying “Okay, of course” to all of it, it felt so good my hair stood on my back and my spine got pulled downward. “It hurts!” she screamed. Aah, I see, I remembered this was merely the small Kozue that had become big, so her hymen and everything was intact. “It hurts, but don’t stop!” she said as she held onto my shoulders. “It hurts, but I’m fine! Do it more! Harder!” she said before biting my shoulders. I told her “I love you, baby.” Those weren’t mere words, I truly was about to burst from my love for Kozue.

Disco Wednesdayyy 02

Part 1: Kozue

3



Both in Japan and America, I could make more money and faster by finding lone children and searching for their parents than by getting asked by parents to search for their children. I don’t know what’s separating them, but there are a lot of parents searching for their children. Not like all of them are involved in some crime; there’s simply a lot who don’t know where their children are and are willing to pay a large sum to anyone capable of getting them in touch. I sat on a bench near the fountain of South Chofu Station, waited there, found a bicycle with a number registered in the crime prevention service of Saitama Prefecture’s Saitama City, and observed the kid with wornout jeans and a disheveled T-shirt riding it. I was used to Japanese people so I could tell he wasn’t a grade-schooler, but a middle-schooler. Maybe even a high-schooler at most, but that was unlikely, in my opinion. I took a picture of him with my digital camera, got closer, and listened in on a conversation he was having with his friends. That group had a few people seemingly under the orders of the others; I confirmed that the lower-hierarchy group talked about having to go collect the money they made by stealing, prostitution, illegal sumo wrestling, and other stuff while laughing. The kid I was marking was called Hoshino. I’d say he was the Number 3 of that six-person group. Staring at Hoshino’s bicycle, I could discern ‘Saitama Prefecture, Saitama City, Murakami, 4-5-24, Hoshino Masato’ written on the front wheel’s tire with a silver pen, which was a letdown...I mean, a surprise. His personal information was written in plain sight. Do virtuous people deliver forgotten bicycles to their owners in Japan? Heeh, nice to know. I got away from the fountain plaza and these six, headed to the Chofu library hall situated in the fivestory-tall city hall, and looked up Hoshino Masato’s phone number in a telephone book there. It was registered as Hoshino Keisuke. I returned to the plaza. Those six were still there. The Number 4 boy was sitting on a bench with the Number 6 boy made to sit on his knees in front of him. On this noon of a weekday, in front of a station, many took notice of this traditional Japanese dogeza, but I was surely the only one who noticed the true hierarchical nature of what was happening there. I stood up from my bench and approached the six. I was pondering over what the best way to take Hoshino into custody from this group could be. Either help Number 4, aim for Number 2, persuade Number 1, take Hoshino with me and run, or beat all six of them to a pulp right there. I got fed up at every one of these choices, so I just approached the kids straight on, passed slowly right through the six who were tense at the idea of coming in contact with me, and, all while impregnating my senses with the smell of the toxic familial violence happening there, I put a foot on the bench next to where Number 2 was sitting, with constant eye contact with the closely-shaved-head Number 1, stepped over it, headed towards the hedge behind it, passed through the branches which made them shake, came out on the other side, flew over a bunch of bicycles parked there to finally land on the pathway in front of the bank. I could hear the bluffing laughter of the relieved kids.

Disco Wednesdayyy 01

Part 1: Kozue