Confessions of a Geisha Girl
By Jun-Ko

There was a noise. Shuffle, bump, a voice not fully lost within the teahouse walls. Tiptoe down the hallway, overcome by curiosity. White tabi against cherry wood, not a single sound. Skin against tatami flooring. I slide the door open, the width of a human eye. Stop. Gasp, silently.

Who knew such beautiful boys existed?

Lying on the floor, one auburn-haired, golden-eyed deity of a young man, skin flushed, bandana across his forehead askew. Slim, pale and arching. Delicate like a moth the other is dark, stronger, the cut of his muscles evident through his white yukata.

(Don't make a sound.)

Hands, moving. Downwards. An intake of breath. My kimono rustles around my warm body like the autumn leaves printed in gold on it. Then, a name -

"Yusuke."

I feel my face prickle with heat beneath my doll-face mask. Painted rosebud lips quiver with arousal. The boys are...

Then -

"Shhh, Koenma. Someone will hear you."

Everyday, dull rain or blinding sunshin against the same windows, the same walls. Everyday, performing for businessmen, twirling fans and dancing in my stupid socks... I'm so tired of the makeup and the dresses. I'm tired of the weight of my hair, held up with pins and pearls and combs. My world is crammed within these teahouse walls and I am left wanting, longing, for something or someone who was truly beautiful but until today there was nothing. Nothing interesting to talk about and no stories of my own to tell.

But now...

This is not a love hotel. But I suddenly find myself in love, with two boys making love. Is it wrong to feels such elation at watching? I can't help it; I'm fascinated. The duality, the harmony, the balance of dark demon and immaculate god.

The pale one shuts his eyes and throws his head back, leaning into a touch I cannot see but can hear only from the rustling beneath the thin cloth of his yukata. Yusuke dips his head beyond my sight. Koenma's arched body, legs propped up and spread. His face is a sight - flawless and flushed, turned like a spotlight towards me. He would see me if he opened his eyes but he doesn't. Instead, his hands move to clutch the other boy's hair.

"Yusuke..."

The ecstacy is mounting, I can see that. His flush deepens and his breath is quick, and suddenly I know my opportunity has come.

Wicked? Yes, I am.

I move back from the door and clear my throat, tapping softly on the wooden panelling.

"Shit!"

"Uh... just a moment!"

I fight back my most devious smile. My mask hides the blush on my face, as the darker boy opens the door and I look up at him with my most innocent expression.

"Your tea, sir." I hold the tray out to him, careful, poised, as all geisha should be.

Yusuke is trying to sound calm but his hair is an obvious mess and his face has not stopped glowing. This makes me want to weep with joy - not a business man, not a foreigner. (So cute.)

"Uh, thanks... Just, uh, I'll take that. Thank you very much."

"Have a good evening, sir."

I rise from my sitting position and force myself to walk away as gracefully as I can manage, fighting not to burst into giddy laughter and run down the halls.

"... thanks again." Faint hint of bitterness in his voice as I make my way towards the stairs with tiny steps.

Here at the teahouse, there are many stories. Not my own but many others', just floating in the air ready to be told. Lucky for them, I don't tell.

Rewritten June 2012