Kimiko, a Bargirl's Tale. Adult. (standard:romance, 15727 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 26 2020	Views/Reads: 1418/1019	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The story of a bar girl in Japan in the sixties. Based partly on truth. I was there. Sex, murder, crime, military, history, erotic. For clarification see (*notes) at bottom.

“Kimchan, Ma wants you,” a ten-year-old girl heard as she played in mud
outside her family's simple thatch-roofed home. Her father farmed a 
plot of land for a rich landowner south of Koza, Okinawa on a 
percentage basis. Crops had been very poor for years, not that the 
young girl had noticed. 

At a second call, Kimiko put down a mud figure of a unicorn, soft horn
dropping off as it toppled to one side. Dripping mud from a dirty 
behind, she stood and started for the house. On her way, Kimmie brushed 
off as much of the soil as she could. Splashing through a puddle of 
rainwater served to clean dirty bare feet as she approached the 
building. 

While at play, Kimmie had barely noticed an auto containing a strange
man coming up a dirt trail toward her home. Thinking it wasn't any of 
her business and engrossed in building a mud menagerie, she had ignored 
it as adult stuff. 

When she entered the relative coolness of the building, the girl saw her
parents and the stranger watching her closely. Nodding at her father, 
she bowed slightly toward the stranger before standing demurely aside 
near an icebox. 

“Kimmie. This is Mr. Agamoto. You'll be staying with him for awhile,”
her mother told her, a sad note to be heard in a usually confident 
voice. 

“Hi. Stay with him? Why, Ma?” She noticed the stranger's eyes scanning
her from dirty tangled hair to filthy feet. Her tummy felt rather like 
when her father had asked her to choose among their chickens for one to 
slaughter as a holiday meal. She dimly realized both as serious 
choices, her losing a loved pet, but Mr. Agamoto's eyes appeared to be 
coldly appraising the girl whilst her mother's had been sad and 
defeated. 

“He's going to teach you, like in school.” 

“Why? I can take care of myself now? When Kimo hit me, I beat him up by
myself. I don't want another school. I like the one I have now.” 

“It's decided. This man, Mr. Agamoto, will be your teacher," her mother
insisted. 

"And you will go with him,” her father declared with finality. “Now pack
a bag. Use the green one in the closet. And get ready. Wash yourself 
with the hose and change out of those muddy clothes, into your best 
dress.” 

Her new mentor being a businessman and in a hurry, anxious to leave the
squalor of a village much like one he'd grown up in, goodbyes were 
brief. Her mother inserted several slips of instructions along with the 
village telephone number to be used only for emergencies, into Kimmie's 
suitcase. Tears falling on the paper, she hastily wrote another copy to 
pin inside a pocket of her daughter's best clothing so that they 
wouldn't all be lost. The only telephone within miles happened to be at 
the village police box in the town square. 

A few hugs later, Kimiko found herself in an automobile for the first
time in her young life. It happened to be a "Jeep" left from the recent 
war. After that conflagration, the Americans found it cheaper and more 
expedient to sell or give them to natives than to pay for their return 
to the States. 

Breeze flowing coolly through long still-wet freshly-washed hair, Kimmie
turned to watch her home recede into the distance. At the first dip in 
the road, it disappeared, bringing fresh tears to young eyes to join a 
feeling of fright in her heart. 

Sneaking an anxious look ahead, she saw Mr. Agamoto tightly clutching
the wheel as the old war vehicle bounced over potholes and avoided 
roadside trees, heading for civilization. 

It wasn't until much later that Kimiko found out what was really going
on. Her parents were deeply in debt from years of poor crops. When Mr. 
Agamoto approached them, they were at first angry at the suggestion of 


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