GITJ Post 419: A Few Hours to Kill

The man looked at her from across the bar, lifting the drink in his hand, standing, and then smiling at her as he came over. “Thank you for cocktail. Can I get you one?” he predictably asked, finally stepping up to the bar beside her and pulling out a barstool for for himself…

…

Ten minutes ago she’d watched as he had entered this quaint izakaya, probably on his walk back to his hotel here in Utsunomiya City. He looked like he was here on business. Shoes were Northern European, haircut vaguely nothing, but the accent he’d used while struggling to answer the barkeep’s simple greeting of  ‘Irrasshaimase’ pegged him as a traveler from just outside of Hamburg , which seemed to her oddly fitting. 

She’d seen how he glanced around at the local patrons as he stepped in and awkwardly made his way to the bar, under the paper lanterns and past the framed photos of the nearby shrine in Nikko. He pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the bar, across from where she’d been sitting. His back was to the door. Moderately busy, the pub had attracted a few salary men arguing loudly in the corner, a smattering of students and professors from the local university, and a small group of senior citizens from Europe, maybe Australia. Aside from the tourists he was one of the only foreigners in the room, and he was sure to notice that she was one of the only women present. 

Drying his hands on a towel, the bartender welcomed him again. She noticed how he asked for a beer, choosing a Kirin as it was likely familiar. A cold draft soon appeared for him in a frosty glass, which he drained halfway in a single gulp. The bartender didn’t raise an eyebrow but asked if he wanted to order food. Scanning the menu, which was entirely in Japanese, she saw how he looked around for inspiration. That, in a brief moment, was the first time their eyes met.

He’ll do.

“What are they eating?” he asked the man behind the bar in rudimentary Japanese - broken, strongly accented - as he gestured with his hands to the men over in the corner. 

“Yakitori,” replied the bartender, now switching to English, “Baked chicken on skewers. It is very good.”

With her heightened senses, the redhead could hear his stomach rumble. 

“I’ll take a portion of .. yaki .. chicken,” he replied, giving up on his Japanese, “and some of those green beans.” A minute later a plate of chicken yakitori appeared along with a bowl of salted edamame. He attacked his meal with gusto, and again surreptitiously eyed her across the bar. 

It had been many, many years since Dr. Olivia Henders had gone out looking for the company of men, but she knew she had the attention of this one. She took the opportunity to sit up straight on her barstool, gazing sidelong towards the low tables and tatami mats in the dim pub and allowing him to take in her figure. She was tall, and despite her age she was shapely.

She smiled secretly to herself. Casually, while still looking away, she removed her tan cardigan. She almost chuckled, knowing what had become of men and therefore knowing that the plunging tank neckline of her taut bodysuit would suddenly become this little pub’s main attraction. She felt eyes, his included, suddenly drawn to her.

She wrapped her sweater around her waist and returned to both her grape shochu cocktail and her ruminations on the most recent leg of her travels. Though the nearby town of Nikko and its Toshugo shrine was what drew most foreigners to travel to Utsunomiya, the picturesque attractions were not why Olivia was here. Rather, it was the university, and its Department of Molecular Agriculture, that she had been here to visit. That, along with a handful of the dozen or so other sites that she’d seen on her trip, seemed adequately appropriate for a new hive. One of the younger professors had amenable genetics and, more importantly, she had the right politics. Olivia had already been in communication with KOLECTV and Evolution would be sending a team out next week to get Dr. Sato started on her treatment. 

In the meantime, she had the following few hours to herself. A rarity to be sure. While the next several weeks of Olivia’s schedule were more than busy - I need to clone myself, she sometimes thought, always followed by: but you’ve tried that already - her last few hours in Japan were free. Then it was “home” - she needed to see this Melissa thing for herself - and then back on a plane.
She looked up from her phone, where she’d been checking in on the KOLECTV pilot who’d get her back to the States, and, again, looked across the bar to the hapless European male. He’d finished his food, and, though she could still sense his all-too-apparent interest in her chest, he had been too reticent to come over and talk to her. His beer was almost gone.

Privately, Olivia smiled. In all her years on this earth - and she’d seen a lot of them - men the world over had never been as timid as they’d been these last few months. The prion had done its job, and she had no doubt it would continue to do its work.. She bit her lip, anticipating the day. In the meantime, though, she needed a fuck and was thirsty for something else besides cheap japanese liquor.

With a curl of her finger and her impeccable Japanese, she called the barkeep over and ordered the European a budo sawa to match her own. No one else at the bar saw what she covertly slid into the bartender’s hand or heard the weirdling tone to her voice when she told him what to do with it. She observed closely as the cocktail was made, watching to make sure her extra ingredient was added, and then delivered. The man across the bar looked up at her, picking up the drink with a smile. Coyly - men love that - she looked away.

“Thank you for cocktail,” he said in awkward English, finally stepping up to the bar beside her and pulling out a barstool seat for himself, “Can I get you one?”

“No thank you, I got it” Olivia replied, watching him take a seat. He had the balls to do that, at least. For the time being. They both looked up as the bartender placed a new buda sawa down in front of her. It shared the same slight pink blush as his.

He picked the drink up and took the first sip.

Immediately, Olivia took a sip of hers and - Bingo. 

The small talk began. This was pretty standard courting behavior for normals, she knew. Thankfully she spoke his inelegant first language because his English was nearly as horrible as his Japanese. This guy was obviously a businessman here on work, and he made sure  to explain his bland job to her in excruciatingly grueling detail. Despite all the reorganization that the male mind has undergone with the prion, men still liked to talk about themselves, and they loved to explain things that were entirely obvious and boring. What he did, who he was, or where he came from was really not all that important to what she needed from him, and honestly he wasn’t much for entertaining conversation, even without the language barrier. He was nervous, she allowed him that, but she would not tolerate his tiresome mansplaining much longer. Maybe we can get a law passed, she thought in reverie. 

“So you’re…traveling also?” he asked her finally. 

“Yes. Just here on business, not nearly as interesting as yours I’m afraid.” Olivia was able to bite back a bit of cold sarcasm, and noticed that he’d been doing an admirable job of not glancing down at her full cleavage. His cocktail would likely take care of that soon enough. 

“How long have you been in Japan?” he continued, “How long is your trip?”

“It’s been just six days in Japan - here, Tokyo, Nagoya, Osaka.” Olivia explained, rattling off the most recent locations, “But I’ve been in Asia for about a month - Khazakstan, Mongolia, all over really.” Her tongue was probably looser than it should be, but she knew this scrotum wouldn’t be seeing the chance to tell anyone else anything. “I have a plane leaving in eight hours, but for now I have some time to kill.”

She took a sip of her drink, and let her eyes sparkle. 

“Are you headed home?”

She had to admit, even if he wasn’t quite catching her innuendo, he was showing some honest interest in her. There was possibly something moderately endearing about this fellow. He reminded her of a lamb. 

“Yes, sort of,” she replied, allowing her hand to brush closer to his.

“It’ll be good to be back in your own bed after all that time?” he asked, “I always feel that way when I travel.” His eyes, for the first time and just the briefest of seconds, dropped to her neckline.

Olivia chuckled, both at his errant gaze and his question. “I don’t know. I’m used to the lifestyle, and don’t really feel the pull of home like most,” she said, briefly smiling as the barkeep slid a bowl of edamame to them. “I’ll only be home for a couple nights. There’s a grand opening for a new medical facility I need to attend before I’ll be off again. A formality, really. I’m looking at some new clinic sites in Des Moines, Madison and Mankato. Then my mother is demanding a visit, she’s in Washington.” She paused, and wondered for a moment why she was telling him all this. Maybe it would sweeten the first bite, she figured. “Those are cities, in the US.”

The man nodded hesitantly, and reached down for an edamame pod. She saw how suddenly he found himself unable to look up after glancing again at her big white breasts.  

““Wh-who do you work for?” he asked, struggling to recover, “What is it that you do?” 

The first telltale stammer in his voice, did not go unnoticed by her, nor did the first real tingle of what was in her new budo sawa. She was sure he was feeling his own tingles too. 

“Well, I work for myself,” she decided to answer, “I consider myself a consultant at this point. I sold a biomed startup and now I work with the groups that are using the technology, trying to get it out into the world. I suppose you could say that I’m overseeing a few things.”

“So you’re a…biomedical consultant?”

“Genetics research and implementation, mostly,” she explained, watching him take another swig of his drink. Whether or not he finished it at this point wasn’t all that important, but the drunker he got, the better. He’ll fight less. “I also do some political consulting, helping candidates, pushing policies, trying to change the world and all that.”

At her mention of politics, she saw him immediately get a little nervous. She realized, with all their recent victories, old governments everywhere were changing, and that not everyone was comfortable with it. Many of the men, worldwide, were oblivious, honestly. But many men, she knew, were scared, and some were outright opposed to what they’d been doing. But, you know what? Too fucking bad. 

“Ha…ha…trying to ch-change the world? R-r-really?” he stuttered, and she saw the gears starting to roll in his increasingly addled brain. Maybe he was getting his first inkling as to what sort of people she worked with, and the ambitions they were trying to achieve. 

“Yes well I have a project I’m working on that some people would rather see fail,” she added, a bit cryptically, “But the important thing is that we all have the same goals.”

Looking over another sip of her - what would Ashleigh call it? A ‘Panther Sawa’? - she eyed the innocent Bavarian male, and pictured him in a cage. A small cage. 

“What are your goals, little man?” Olivia purred, letting the first real hint of seduction seep into and deepen her voice. She saw him stiffen at the term. ‘Little man’ was something secretly arousing to most men these days, along with ‘good boy’ and a host of other infantilizing and demeaning expressions. She would be sure to try some of them out tonight. “What do you want to accomplish tonight, here in this beautiful country, in this quaint little pub?”

Olivia realized that, just for a night, she wanted to do what normals did. Not that this evening is going to turn out like anything even vaguely resembling “normal”. “Dating” was not something in Olivia Hender’s playbook. There was always, invariably, just too much to do. She’d fed, for sure. She’d used what the younger sisters might call ‘Pink Panther’ several times in her years on earth, but she hadn’t tried something like this - picking up a guy - well, not since, haha, that time.. She was out of practice, maybe? And romance, taking a lover she felt was generally a waste of time. But a quick one-night fling while on a business trip? Sure. Fun. Easy. She could be a seductress for a night and then get back to business. 

Olivia noticed the male hadn’t answered her question. The poor thing looked at a loss for words. And fighting hard, so very hard, to keep from staring at her chest.

“So? Hm?” she asked, leaning in a bit towards him and casually  pressing her breasts together between her arms, “Is there something in particular you’d like to do tonight?”

Now he couldn’t help himself, and goggled at her bust. He struggled to find his words. 

“Y-you mentioned your family?” he asked, scrambling for something he thought might be a safe topic. 

Ha. If only he knew. “Had I?”

"Y-your mother? She is in Washton DC?” 

The last thing Olivia wanted to talk about, tonight, was her mother. Not as talented as her mom, she’d always made up for it with her studies, her science, her research and discoveries. She liked to think, in her career of - it was hard to count the decades - that one art complemented the other. Olivia knew she was a pioneer in bringing the Dark Female to the field of genetic engineering. Still, her mother had always cast a big shadow. 

“We don’t need to talk about my family,” Olivia abruptly announced, now in English as she put down her drink and from her clutch pulled a ¥10,000 bill to lay down on the bar. With one gesture she paid his bill and her own wasting no time as she stood, and offered him her hand. She’d tired of conversation. “Take me back to your room.”

She watched him stand, and she watched his eyes as he realized she was taller than him. She smiled. The man, younger than her, was obviously thrilled. Olivia still had quite the looks, and she was undoubtedly tall. She’d inherited some of her mother’s famous behind and shapely legs, and had grown into a heavy bust over the years. It was at that chest that this man was now struggling not to stare, the poor thing. It had become universal: males all over the world were attracted to these kinds of tall, shapely women: primordially busty, powerfully maternal. 

“Wow, you are one big American,” he managed in English. 

She chuckled. “Yes I am,” she brooked, back in his native tongue, placing one hand on his chest, “And this big American is going to lock the door to your hotel room, pin you to your cheap mattress and let you suck on her big, mother’s nipple as she hovers her giant white breasts over your weak, tiny, shrunken little face before she smothers you and steals every inch of your size.” 

Her smile curled as she watched his eyes goggle again. 

“What do you have to say about that, boy?”

He didn’t say much. There was not much he could say as she pushed him towards the door and into an awaiting cab…

...

Two hours later, Dr. Henders stood, alone, on the sidewalk outside a hotel once known to be  popular with traveling businessmen...

Her shoes were now tight, and she’d just barely been able to squeeze herself back into her top. To anyone who had known her, they might also be impressed that despite all her travels she looked five years younger. She’d politely paid the man’s bill on the way out, at the desk, with what yen she had left in her clutch. His debt was paid, but he wouldn’t be checking out anytime soon. Or ever. 

Where’s that car? she mused, as she stood waiting for KOLECTV’s local driver to appear and feeling the new youth and strength the male had given her coursing through her ancestral blood. Let’s go. I’ve got a plane to catch. 

======================

thanks to Frag592 for his insights into Japanese bar culture, and RiF for his edits