Chapter 4
SCHEME
I
The woman moaned, her long hair bouncing. Her back arched, again and again, unexpectedly sensual creases appearing along the sides of her body. Legs straddling her partner, she gyrated her hips smoothly, moving forcefully, up and down. Playing counterpoint to the woman’s moans, an obscene slapping sound rang through the room, like a wet towel smacking against hallway floorboards.
The man moved his hands to the woman’s waist, holding her tight while he set the pace, hips pushing up and down. Each time he thrust into her, she let out another cry. Then she was curling forward, body pressed against him, breasts against his abdomen, their touch making him even harder than before.
His fingers tightened around her, and he rolled her to the side, and then under him. Looking down at her face, he felt a deep, warm satisfaction spread through his chest.
So this is what an idol feels like. I can hardly hold back…
He thrust harder now; the woman’s perfect features twisted in pleasure. A hand grasped her breast and played with its softness; the volume of it filled his hand. He began to rub and squeeze, roughly, as if to separate that volume into tiny pieces.
“O-ow,” the woman said, wincing. But she seemed to enjoy the pain. She reached her hand to her untouched breast and squeezed it herself.
The man’s thrusts picked up more speed, and he felt a warmth building between his legs. He sensed the end was near. Hoping to enjoy himself a little longer, he slowed his movements, but it was too late to hold back the surging force.
He felt her spasming around him, and then the next moment, her flesh contracted, hugging him.
“P-pull out,” she said.
Warm liquid shot through his shaft, and the sticky mass of it spilled out onto her stomach.
The man lay down in the bed. In a half-whisper, he said, “How old are you?”
The woman drew the bedsheets over her chest and curled up beside him. “Don’t worry, silly. I’m plenty old enough—that’s all that matters, right?”
From the nightstand, she took a menthol, lit it, and put it in her mouth.
“The magazines say otherwise, but there’s no way that’s true. Not with that body.”
She tossed the bedsheets aside, so that not even a stitch could conceal her from his sight. From her supple skin down to the last proportion, her body was perfect—but the most erotic part of the view was the way the light and shadows fell across her waistline and below. As the man looked at her naked body, he felt his manhood mustering strength for a second battle.
The woman was Ochiai Eri.
She’d only recently made her debut as an idol singer, but she’d already made her first huge hit with her new song, “Rock, Love, Dream!” The performer had quickly attained a spot in the public consciousness as a top idol and enjoyed a high demand on television and for photo shoots.
Her provocative photo book, Mermaid Trap, had raised quite the buzz after its summer release. The collection broke photo book sales records. Even the man laying in bed beside her had bought a copy. He’d pleasured himself many times to the picture where she covered her nipples with only her index fingers.
“Even though you’re an idol,” the man said, “being with you like this, I can see you’re as human as the rest of us.”
Enjoying another drag from her cigarette, Eri said, “Being an idol is just business. In my private life, I’m normal as can be.”
The man reached beside the bed where he’d placed his black leather briefcase. He opened it and withdrew a notepad.
The man’s name was Sakuragi Shin—an entertainment reporter.
“So then,” he asked, “when is Kirigoe Mima’s new single coming out?”
“I’d guess the end of next month.”
“That’s not much time,” Shin said, shaking his head. “I might not be able to dig up a scandal on her before then.”
“Don’t worry,” Eri said. “I didn’t come to you without a lead. Have you heard of a rocker called Aran Naoto?”
“Sure I have. He’s a big name.”
“Nobody knows this,” the idol said, “but he and Mima have a thing.”
Sakuragi was speechless. If what Eri was saying were true, it would be a big scoop.
“I know they’re together,” Eri said, “but I don’t have any proof. That’s what I want you to find.”
“So that’s what this is about,” Sakuragi said with a wry smile. “You’re sending me to catch them out together, is that it?”
Eri gave him a meaningful grin. “Yes, that’s what I want you to do.”
“You sure don’t pull any punches. You got close to me just so I’d get your rival caught in a scandal.”
“Isn’t that obvious? I’d never sleep with someone like you otherwise.”
“I suppose a mere reporter isn’t quite on the same level as a producer, after all. But if it means I get to have some fun with Ochiai Eri in the flesh, then fine by me.”
Sakuragi, hard again, moved in toward Eri, but the idol slid from the bed and quickly got into her clothes.
“Not so fast,” she said. “If you want me, you’ll have to catch Mima with her secret date!”
II
Murano Yuji is a nice guy, Rumi thought. The photographer was unpretentious in both attitude and appearance, unlike his peers (at least all the ones Rumi had met) who put on grandiose affectations and quirky artist personas—not to mention the many who were unsavory and lecherous.
But Murano Yuji wasn’t like the others. He was kind and incredibly considerate of the people he worked with.
With an affable grin, Yuji declared with mock formality, “Mima-san, your manager has hired me to capture you in pictures both cute and sexy, and that’s what I’m going to do. Think of my voice as the voice of God and obey it absolutely.”
The grin was easy, infectious. Mima bobbed her head and followed along, joking, “Yes, Yuji-san. I’ll do whatever you tell me to.” Upon entering the photo studio, she’d gotten so nervous she thought her heart might stop. But when she met Yuji, her worries settled immediately.
Drinking a cup of coffee Rumi had brought him, the photographer said, “You know, I’ve met you before, Mima-san. It was right after your debut—though I’d be surprised if you remembered.”
Mima’s eyes widened. “Really? Was it for the cover photo?”
“No, we’ve never worked together before now. I went to the Moon Kids office to see Tadokoro-san, and you happened to be there. If I remember right, you were having a planning meeting for your first song.”
“Oh! I remember that day well. That was the first time I’d gone to the office… But I’m afraid I don’t remember you. I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Yuji said. “Back then I had a beard all over my face.”
“Wait? You’re not saying…” She flashed a broad smile of recognition. “You were Mister Bear?”
Yuji beamed back at her. With a laugh, he said, “Is that what Tadokoro-san called me? Yes, that was me. Back then, I was just starting out, and I didn’t even have the money to afford a shave.”
“Wow, so that was you!” Mima said, happily shaking his hand. “What a time that was. It’s nice to remember.”
Reassured, Mima thought, With him behind the camera, I don’t have to be worried.
Mima left the photo studio with a bounce in her step. The shoot had proceeded at an incredibly vigorous pace, but the hard work had been accompanied by a commensurate sense of fulfillment.
Not only had the pace been tough, but once Yuji began taking pictures, the gentle man transformed into a completely different person. Through his camera he pursued his subject with machinelike coolness. Mima hadn’t minded, though. His cold manner made her feel that she was in the capable hands of a professional.
When Mima walked down the staircase and exited the studio, darkness had already fallen. Rumi was waiting for her outside the entrance; when Mima saw her, the idol gave a broad wave. Then she noticed her assistant had already summoned a taxi, whose open door accepted them both.
“How was the photoshoot?” Rumi asked.
Mima hummed in thought, then said, “It was tough, but satisfying.”
“Yuji is a really nice guy, isn’t he?”
“He really is,” Mima agreed. “I’m not sure I could have made it through the day if not for him. I might have gone running for the hills.” She dropped her gaze.
Rumi understood how Mima felt. This wasn’t just a simple change to her image, this was a sudden leap from innocence personified to being photographed in the semi-nude. No matter how resilient she was, the change must have been mentally and emotionally exhausting.
Mima said, “It really was satisfying; I wasn’t just saying that. I found myself thinking, I actually am pretty sexy. At a certain point, I wasn’t doing the photo shoot just to do it—I truly wanted to make the best pictures I could.”
“I hope I’m not out of line saying this,” Rumi offered, “but I find that your brand of sexiness is refined and still has a certain innocence to it. It’s far superior to Ochiai Eri’s straight up vulgarity.”