Honey Flava

1

I WAS ON MY way to Japan from Washington, D.C., by way of San Francisco, and I was ecstatic. I recently received an educational grant and was traveling with a study group to learn about Japan’s educational system. It was my goal to fill myself with all the sights, sounds, and culture I could obtain in three weeks. The plane ride was uneventful, especially since I had the good fortune of being sandwiched between two elephant women. I kept taking regular bathroom breaks just so I could get the feeling back in my arms. The elephant women tag-teamed me and cut off the circulation to my arms every time I tried to use the armrests.

On my way to the bathroom I eyeballed a cutie that had been eyeballing me when we were boarding the plane. I didn’t pay him too much attention at first, but now that I had some time to kill, I decided I might as well kill it with “homeboy.” It seems as though he was on his way to the bathroom at the same time I was trying to take a leak.

When we couldn’t decide who should go in first, we did the next best thing and went in together. I have been in tight places before, but nothing is tighter than a bathroom on an airplane. I really did have to pee and didn’t have any shame in pulling my skirt up and dropping my draws. I don’t think he thought I was going to pee at first, but I let it rip, like the falls at Niagara. Since his mouth was hanging open like he’d never seen anybody pee before, I thought I would give him a special little treat by taking some toilet paper and wiping off my pussy.

2

I WIPED IT JUST the way my mama taught me when I was a little girl: from the front to the back. I cleaned my pussy so good it was clean enough to eat. I started from the top, first licking my finger to separate my pussy lips. Since it was so tight in the bathroom, I wanted to make sure homeboy didn’t miss a stroke, so I pushed his head down and made him watch me so close he could smell my punany!

The more I wet my pussy with my fingers, the more it started to pop and whistle. I had no intention of fingering myself, but I guess one thing led into another once I got into a good groove. I worked the fingers on my right hand around the hood of my clit, which was starting to swell from the teasing.

The more I rubbed my pussy, the better it felt. I almost forgot I was on a plane. I didn’t ask for any audience participation, but homeboy started giving me stage directions from the peanut gallery. He told me to pull the hood back over my clit as far as it would go, so he could see how big it could get. Since I’d never had a request like that before, I wanted to see how big it got myself, so the more I worked it, the more he started blowing on it, until it popped out just like a “baby dick.” I had to turn to face the mirror and admire it myself, because I had no idea a clit could get so big.

My pussy was on fire and needed a tongue bath, and homeboy was only too happy to oblige. He positioned himself so as to get a suctionlike grip around my clit, like one of those rubber things on the bottom of a bathroom mat. The turbulence coming from the plane only heightened an already great mouth fuck.

3

I WANTED TO SPEED things up before we got caught, so I hoisted my leg up on the sink and started humping his face as if I was trying to bury him in the pussy. Being the “squirter” that I am, when my time came, homeboy got caught up in the mix without any warning. Pussy juice was dripping from his eyes, his nose, and all around his mouth. It was funny. He never saw it coming!

There was a knock at the door and I’m sure a long line had started to form outside the bathroom. I grabbed a corner of his shirt, wiped my pussy off, pulled down my skirt, and got out of Dodge. By that time homeboy had to really take a leak, so I squeezed between him and the door as he began to drain the lizard. As I was leaving, the woman in front of me looked me up and down before turning the doorknob. Looking over my shoulder, I casually smirked at her and said, “You may want to wait a minute. Someone is still in there!”

We finally landed in San Francisco, where we waited for the jumbo jet, flight #837, heading for Japan. We landed at the Narita International Airport in Tokyo safe and sound, even though I had turned a putrid shade of green from the altitude.

There’s a fourteen-hour difference in time between Tokyo and my hometown, Washington, D.C., and without doubt I was a long way from “the hood.” Before taking the shuttle bus to my hotel, I needed to relieve myself and had a challenge finding the bathroom. I made the mistake of asking a Japanese employee where the “bathroom” was and was told that there were no “bathrooms” at the airport.

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NOW I ALREADY KNEW about those Japanese bathrooms that had the toilets that were flat on the ground and you had to squat to take a leak and balance yourself at the same time, but I didn’t expect not to find someplace to relieve myself. Dag, was that too much to ask? After a little more investigation I discovered I was asking for the wrong thing. The Japanese consider the bathroom a room that you bathe in. I should have asked for the toilet. By that time my pee was somewhere up to my neck, getting ready to flow through my ears at any moment.

When I finally found the toilet, I couldn’t believe how state-of-the-art it was. It was all chrome and shiny with glass fixtures everywhere. All kinds of gadgets were on the toilet, and I couldn’t figure out how to flush it. As I was messing around with all the buttons, I realized it was a bidet and not just any old toilet. There were buttons to wash your ass, buttons to dry your ass, and even a button that would mask the sound of taking a dump and breaking wind. What really blew my mind was the button that heated the seat so your ass wouldn’t catch a cold. Now that was a shithouse fit for a queen!

As I turned on the button to wash my ass, I realized how warm the water was and how accurate the nozzle’s aim was, so with a little manipulation I adjusted it so that it pointed right at my pussy. I straddled the toilet and turned it up as much as I could stand it. The warm water hitting my pussy sent piercing streams all up in me. I was able to hump the water as it came toward me.

The feeling gave me a different kind of buzz that felt good and painful at the same time. Picking up my rhythm, I rubbed my clit a little until it popped up enough to meet the stream of water. I didn’t want to look as though I had just peed on myself so I finished myself off on the cold, rounded decorative side of the bidet, which looked like a big ceramic dick. I love Japan! The Japanese think of everything!

5

I CHECKED IN AT the New Otani Hotel in Tokyo just overnight until we could take another plane to Hiroshima. As soon as I stepped foot in my room, I headed straight for the toilet, and to my surprise I had my very own bidet. I pretty much knew where I was going to be spending a lot of my free time!

After making enough cultural faux pas for one day, I prepared myself for the plane ride to Fukuyama, Hiroshima, where I would meet my Japanese hos

t family. They would probably be right on time, like most Japanese. Unfortunately, that would be a challenge for me, because all I knew was CP time! All five of my Japanese family members came to greet me. They kept looking at me saying, “Beautiful, beautiful,” and immediately I knew I was going to love these people. There was Masaki, the fifty-year-old father; Meiko, his forty-four-year-old wife; and Kazue, Masaki’s seventy-six-year-old mother. There was also a sixteen-year-old daughter, Sawa, and a thirteen-year-old son, Itasuki. They all gave me the warmest reception, and instantly I knew I was home! My home stay was just for two nights, but I realized that I was a long way from “my hood.”

I knew I should have picked up a Japanese dictionary when I was in Tokyo, because the only one who could halfway speak English was Masaki, and his English wasn’t all that good. He was taking English lessons on the weekend, and he wasn’t skilled at comprehending spoken English. He spoke better than he gave himself credit for and was relieved that I could halfway understand him.

6

ON THE FIRST NIGHT a lot of Japanese talk was going on, and all I could do was smile and pretend not to think they were talking about me. For all I knew they could have been calling me a “black American bitch,” but by the way they kept smiling at me I doubt it could have been anything negative. We spent the evening trying on different family kimonos and drinking green tea, and various family members were trying to teach me how to make origami cranes.

The next day Masaki took me to a temple that had little scrolls carefully placed in the trees, and he told me to get a fortune out of the tree. Masaki read it, then told me it was good. He took a lot of pictures of me in the temple and tried to explain the significance of the artifacts, but had difficulty finding the English words he needed to use. Masaki was trying to explain something to me and started speaking Japanese a mile a minute. He kept looking at me wanting me to answer, and I didn’t have the slightest idea what he was talking about, so, not to be culturally disrespectful, I shook my head yes every other time he paused for a reply. I figured he was asking me what I wanted for dinner, either “octopus or squid,” like he had asked me the night before.

Later that evening many neighbors came over for my last night, and we ate octopus and seaweed until it was coming out of our pores. I drank sake until my 20/20 vision had downgraded to 20/40. The sake was beginning to blur my eyes and wake up my coochie. It was all good though, because everyone was having a good time.

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WHEN THE COMPANY FINALLY left, Masaki came to me and started that Japanese babble again, and I nodded my head again like I did at the temple. Out of respect he bowed, then began talking with Kazue and Meiko. They smiled at me, bowed, and immediately left the room.