2 comments/ 15830 views/ 3 favorites An Island Meets The Prairies By: AmeriRam The fluorescent lights in the library provided scant illumination in the waning hours of the Oklahoma day. In fact, although it was only 6 pm in November, Fumiko could barely see the print on the fluid dynamics textbook in front of her. For all it was worth, the book was like a useless stone slab. She had been using her cell phone to provide some manual lighting, but it had become extremely tiresome, and with her extremely shy demeanor Fumiko was self-conscious of the fact that maybe the people at neighboring tables were being distracted by her. She raised her head from the book and blinked several times, before rubbing the blurriness from her eyes. She scanned the surrounding table stations to the right, seeing the faces of others trying to read their own texts, type, or work out math equations. One was a heavyset linebacker reading an organic chemistry book. Sitting across from him were two preppie looking law majors who were squabbling over the order of papers in their brief. Fumiko seemed conscious of the fact that although others might be accomplishing something, in this dim light she had absolutely no chance of progressing with her fluid dynamics text. On the other hand, as she glanced to the left she noticed that occupying one of those desks was someone she'd seen on other occasions there. Typing vigorously on a laptop was a girl in her early twenties, maybe even Fumiko's own age, 21. Fumiko, tall for most Japanese women at 5'9", could see that this girl was maybe an inch taller. But there the physical resemblance became further. Whereas Fumiko had very light skin complexion and hair of varying shades of brown, the girl had a very dark brown skin color, and solid black straight hair. Her body was full curvy and athletic, like a sprinter's. Fumiko's was extremely thin, and if not for her height she would have looked a lot younger. The girl had on a green print sundress and a dark brown corduroy jacket. With the useless learning conditions, Fumiko had an urge to close all of her notebooks and the text, yet for some reason she plodded on. She was essentially wasting her own time since her concentration was already off. In fact, she was increasingly casting furtive glances in the direction of the girl with the laptop. At some point she looked at her watch and realized that it was now 6:35 and her ride was due. She gathered her things up and walked briskly out of the glass double doors that adjoined the checkout area and into the parking lot. A light drizzle had begun to pour down, and Fumiko retreated to a bench sheltered by an overhang. For five minutes she loitered around the bench, idly kicking an aluminum can and other debris on the ground in front of the library. She contemplated the path she'd taken that had brought her from the beachcombing life of her native Okinawa to the bare plains of Stillwater, Oklahoma. On her island the sea was visible from so many places, that it was like an old companion that was taken for granted. Here in Stillwater, she would scan a horizon for miles and see endless prairies. However, the life here had less friction than at home to a certain degree. On Okinawa her family were considered Japanese mainlanders, even though her father had moved over to the island to join her uncle's business in the sixties. Although they were to a foreigner virtually the same, the islanders and Japanese were different in many ways. For one thing an islander tended to have darker skin. There was resentment among islanders toward the domination of the island by the Japanese and the American soldiers and sailors allowed by Tokyo to be there. Going to mainland Japan was often a stressful experience; the pace of life was far more frenzied than on the islands. Fumiko hadn't intended to pursue her college studies outside of her homeland. But circumstances, which will be revealed later, gave her enough reasons to do so. She was sometimes very calm in Stillwater compared to in Okinawa. There had been endless pressure there to succeed and go to a leading university. She had also felt a great deal of pressure to conform to the expectaions of her family and peers in terms of who their daughter would socialize with. She had had friends who were pure islanders, and others who were direct from the mainland, but rarely would they mix, and Fumiko would find herself caught between two circles. Here in Stillwater the society was a lively mix of students gathered from across the US and the world, and she could attest to the fact that many of her dorm mates were from as far away as China or Ghana, but also from as close as Arizona or Tulsa. This diverse mix of peers gave her a great deal of anonymity, although it also isolated her to a degree. Fumiko's head bobbed up as she saw a silver Dodge Ram pick-up enter the parking lot and draw closer to where she was standing. She also noticed that while she had been in her reverie two things had changed: the drizzle had become a downpour, and someone else had joined her out under the overhang, and it was the girl with the laptop. The girl was sliding back and forth on her toes listening to a song on her Droid. Her eyes briefly passe over Fumiko and she gave a warm smile while not pausing to break her step. Fumiko waved back shyly. But her chance to develop this encounter seemed over as the truck pulled up. Inside at the driver's seat was Cleon, the son of Fumiko's host mother, Janice Blake, who was also riding shotgun. Janice's husband Troy was probably still slaving away at the bakery that he owned. Vernon Blake, Janice's middle-aged father, was sleeping in the back seat. Fate had contrived to place Fumiko into a family about as different from her's as possible. Janice and Vernon were both very outgoing and affectionate, whereas Troy and Cleon seemed totally absorbed in their boring bakery jobs. The Blakes and Hubbards were all black and had deep roots in Oklahoma, and they seemed barely fazed by anything that had to do with Japan. Their lives revolved around managing their business near the campus. Although Fumiko did not live with the Blakes, and her dorm was only a two minute walk from their own house, they often had her over for dinner or insisted she sleep in their guest bedroom. "Hop on in, sweetness," chimed Janice cheerily to Fumiko. Janice's head then craned backward to glance at the girl waiting in the rain. "We got an extra seat if you're goin' in our direction." The object of her question stopped bobbing up to the music. "I live on Cantwell," came the reply, a light and energetic voice. "Perfect," and Fumiko now had to squeeze into the back with Vernon and her unexpected co-passenger.On the drive home Fumiko found herself swaying to the right in order not to disturb Vernon's sleep. "How's your studyin' goin' Phoebe?" asked Janice. She never called her by her real name. "Very successful," replied Fumiko stiffly. "I feel very tired." She knew that her English didn't have the same flow as the people around her, but had no desire to fake their manner of speaking. "What they call you, sweetness?" asked Janice. Fumiko was perplexed by the question and wrinkled her eyebrow, but then realized that her host mother was addressing the other girl. Most younger people were called sweety, sweetness, honey, or something of that sort by Janice. "Sonya," answered the other passenger with a smile "Well, Sonya, I dunno if you have something to do, but we got a block party at home if you wanna come. Phoebe, I ain't been home so I didn't get to tell you either, and the boys are practically clueless when it comes to letting people know important stuff. . ." she glanced at Cleon at the wheel who seemed to be oblivious to everything going on. "I'll check it out, ma'am," answered Sonya. The Ram was parked three doors down from their own house, because parking had begun to fill up. Fumiko and the others filed out. Fumiko walked in to the scene of barbecue pits burning and dozens of people chattering and eating food. To all appearances this "block party" seemed no different from the other parties she'd seen in Stillwater since first arriving at the Blake residence. Except for one instance when Cleon and his sister Teresa had thrown a "house party" which had the distinction of no parents present and copious amounts of liquor. Of the forty or so people present, most were like the Blakes, townsfolk many of whom were black. Fumiko enjoyed the food and the rain had by now died down, although a canopy had been erected to shelter the partiers just in case. Sonya had also taken food and walked over to the music set and asked the person in charge (not really a DJ) to put on a track by the Roots. A few moments of boredom ensued, as Fumiko found it, as usual, very difficult to socialize here. Few of the people present were students at Oklahoma State. She was once again surprised when Sonya landed beside her on a lawn chair. "So your crashing with these folks?" Fumiko looked around trying to find what Sonya was talking about. "I misunderstand your question." "You stay with these people?" rephrased Sonya, with some effort to standardize her question. "Yes. The Blakes are very nice people," she said, now with a bright smile. "I see you pretty often at the library. You came here on a program?" Fumiko blinked, processing the question slowly. Then she nodded. "Yes, I am exchange student." "It's cool that they give you a family to stay with." Fumiko looked around, and the whole scene looked chaotic, with Cleon Blake and three friends chattering aggresively over who's turn it was to drink a shot of Old Grandad. "I also have a dorm room," Fumiko replied, as if to explain how she fit in here. In truth she appreciated the help of the Blakes, but unlike most American college students she required a quiet home atmosphere. "What do you study?" asked Fumiko, trying to shift the attention to her new friend. "Anthropology." Fumiko searched her own memory for the word, and recalled the Japanese definition of anthropology, the study of human life. "I study current trends in culture among young women in different areas of Oklahoma." This statement perplexed Fumiko. "What is the difference?" Sonya's eyes shifted upward, apparently surprised anyone would have a question about her field. "Well . . . Let's just say that here in Stillwater, which is a small-sized city, you or I wouldn't be watching TV nearly as much a day as in Oklahoma City or Tulsa. But we watch a lot more here than in my own home town." "You are not from here? These aren't your people?" Sonya shook her head. "I'm not black, or at least not as much as black people. I come from an Indian Tribe in the east part of the state. We have some blood from escaped slaves way back three hundred years ago." The conversation shifted, with Sonya speaking more about her home town. But Fumiko was increasingly focusing on her physically. "To tell you the truth, I'm kind of feeling claustrophobic here. I'm gonna head back to my place. You wanna keep me company?" Fumiko nodded, and she followed Sonya out of the backyard by the side path to the driveway. Sonya removed her corduroy jacket and stuffed it into a pocket of the same knapsack into which here laptop was already packed. Fumiko now noticed here exquisitely smooth shoulders and the straps that held her sundress on. In the soft glare of the streetlights, the skin was shiny on the cleavage of her medium sized breasts. Fumiko felt somewhat prudish in her own grey sweater and mid-thigh jean shorts. They walked with a leisurely pace, and Fumiko made conversation more, explaining to Sonya her real name, which until then Sonya had not even heard thinking she was maybe really named Phoebe. "What's it supposed to mean?" asked Sonya. The weather had cleared, but the air was fairly chilly and the humidity was tangible in the night. "In our language, Fumiko is 'child of treasured beauty'." Sonya smiled at that revelation. "Well your parents must have been pretty good at predictions," she replied causing Fumiko to blush. "You're a lot different from the ones I'm used to." Fumiko was puzzled by that comment. "Different from who?" Sonya was hesitant with her answer. "Oh, I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just interested in you, because I thought it was ironic to meet someone from somewhere else. I have to fish in a very limited pool, especially here in Stillwater. There aren't a lot of girls like me here, and most of them are white 'experimenters' who are more for the experience than the lifestyle. Then there's the whole denim crowd. But you're a whole different category, sugar." The last few sentences were eventually processed by Fumiko for what they were. "You are interested in ME?" she asked, sounding incredulous but with her pulse quickened inside. Sonya grimaced defensively. They turned to face eachother in front of a three floor residency, standing maybe five feet apart. The situation all depended on Fumiko. She had said to herself when she'd left Japan that if she were touched by her inhibitions, she would always be in a situation where she was capable of making the choice. Here she was on the inside part of the sidewalk and could have sprinted off if she wanted. That would've been the end of it. Sonya's face showed that she wasn't aggressive enough to pursue further. But she didn't break it off. "Do you mean what I think?" "If you only want to be a friend, I won't be surprised. This isn't exactly home territory for girls like me, believe it or not. A lot of Oklahoma girls would turn bitch on me and cuss me out. But you're a beautiful find, Fumiko. Like finding diamonds on a sandy beach." This last analogy provoked imagery in Fumiko's mind, of past events, on deserted seascapes in her homeland. Of another girl who had found her in similar circumstances. A pure Ryukyu islander who had found her while she had shepherded some of her younger cousins on a day of snorkeling. "I want to see your house, Sonya" Fumiko answered stiffly but with decision. Her eyes appeared to be shiny and perhaps wet to Sonya. The pair now walked with unity, Fumiko reaching out and grasping Sonya's hand within hers. She was relieved to feel a very delicate texture there, almost like her own, a trait that pleased her in others. That's primarily why she was very lukewarm in her attraction to men. Fumiko had never attempted an encounter with a boy, not even on a dance floor in order to keep up appearances. Yet her own tendencies she had hidden in order to keep things smooth with her own household. Eventually it had all combusted, with an acquaintance ratting her out about the affair with the Ryukyu islander. "Your hand is like one I have needed to hold, but that's never been there," she declared, realising a second later that it was maybe a bit random. But Sonya seemed to enjoy the comment. They came upon a two-family house, and Sonya extracted a key from a small pocket of her knapsack. "Don't mind the barking, that dog's locked up pretty well downstairs." As they climbed the stairs a dog was bawling them out relentlessly. "It seems that not even he wants you to find somebody," commented Fumiko jokingly. "Yeah, I've been thrown to the dogs," Sonya answered as she inserted another key into the upper slot of a light blue door. When they entered into the kitchen another girl about their age was inside, drinking hot tea from a mug with the bag still steeping inside. She was a white girl with light brown hair and brown eyes and wearing a blue dress, and her eyes fell to the cojoined hands. "Simone, this is Fumiko," introduced Sonya, without even a stutter. Sonya nodded and smiled. "Wassup?" Fumiko for a second suspected something. Maybe Sonya had lured her in so that her and someone else could take advantage of her. Fumiko found it surreal that she was in a position to suspect other women of this. But it turned out she was getting ahead of herself. "Do you mind if I put some music on in my room?" asked Sonya. Simone now nodded in understanding. "Oh . . . Um, sure. Well, Sone, I was just about to take a trip over to the Beltbuckle, anyhow." Simone then took her purse off of the counter and made her way out of there, seemingly stumbling over herself to make haste. Fumiko frowned in confusion. "Have I caused problem?" Sonya burst out laughing. "Hardly. Simone's headed over to some coffee bar where they have these hipster, feminist, get-togethers, or something. I bet you thought she's game for chicks like I am. She says she's cool with us, but I think she's too image conscious and doesn't want to be seen too close to dykes. But it's not like I'm riding a motorcycle and letting my legs go unshaved." Sonya led her by the hand to her room. Inside were pin-up posters for the Dark Angle TV series with Jessica Alba, also for singers like P!nk and Amy Lee of Evanescence. It looked like a typical teenager's room. Sonya placed a CD inside her disc changer. "Siddown and loosen up," she bid her guest. Fumiko obeyed and sank onto the beige bedcover, stooping forward a bit. What came on was a song that was mostly electronic keyboards with a back-up band. "This is Texas. But they're actually Scottish, if you haven't heard of them. I just adore them." Sonya now moved over to the bathroom and Fumiko could hear water running for a couple minutes. Fumiko's heart was now beating more strongly, if not as rapidly as when they'd been outside. came the lyrics from the female vocalist. The faucet stopped. . The door to the bathroom opened and out emerged Sonya, clad only in a black lace tank top and matching panties. Fumiko brought her right hand to her chin, a nervous reflex, like if she'd placed her hand too close to a heat source. Sonya approached smoothly, her hips swaying. "No, no, no baby," she said soothingly, "you can't be afraid of this." She grasped Fumiko's hand, which held for a second then allowed itself to be guided to Sonya's belly. Sonya ran it over her stomack, and the hand began to carress lightly. Fumiko smiled, and her hand lifted the hem of the tank top revealing the dark hole of Sonya's navel. In the weak light of the room Fumiko could see some shiny glare showing that Sonya had rubbed moisturizing lotion over skin while in the bathroom, and she could detect the cucumber fragrance as well. "You smell like our garden after a rainstorm," Fumiko commented with a giggle. Sonya was silent, taking her arm from Fumiko's and placing it under the edge of her sweater. Fumiko did not move as Sonya lifted it up over her head and tossed it onto a yellow bean bag on the floor. Fumiko's own bra was striped cotton get-up with light tints of turquoise, pink, and white, and they held onto twin grapefruit sized globes. Fumiko lay back and allowed Sonya to unbutton her jean shorts and slip them off. Her own panties were the same as the bra, with a blue, pink, and white striped pattern converging in a chevron between her legs. "Beautiful treasure indeed," quipped Sonya. Fumiko now slipped the straps of Sonya's tank top off of her shoulders, and began to draw the whole garment down her curvy midriff. She inhaled deeply at the sight of the other's firm and bouncy breasts emerging from their black covering, like a sunrise at night, but continued to draw the tank top down and well past her waiste until Sonya could actually step out of it, and stood before her proud and inviting. Sonya now placed her own hand into her panties and began to slowly massage herself. Fumiko removed her bra of her own volition, revealing shapely breasts that were just the right size for her spare frame. She grinned excitedly at the sight of Sonya eyeing her bust. An Island Meets The Prairies Ch. 03 This is the third instalment of the series. The second one I titled An Island Reemerges, since it takes place somewhere else entirely. The setting of this particular chapter is fictional and all resemblance to actual places or people is coincidental. The next segment is a direct continuation of this story. The dusty red-white Sooner Bus Company coach began the winding descent down rocky outcroppings into the Cimarron River basin. The rays of sun illuminated the waving brush of the prairies that was swaying in the gentle midday wind. Within minutes the bus would come out of the snaking turns and pull up to a rustic series of shacks. Sonya Knox had been assigned by her sociology department to document statistics and life in that decrepit corner of the state. She had been allocated two weeks and about $160 in expense money. She hoped that she could find enough to do beyond two hours of her presence there. Circle Nation Indian Reservation was pretty much an open book, with very little to interest outsiders. Before she knew it, the coach was hurtling out of the last turn of the descent and along a dusty road parallel to the river. Not much time was left. Was she really thinking of this experience with such loathing? Sonya hadn't digested until now how dull her return to Circle Nation would be in comparison with her experiences since leaving. For that year and a half had encompassed an engaging and intriguing course load at Oklahoma State in Stillwater. It had given her affirmation that there was a border to these dreary prairies. So all of those days spent actually completing her assignments at Green Hill High School, the main repository of the youth for most of her tribe's villages, was a means to a logical end. And above all of that there'd been her union with Fumiko. That was definitely a facet of her existence that seemed completely mismatched with her previous life as a reservation brat. Sonya alighted from the bus and gazed upward to her right at the blue on white sign. "Circle Nation" was in big bold stylized western font, while below it was the caption, "Gem amid the blighted prairie, daughter of its concealed heritage." She picked up her beaten Umbro duffel bag and shuffled through the dirt track that functioned as the main passageway through the reservation. She finally arrived at a dilapidated cabin with the mailbox that read, "Canmore", the name of her immediate family. These names had been chosen at some time during Indian re-education programs meant to blend them in better with the settler neighbours. Suffice it to say that this was of no consequence; the locals at Circle Nation, particularly youth of her age, would deride the white Oklahomans as "peckerwoods", "trailer trash", "rednecks", or if they were diplomatic, "sooners". Once Sonya had tracked down the origin of the name "Canmore". It turned out it was a royal dynasty in Scotland, but its former glory was plainly gone. The process of greeting her family members was plainly mechanical. Obviously, her mother Flo and father Stephen, were thrilled to see her. Her older brothers Drew and Vic, had already spoken on the phone with her, because they had known they would be at work in the service station on a nearby highway when she would arrive. And her sister Andrea was away anyway most of the time doing her own job as clerk at the post office in another county. So after quickly settling in to her old room, which seemed pretty bare, Sonya went over to the only bathroom and stripped down to take a shower. She quickly lathered herself down and washed her hair with Aveeno. After finishing, she wrapped herself in a bath towel and laid down on her cosy fleece blanket, where she dosed for two hours. Upon waking up, Sonya reached for her cell, an outdated Motorola, and flipped it open. It showed her having two new text messages, both from her department head updating her on a filing deadline. The one she had been waiting for had not been there, but she resolved to go ahead anyway. Pulling on a light slip and some cargo shorts, Sonya gathered her purse and went out into the kitchen. Their house was a veritable testament to the neglect that existed on these reservations. Sonya yanked open the antiquated and leaking Kenmore fridge and pulled out a tall pitcher of concentrated cranberry juice. She then sent a text to a number saying, "Gonna b there now". With that she downed a glass of the juice and headed out the door. Walking through the deserted dugouts of the reservation was usually a solitary experience at this time of night. She passed a group of high school boys who were camped out on a bench and arguing over who's turn it was to buy cigarettes. She staggered gingerly through the parting of a dinky chain link fence, and through the dusty dirt of the other side. It was near dusk, and the Cimarron river basin looked serene at this time as she stared over it. By this time she had worked up a burn from the strenuous terrain, and she was surprised at how out of shape she was; but then again Sporty had never been her favourite Spice Girl. It was therefore a relief as she came upon the bland, whitewashed, but otherwise decent guest section of the reservation. This was a sort of hotel for the few persons who stayed over briefly, as well as rented quarters for a handful of permanent residents who were not blood members of the tribe. It was right next to a desolate ravine, and Sonya was confronted by the sight of a lone figure walking along its edge, as they neared it became clear it was a slim girl. Sonya recognized her vaguely. Although the children of the tribe all knew each other to some degree, Sonya recalled that this girl was not from Circle Nation but from one of the other small hamlets that composed tribal land. However, they all attended the same high school, and although once it had been very unorthodox, moving between one hamlet or another was possible. Sonya passed on the right and made eye contact with the girl, who reacted with a wave of recognition, and then sheepishly looked away. OK, if I should remember, I should remember her being awkward too, thought Sonya. As she neared the lobby entrance to the guest section, Sonya took a glance back, and was startled to see that the girl was walking very sluggishly with her head gazing over her shoulder in Sonya's direction. But the girl rapidly whipped her head forward and scuttled off. Sonya still could not put her finger on who she was. After refocusing on what she was doing, her heart began to increase its rhythm, eager to keep on. She climbed the one staircase toward the second floor and went over to room 207. She knocked rather loudly, and waited expectantly while the din of AC radiators sounded throughout the somewhat empty building. After a surprisingly long wait, she heard the chain sliding and the door unlocking. The woman who greeted her was of above average height, a bit curvy, and possessed tanned skin, although she was clearly not one of Sonya's people. In fact, the dark black hair, brows, and lashes betrayed her Italian lineage. She was dressed only in a turquoise cotton T with the collar torn and frayed to expose the straps of her bra. The hem of the shirt hung low and underneath it was presumably a pair of cotton panties. She grinned immediately once she saw Sonya, and the two hugged, and then sealed the reunion with an open mouthed kiss. "So special to have you." "And you too, Becky," Sonya responded. Although she was born and raised in a traditional Italian family in Philadelphia, Rebbecca Rissotto seemed far more at ease with her rustic surroundings than even Sonya was. She had been working at Circle Nation now over four years, starting as a college intern in the field of education from Oklahoma State, but now serving full time with what passed as the reservation's education system. Becky led her inside the familiar quarters that included a small salon, sparse kitchen, bedroom and bath. Although rather spartan, the apartment was easily maintained and clean, and Becky had spruced it up by acquiring ornate rugs from the tribe as well as from tribes in other areas she had visited. Sonya had known Becky since she was in high school and Becky was only an intern, but only now as coming to understand that her choice of where to live was a pure act of rebellion. She had stated once that all Rissottos had until then worked for one of the family's small businesses, such as the laundromats, dry cleaners, and wine/liquor stores. Few of them deigned to go to college, except the handful who would go for accounting, finance, or business degrees. However, this was counterbalanced by their being able to afford many luxury items, and every house owned by one of them was outfitted with fine furniture, jacuzzi, and of course the Audi or Lexus in the garage. Becky could attest to her relatives being hard partiers as well when they weren't working, and she had once attended a female cousin's wedding where she walked in on the bride's brother getting a quickie from an older bridesmaid in the women's bathroom before the ceremony, and then having another guest during the end of the reception in a maintenance closet. That cousin Ritchie was now a boldly philandering husband whose wife was often privy to his conquests, if not a willing participant. This didn't prevent them from having volatile marital arguments. So it was not surprising that a girl like Becky, who had told Sonya that she was aware of her own desires, would feel like a deviant in this family. Becky was just as vivacious as her family members, but her interests were more into the arts and humanities, music, and actually experiencing college for its own end. To top that off, she and Sonya had the same awakening in their adolescences, which were four years apart: They had realized that there was virtually no interest on their part in boys, and they had accepted it without even trying. But to try to fit in while living openly like this was hopeless in Becky's family and high school. On the reservation Becky had been able to thrive as someone who didn't need to put up with family pressures to get married, and the locals, young and old, generally did not interfere or pry into her private affairs. This also means that not all of them warmly embraced her. But she was an effective teacher, popular with the kids, and was now working on getting more of them to graduate, enter college or at least gain employment. Sonya had been one of the first class members to learn with her, and it was hard to recall that period now that they were seated on the two couches in Becky's salon, Sonya with her legs up to her side sipping some of the home brewed tea, while Becky was sitting lotus style on the love seat. The position offered up a tasty view the crotch of her panties, which were indeed cotton and pink. "Hope this music is okay with you, its a new collection of drum rhythms from Senegal," said Becky. She had always had this unusual affinity for foreign music styles, which Sonya had once thought was pretentious. "Sure, I guess. Anyhow," changing the subject, "I was hoping you could visit me at campus more next semester." "Well, you know," replied Becky, "I'm now basically the superintendent of this district, minus the salary of course, so I'm gonna have to wrangle vacation weeks from the district council, and of course try to find someone to fill in when I'm gone. But let's just enjoy this time now," she shifted slightly and leaned forward. "Did you find a good fit or two over there in Stillwater?" Sonya smiled, understanding immediately. She recounted her experiences with Fumiko, reminded Becky of their trip to Japan, and when she saw that Becky was enjoying the story, filled her in the details of their lovemaking. They held each other's gauze during the juicier parts, which included Sonya's torrid tryst with the military policewoman in Okinawa. By the end of the story Sonya's eyes had come to be locked in on the tanned face of Becky, the scattered freckles across her cheeks, the nose that seemed to flare unintentionally when she seemed excited, and the impish smile. Most of all, the studiously pulled eyebrows and drawn back hair showed that although Becky remained a strong, assertive, and outdoors girl with simple dress, she succeeded in projecting a simpler version of femininity, without needing the fake glamour of too much make-up or designer clothing. "Wow, that was tantalizing," responded Becky once Sonya had finished. "I feel like I need to top that while you're here." Sonya rose from the couch. "I just came here to get a good ol' taste of home." She sauntered over to the love seat, and sat between Becky's thighs, which had now come unwound. Becky acknowledged this by nuzzling Sonya's neck and reaching both hands around to fondle her nipples through the slip. She continued to massage the neck with her mouth for several minutes, and gradually lifted the top off of Sonya's head, before unhooking the sports bra. Sonya could no longer contain her own desire, and she rose to her feet, unbuttoned her shorts, and stepped out. Her panties now featured a wet strip in the center, which had begun to develop during the narration earlier. She turned around to see that Becky had the same thing in the middle of hers. "Get on your feet." She pulled off the torn tee, and took in the curvy form of the teacher. "You still know that's my favourite bra, don'cha?" Becky grinned now wider than ever, and unhooked it herself. It revealed two voluptuous and well sculpted breasts, large Cs, that seemed to float in the air rather than just hang. Becky always had a knack for keeping her body in shape, and it was a testament to her diligent aerobics practices that her abs were flat and rocky, her legs were iron hard. She never went for the skinny waif look that appears in magazines like Vogue or Vanity Fair. No, Becky always wanted to look like a Roman huntress. And that was the exact effect she had now standing there in just her pair of cotton panties. Sonya leaned in and cupped her right breast with her hand while nuzzling the nipple. The other one she massaged with her right hand. "This is a real homecoming," she exclaimed. But Becky wasn't content to be passive. She wrapped her arms around Sonya's ass, propelled her into the air, and Sonya responded by twisting her legs around Becky's waist to be carried to the waiting bed. There Sonya felt her panties get taken off by what seemed to be a force field. One second she was laying there, the next her wetness was exposed to the cool night air and the humidity of it. And then she looked down and saw those brown freckles and black hair diving in and forcing those legs apart. Becky always took her time, starting by kissing the small strip of pubes at the top, then licking slowly from bottom to top. After only two minutes the sensations were overwhelming, and Sonya could feel herself literally being juiced, the moisture coating her lips and seeping around Becky's face onto her cheeks. She exploded in moans and exclamations, and after briefly feeling burnt out, she climbed onto her knees and pushed Becky onto her own back. Sonya voraciously returned the favour, lapping up the syrupy discharge like it was a priceless reserve. Whereas Becky had felt content to pile on when the climb began, Sonya allowed it to build to a point of no return, then she crawled up Becky's body and lay parallel to her on top, grinding their sexes together in a primal thrust. When the deed was done, the two women were exhausted. Sonya managed to curl up in Becky's embrace, and the two kissed each other full in the mouth, imparting their tastes back on each other. An Island Meets The Prairies Ch. 04 Sonya would have loved to remain in this position forever, safe under the sheet between Becky's arms. Unfortunately, she awoke at about 7:30 a.m., and realized it would be better to get a proper start of the day. She pulled on the clothes that had been strewn about the couches, and creeped back in to plant a firm kiss on top of Becky's open mouth, then some more on her freckled cheeks. "Can't stay now, baby. But we'll do it some more when I can," she whispered. Heading out through the same path home, Sonya was caught musing in the air. Despite the fatigue of the torrid loving, she thought this was the perfect way to start her time back on the land. She was snapped out of this when she saw another figure standing by the side of the path, and was even startled to see the person was focused on her. It was the girl from the night before. She was standing in an outcropping of no particular importance, doing nothing of any particular interest. In fact nothing at all. Sonya gave a cursory nod in the girl's direction, which was returned with a bashful smile. Was she some sort of outcast, always leaving, but never arriving anywhere, wondered Sonya. For the life of her, there seemed to be no reason this girl should be anywhere but at home in the midnight hours or the first gasps of morning. But Sonya realized soon that until then there had been little reason for herself to be up this early. So she resigned herself to being a newbie, and continued home. The actual work began in earnest at about 10:30, when Sonya reported to the Circle Nation main office, a sort of makeshift city hall. This was populated by filing cabinets containing graduation records, employment stubs, and copies of other such documents that would interest only a statistician or an IRS auditor. No full time staff existed, and the record keeper was Luke Dalton, usually the owner of the bait and tourist supply store 500 yards off. Dalton was a fifty-something squat man, with the dark complexion of Sonya's people, and a laid back, or rather apathetic demeanour. "I need you just not to lose anything. I get fined if something is lost that could warrant copying," he had warned. He then proceeded to drive off in his Dodge Ram to the bait store, the muffler rattling along the gravel. Sonya compiled her data diligently, and only took a couple of breaks. Once was to go to Dalton's store to buy a bottle of Snapple. At that time the dirt paths had been barren, save for a few birds bobbing along and seeking out seeds for food. The second time she just went out to the chairs in the shade of the tree outside of main office and sat down. Inhaling nasally, she retrieved from her purse a metal box, and in it a spliff. Sonya had always shunned the company of the stoner crowd, but she wasn't as discriminating about their material. For several minutes she allowed the haze to seep into her mind, and she was confident that no one in the area would take notice or protest at her behaviour. The reverie she entered brought up thoughts of far off places and people: campus at Stillwater, the pristine beaches of Okinawa, and the thrilling time she had had there with Fumiko, finding a military policewoman who knew how to call in a favour and give a couple special ones herself. The relationship with Fumiko was still composed, although in her mind Sonya had come to realize that it was not the exciting ride it had begun as. In fact, it seemed that day by day their paths had begun to circle further away from each other as their major requirements were vastly different, Fumiko had little in common with Sonya's small social circle. It was truly fortunate that neither of them were especially jealous; although to say that they were both scoring left and right would be highly misleading. But their tastes seemed so unrelated that to Sonya it seemed inevitable that this beautiful relationship would wither away once the sexual desire of it wore out. Her reflection was snapped away when out of the corner of her eye she saw something creeping by steadily. It could have been an animal, but it was rather tall, and kind of upright. If it was a human, they were obviously trying to stay hidden in the daylight as only a mere dozen yards away was the edge of the gravel path. Sonya rose and crouched down to move closer to the thing. Once within her sight, she saw that it was the girl who had been wandering at night, in the morning . . . and now in the middle of the day. In this clear light Sonya could take better note of her features. She wore her long dark hair down and scattered about her shoulders, unlike Sonya's shoulder length hair that she at times wore in a ponytail. Her clothing was plain and nondescript; a simple light kelly green blouse, jean skirt to just above her knees, flip flops. The girl's face was by no means plain, but it showed the same dark features of the locals, along with arched eyebrows. Sonya couldn't decide whether it was the high, the heat, or her imagination, but the girl looked to be sneaking around, and she was slightly crouched. Unfortunately, she lacked the drive to call out, but her suspicions were soon confirmed when the girl realized she was detected, and a look of panic registered in her eyes. She quickly scurried off back the way she came, which was even more surprising. What explanation could there be for that? Rather than dwell on it outside, Sonya decided to return to her job. After all, she couldn't well do much to deal with this bizarre series of sightings. So she delved back into compiling her statistical pool. Yet only too quickly the mundane task became very tiresome for her mind, which wandered back to the encounter. In a flash, Sonya realized that the office contained files on most of the people of the reservations surrounding Circle Nation. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she stalked over to an area containing files on the high school and the tribal cultural society. Much of it had to do with antiquated programs that were composed in order to endow the Ariwa children with knowledge of the customs, ritual, and heritage of the tribe. But these had never come about due to budgetary constraints and that vocational training had long ago become top priority in tribal schools. But this wasn't what she was looking for. Instead Sonya retrieved dusty old copies of the high school yearbook from her graduation year, and those surrounding it. After deftly leafing past her own class page, which contained perhaps sixty graduates, Sonya turned to the page featuring the children two years younger than her, who would have graduated one year ago. The faces seemed all to melt together, but eventually she recognized the photo: Dark raven hair, clear brown skin, skinny face with high cheekbones and black eyes that nevertheless shone in the photo. All traits common to any of the members of their nation; yet nevertheless it was clearly that girl. Nora McDowell read the caption. Another so-called Scot. Now Sonya could put a name to the familiar face. This was also, she noticed, the first image she had seen of the girl smiling. Every time she had crossed paths with her in the dirt pathways a grimace or other look of anxiety was etched across her face. The image created a flow back of the context from which the girl came. Sonya remembered that in high school Nora would hang out with a group of four or so other girls, most of them from her own hamlet, Crow Basin. She remembered this because some of their faces were visible on the page as well. With this tiny bit of information, Sonya could finally put some specifics to this mercurial girl, if still no context. She then was left with nothing else but to return to her previous mundane task. Regardless of her discovery of the haunter's (dare she say stalker's) identity, Sonya now was positive she was being followed, and that these encounters weren't freak occurrences. It was soon brought to a head that very evening after Sonya finished exercising at the Circle Nation Community Club, the only gym for miles in the barren area. Of this the older residents were particular thankful for: The gym was reasonably well built, clean, and furnished. It was by no means state of the art. It made some wonder whether it would have been more worthwhile for them to request more money from the Sooners at the state capital for refurbishing the dilapidated high school. But what's done was done, and Sonya, as most residents with some free time, resolved to make the best of the club. She was still showering herself off when she distinctly heard some short footsteps in the shower room. Her whole time at the aerobics room and the other sections of the camp, she had only seen two other people, high school boys at that, who were using treadmills. So someone else in the women's showers would be highly odd, as no one else had been practicing. Sonya tried to leap out of the shower fast, and unfortunately rustled the curtains noisily, so that rapidly the person who had been on the outside took flight. Sonya barely caught a glance of the person's foot, a small one, around the corner. The person had slipped noisily, but regained their balance and continued to bound out of the women's showers. Sonya could only shake her head, as pursuit was out of the question as she stood their dripping wet and naked. But she resolved that this would be the last instance where her privacy would be violated for no explicable reason. This was going beyond bizarre, it was harassment. Sonya had never encountered such behaviour when living here. For all purposes, she was a typical girl born of the tribe. Her sexuality floated among the tribe in the grey realm between open secret and irrelevance, just as Becky's was constantly ignored simply because nobody even paid attention to her unless one of their children was sent off early for acting out. Among the Ariwa youth there were enough alcoholics, drug peddlers, and other general delinquents that the idea of a lez daughter seemed quite tame in comparison. This fact about her life hadn't been discovered, so much as whispered about, upon which during her senior year Sonya had confirmed this very nonchalantly to a pair of her casual friends who had asked her. Since returning, the tribe had allowed her to take a private cabin for the summer, from where she could have slightly more privacy. It had a bedroom, bath, kitchen, and living room Once she had returned there with her duffel bag, Sonya had an idea once she realized her windows were all open. She unloaded her laundry and dirty towel from the bag, and then opened her cell phone and pretended to dial a number. After waiting a few seconds, she spoke into it: "Yeah, I'll be here, just gonna read a little in the bath tub, hun," she remarked to no one. Sonya then went to the bathroom and began to run a bath, though without placing a stopper in the drain. She then retreated from the room, and, instead of undressing, crouched down, went over to the living room, and climbed through the low window opening that lacked a screen. She creeped around the corner and reached the window that overlooked the bathroom. Sure enough there was a figure waiting next to it and peering in. "Gotcha!" screamed Sonya as she grabbed the person around the waist. Nora McDowell put up a spirited resistance, albeit was too puny to make a difference, even against someone like Sonya who was barely any taller or more muscular. "Lemme go!" "What the fuck are you doing here that I gotta let you go?" "Just put me down," whimpered Nora, whose arms were now pinned up as Sonya had her own arms clenching the back of her neck and immobilizing her shoulders. "You better tell me why you've been so interested in what I do. I've seen you in more places than anyone else since I came back." "Alright, just lemme down. I won't go off now that you found me out." The voice that came out was rather childish and on the verge of crying. Sonya decided in any case to cast her down onto the ground between the wall and a bush that was on the other side of the window. This afforded less breathing room for Nora to bolt out of the scene. "Now speak. What do I have that you're looking for?" "Nothing." "I'm not jerked around very often." "How am I s'posed to tell you something so dumb?" sobbed Nora. Sonya's face screwed up in perplexed wonder. "Girl, you better be making sense, or I'm just about ready to hit my first person since the 5th grade. "I wanna be you," burst out Nora between the tears. "Come again?" Nora composed herself somewhat, and began her explanation. "All throughout high school us girls would whisper about what you did. With other girls, with Becky Rissotto. "The whole time they just hated on you, but I was jealous. They would tell me how unsatisfying it would be to lose their cherry to some reservation boy. I never looked at them anyway. They also didn't seem to pay attention to me." Her voice quivered at these words, and her dark face was shaded some more between the bush and the moonlight. "How much I began to think about you, too. I found a DVD at one of my girl friend's houses. It was her father's, and it showed two girls doing what . . . what you and Becky must do. It looked so much more. . . uhm. . . graceful." She gulped in some air. "Oh this is so embarassing." Sonya stared down at the pathetic girl sitting up against the wall. It all made sense now, and somehow it made her feel a bit guilty, notwithstanding the fact that Nora had violated her personal space and privacy, and not the other way around. "What're you gonna do with me now?" whimpered Nora. With a quivering voice, Sonya answered, "What am I s'posed to do? I caught you staring through my window," she realized that the water was still running inside. "Turn you over to the cops? Maybe rat you out to your folks?" The sarcasm was plain in her voice, although the anger was also still present. "What's that accomplish for me?" "I'm sorry if I freaked you out, Sonya." The tone was now a whole lot lower and more resigned. "I just can't get any release here. It's like I've been exiled in my own home." The sobs returned. "There's no other girls here like me." Sonya had had enough of this, and she grabbed the girl's arm and dragged her to her feet. "Come on, let's go inside. Looks like you scratched yourself on something or other while playing Jungle Book." She led Nora by the arm into her quarters. Indeed there was a gash on her right shoulder, and they cleaned and dressed it in silence. As she rubbed the spot, Sonya felt a hand grasp hers, and she looked up into Nora's face. "How did you do it?" "What?" "Stay here and ignore all of those eyes examining you." Sonya sighed. The issue had become a moot point on her part. In fact, her parents had been somewhat disappointed, but were also ironically glad that there seemed to be no danger of Sonya being affected by the wave of teen pregnancies on the reservation. This was not to say that they had been thrilled or even accepting. Sometimes they treated it as a real disability. Luckily, the Canmores were a very realistic breed, and they had been at least encouraging of her aspirations to leave for college. After all, they new that regardless of their daughter's sexual preferences, they couldn't offer her a better future than raising cattle like they had. "You just stare back at them, Nora. They have to break sometime." With this reply Nora leaned in and kissed her. On the cheek. This created a brief pause with the air becoming electric between them. Sonya finally answered by seizing Nora's face in her hands and bringing her lips to her own. They then stood at arm's length. Sonya appraised the scrawny girl from this view. She wasn't a bombshell, but Nora held some sort of innocent appeal, standing there in her worn blouse and tattered mini-shorts. "They're not looking as often as you think. In the end, you just have to walk around them and hope no one notices. Then one day it just becomes a given fact. You are who you are, and still a part of them." Then she turned Nora around and grasped her around the sides caressing her. She put her hands underneath the blouse and creeped up until she could get a handle around the twin orbs that peaked out of a simple cotton bra. "Buckle up," Sonya whispered breathily into Nora's ear, as a serene and peaceful look was fixed on her brown face. She pulled the blouse rapidly off, and within seconds she had unfastened the hooks on the bra. "You're crossing over now," she murmured as if in passing. But in reality, Sonya knew that she was completing a crucial moment in Nora's life. "I did that waaaay back," retorted Nora. And Sonya took this to mean that she could go forward. She kneaded the tender flesh of her partner's chest, and paced it according to the rhythm of her moans and breaths. Sonya encircled Nora's nipples and began softly churning them. She didn't need any reciprocal action; this time Sonya was content to initiate the new lover. The chest massage was long and drawn out, but Sonya soon decided that if she didn't ramp up the action, it would stay there. So she brought her hands to unbutton the jean skirt, which collapsed to the ground and revealed a shapely waist covered in cotton panties. This was obviously the attire of a girl used to the uncomplicated rural life of Circle Nation, where elaborate lingerie was as foreign a concept as cocktails at the Ritz bar. Nora even lacked the token modern trend of homemade belly tattoos that was common among some reservation girls. Sonya dispensed with the panties quickly and led the Nora towards the unadorned full-length mirror propped up against one of her walls. "Look at yourself," she commanded. In the mirror Nora could see every curve, from her protruding breasts to the modest contours leading down between her legs in an obtuse angle. "Why be ashamed of this? Why not want it? I think all of us women know we're the real perfection of creation. But only our type are ready to declare it." Sonya was puzzled for a second after her own comment. "I don't see any stubble tracks down there." "I never hx any," responded Nora, her own eyes focusing on her genitals. Some moisture glistened from between her labia. "For some reason in our family we never have body hair. It's some bizarre genetic thing I guess. Can't complain, although for a while I thought my growth was stunted." Sonya retreated to the bed and took some throw pillows off. She then seated Nora on them with her legs spread. There was fluid running down them, either from the fright of being caught, from arousal, or from a combination of both. For Sonya it was irrelevant, she was ready to savour the result whatever the case. She lowered her mouth between moist lips of Nora's sex and began to suck hungrily on each part. As many lovers as she had already had, for Sonya it felt like a rare treat to get to service an untouched girl. Nora didn't initially make any movement, but after the lips locked a circle around her clit, and two digits were introduced she gasped suddenly. Sonya felt this, disengaged briefly, and gazed up and forward into Nora's face, her face in a mischievous smile. She then began alternating between soft sucking and lapping, periodically pulling off to tease Nora and heighten her arousal. Nora felt fully indulged by this temptation/torture, and at one point, after the fifth pause, grabbed hold of a lock of Sonya's hair. "Enough," she managed to utter through clenched teeth. "Bring me home." Sonya obliged with a series of frenzied licks and insertions of her smooth nubile hand, causing in Nora weird undulating movements that were still foreign to her. When she finally settled down, she was laying on her right side, and it took her a moment to realize that Sonya had taken a new position behind her, enveloping her waist with both arms through the curves of her hips. An Island Meets The Prairies Ch. 04 For some reason, Nora didn't see this as fair. She maneuvered around so that she was facing Sonya, and smiled lightly at her new lover. Sonya seemed to have look of smug satisfaction on her face. Nora wiped this off by stretching out and intertwining there mouths. The taste of her sex was strong on the other woman's lips, the flavour causing her to consciously think in her head, "so this is my body."After rubbing her chest into Sonya's, provoking her to break of the kiss and turn her head in ecstasy, Nora pursued her next goal: to settle the score and prove she was capable of fulfilling her end of this relationship. She sunk down into Sonya's chest and began to nuzzle her nipples in contentment. After drawing Sonya into a spreadeagled position, Nora dove under the covers, and began to drink from Sonya's own sublime nectar. "Uhhh. You've been holding out too long on this, baby," managed Sonya in between moans, and she reached down to insert her own fingers. Nora's left hand and Sonya's right were inserting fingers rhythmically into Sonya's vagina while their free hands were clasped. "Don't ever be shy again," she commanded. Pulsating, the two girls continued until Sonya burst into Nora's face, the fluids washing over her chin and onto her neck and breast. Exhausted the two girls settled back into their previous position, Sonya spooning Nora with her hands enveloping the smooth lips of her sex. As they drifted off toward sleep, Nora briefly turned her head backward. "Sonya honey?" "Huh?" "Is that what I've been missing?" Sonya was amused, but so tired she gave a cursory answer. "Of course." "Now that's something to be jealous of." An Island Meets The Prairies "Is this what you wanted?" Sonya breathed alluringly. "Did this make you come here?" She was now taking long strokes with her hand down into her groin, and swaying to the still playing music. She was now a dancer, and Fumiko rose in order to complement her, if briefly as a partner. The two embraced, their breasts merging together and provoking a surge of body heat as they rubbed together. On experiencing this the first time, Fumiko's previous lover had called this the "forming of thunderclouds". She dragged Sonya down into the bed, and in the chilly air they tossed until they had submerged under the covers, Sonya giggling playfully. Her head jolted up providing a dark outline against the ceiling, and she stared momentarily at Fumiko, a smile forming on her lips. She sank down and slipped a luscious kiss on Fumiko's mouth, inserting her tongue until it was tousling Fumiko's. Meanwhile her arm was drawing off Fumiko's panties, discarding the last barrier between them. Fumiko made some shallow squirms in order to aid the effort. Sonya was once again emitting bubbly giggles, and she suddenly rose from the bed and stood at full height staring down at Fumiko. The action stopped briefly as the track on the stereo changed. Now the seductive sounds of Mariah Carey's "Touch My Body" burst from the speaker. Sonya began unfurl the black lace panties from her body. "This is the main event, baby girl," she said as she bent full over, giving Fumiko a view of her back and backside before she stepped out of the garment and kicked it to the left. Fumiko remembered that in high school anatomy, a course she'd taken years ago, this region was known as the cleft of Venus. Sonya had dark, full and vibrant lips enveloping her slit. "Now I've shown my treasure, time to get yours," sneered Sonya coyly, and she began to rip at the blanket cover, with Fumiko mock resisting. The screen was pulled off, and Fumiko lay there, pressing together to reveal her own smooth crotch. They both seemed like perfect matches underneath, with not a speck of below their heads, and brilliant sheens to their skin. Sonya no longer held back and she mounted the bed opening her legs wide to reveal a luxurious darker brown flower. Fumiko invited her closer, staying down but spreading her legs, and the two vulvae fit together in a soft meeting, while Sonya once again pulled some covers around their bodies. Fumiko grinded up against Sonya, making it a moving kiss. She gasped in pleasure as her clitoris locked in with Sonya's, who brought her mouth down onto Fumikos and french kissed her between giddy smiles. As they continued to rub together, the mosture down there built up, and although the rest of the bed was warm and dry, between their legs the two felt as if they were swimming in their own sauces. Fumiko inhaled her sexual odors with renewed vigor, and shuddered as she rose up and turned the tables on her dance partner, or at least sat upright. "I can taste yours?" This question was a formality, as Fumiko by this point really new the answer, and wasn't interested in any others. "I'd hate for it to got waste if we've worked so hard on it," dared Sonya. They switched positions, with the Seminole Indian backing up against the pillows and Fumiko crouching over her. She kissed the protruding clitoris at the top of the mantle, and began to lick softly at the lips. She then began to build a rhythm until Sonya was jiggling in pleasure. "You're a natural, how can I top this?" she said once her floodgates had opened and her vulva was completely drenched in her own nectar. Fumiko's smile peered up at her from below, and Sonya sighed in anticipation, as they once again switched up. Sonya's returning of the favor was much more uninhibited, building a more pounding and aggressive rhythm, but by then Fumiko was way past holding anything back, and she needed no more build up. She collapsed in joyous cries, and Sonya hugged her hips until the tremors halted, and they fell asleep exhausted, with Sonya staring at the 9:30 PM on her alarm clock. When Fumiko's eyes opened at 6:30 the morning after, she was jolted momentarily by the feeling of something behind her and enveloping her. She glanced to her rear to see Sonya spooning her with her full body hugging up against her. An island had found her niche on the prairie.