The Blonde Geisha. Jina Bacarr

I was glad she followed the custom of not expressing her true feelings. I had my say with her, but it didn’t make me feel better. My spirit sagged as if my sense of play had gone out of my life. Geisha are known for bringing this charm to their guests and I had lost mine.

      I was also aware Youki was strangely silent as she played on her harp, her thin-lipped smile the only indication she was secretly pleased at the rift between us. Youki still harbored a deep resentment toward me and often spoke in haughty tones to me about how she’d performed before great lords since she became a geisha. The noblemen were handsome and aroused great feelings in her, she said, making her secretions run down her thighs. She bragged how the noblemen licked the insides of her legs, their tongues finding her clitoris and bringing her to orgasm all through the night. I was jealous, but I’d rather die than let her know.

      Dreaming of the day I would become a geisha and have my name and crest printed on a flat, round fan, I danced, my hands supple and expressive as they moved down to the mat. I was careful to hold my fan with my thumb facing inward. Only men kept their thumbs facing outward. Then I followed the line of my torso upward, slowly tracing the sensuous curve of my body before placing my fan on my heart with gentle, sad movements as if I were full of secret sorrow and yearning for my lover far away.

      I heard the shuffle of feet and heavy breathing. Hisa. I must put him out of mind and forget thoughts of him embracing me in the many different positions I’d seen in the pillow book. I tossed the fan into the air and caught it without missing a subtle beat. I smiled wide, showing my pleasure though okâsan discouraged any show of emotion during practice. I took pride in my art. All the maiko