I have a hard time recollecting the memories of my childhood, and I would think that the majority of people would feel the same. Most of it seems to be a fuzzy haze, save for one instance that has haunted me for the past fourteen years.
I was four at the time, traveling to Okinawa with my mother to visit an old college friend of hers. While I cannot recall her name, I do remember that she lived in a somewhat rural area near a forest. As my mother was in the process of catching up, I was allowed to explore the wooded landscape to my heart’s content, doing what children do best and searching for little critters under bark and stone.
I distinctly remember coming upon the point where a river cut through the forest and finding in its path a number of large stones that disrupted the flow of water. Atop their weather-beaten surface sat a darkish green frog with black stripes, calling to me as a siren would sailors. In my childish wisdom, I thought it would be safe to step into the raging torrent of the river to pursue this slimy creature.
Most obviously, it was not.
A little boy would have drowned that day were it not for one Miss Hachishaku; a tall, elegant lady of refined proportions that plucked me from the waters with ease. Perhaps “tall” does not do Miss Hachishaku justice. Miss Hachishaku, or rather Hachi as she would have me call her, was easily eight feet tall. Wearing a long white dress and summer hat, she held me in her arms like a mother would her newborn until the shock had left me.
Miss Hachi was very kind to me. Allowing me to sit atop her shoulders, we spent a number of hours together exploring the forest. Her hands were large, far larger than my mother's, easily wrapping around my waist when she would lift me to the higher points of the tree so that I could explore their leafy interiors.
While I can remember almost every detail of our short-lived adventure, I find it rather difficult to recall Miss Hachi’s face, maybe because it was mostly hidden under the brim of her hat or maybe because she had such beautiful long black hair that was so distracting to the eye. It’s rather sad, enough to make me feel at least a bit guilty, to forget the face of my first friend. However, despite my inability to remember her face, I do recall that Miss Hachi was quite beautiful, almost unnaturally so. With her pale, flawless skin, one might have believed her to have been a doll come to life.
It was only as the sun began to set that Miss Hachi and I parted ways. She stood at the outskirts of the forest, waving to me as I returned to the house of my mother’s friend. That incident in of itself was completely normal, save for when I turned my back on her. Having loved the time we spent together, I felt that Miss Hachi deserved at least a second complementary wave. Strangely enough though, Miss Hachi was no longer there when I looked back the second time. The only reason this stuck to me was because it was strange to think that a woman of such grandiose proportions could simply vanish in the time it took for me to look over my shoulder.
When I told my mother about Miss Hachi, she simply looked to her friend as if to confirm the existence of this giantess woman. According to her, the nearest neighbor, of nearly five kilometers away, was supposed to be an elderly man who rarely left his home, and only to go shopping on the weekends. Being as young as I was, my mother and her friend eventually came to the conclusion that I had simply created an imaginary friend with which to play.
But Miss Hachishaku is real.
And she has followed me for my entire life.
I am eighteen now. As my grandfather often says, I’m a strapping young lad only just entering the prime of my life. My grades are above average, I don’t do drugs, and my extracurriculars, including soccer and wrestling, have kept me in great shape. As far as my doctors are concerned, I am a completely normal, healthy young adult male.
If anyone were to ask my parents, the only abnormality in my exceptionally ordinary life would be my attachment to my imaginary friend, Miss Hachi, who they would say I claimed was real until the beginning of secondary school. While this would have been quite the lifespan for an imaginary friend, the truth of the matter was that I had simply given up on proving her existence. Miss Hachi, no matter how often I called to her, would never show herself in front of others. In fact, the only time I ever saw her would be in the fleeting reflections of mirrors and windows or perhaps the barest outline of her form from around a distant corner. In all of those instances, the brim of Miss Hachi’s hat would always be tipped forward, just barely covering her face. Yet, even with her face hidden, I was always under the impression that Miss Hachi seemed a tad bit sad. Perhaps it was the way she timidly peeked around corners or because of how she would loosely clasp her hands in front of her dress, her fingers twiddled nervously with each other, but something about her reminded me of a rather lonely soul.
I know I’m not schizophrenic, and I know that I’m not seeing things. It is with crushing certainty that I can confirm that Miss Hachi is real. I know, because for the first time in fourteen years, she’s standing right in front of me.
It has been approximately one week since my parents helped me move into my apartment. A short distance from my college campus, my room is nestled in the corner of the seventh floor, fairly close to the top of the building. It’s a typical one-person studio apartment of which I believed I was the sole resident. Until now.
At exactly twelve o’clock midnight, I finish watching my show and turn off the TV. In the black reflection of the screen, I see none other than Miss Hachi herself, apparently standing behind me. As per usual, I turn around to look, fully expecting her visage to vanish as it had always done.
Except she didn’t.
I blink. I look away. I look back. Miss Hachi is still there, perfectly inanimate, her hands clasped lightly in front of her, perhaps waiting for me to acknowledge her presence.
I would not necessarily consider myself a smart man, but even I know that Miss Hachi is far from normal, far from human. Yet, it is not fear or shock that stills my tongue, but rather the sight of Miss Hachi herself. As I said before, she is far too beautiful, too perfect for her existence to make sense in this world.
That and the fact that Miss Hachi has not aged a day in the fourteen years since we first met.
“Miss Hachi?” I ask tentatively. The boy inside needs to know, to confirm that this specter in front of him is indeed who he thinks it is.
She does not answer.
And why would she? What’s the point? Deep down, we both know the answer. She smiles at me instead, the luscious curve of her lips laced with an insatiable hunger. Even in my shock, I understand that she is dangerous. My instincts scream in terror, their animalistic desire to keep me alive filling my mind with thoughts of flight. However, I cannot move. My eyes, my body, they are bewitched by the woman in front of me.
She picks me up the same way she did fourteen years ago, holding me by the waist as she gently cradles me to her breasts like a babe. My memories of long-ago snap into place, and I immediately feel at ease in her arms. The terror in my mind succumbs to her gentle caresses as she leans over me, her silky black hair falling in a curtain around my face.
I will admit, it is a bit embarrassing, perhaps even emasculating to be held aloft by this spectral beauty. Yet, something in me craves her touch.
She perches my head upon her bosom, pulling me in as she steadily draws closer. It takes every working fiber in my body to remember to keep breathing as her lips descend and lock with mine. As she cradles me in her lap, one hand snakes up to support my back as the other holds my head, pulling me ever closer towards her as her tongue slithers down my throat, corrupting me with her bittersweet taste of blood and summer peaches.
Her essence pervades my soul, filling me with emotions that aren’t my own. Hers is the flavor of loneliness, an eon of self-secluded isolation as she watches the world pass by. My heart begins to ache, longing for someone to fill this agonizing void. The more we kiss, the more these emotions seem to swell, threatening to drive me into despair.
Still, there is something else, something more. In her loneliness is a spark of passion, of hope for a new future.
It calms me, and I close my eyes, savoring her flavor as a heated passion begins to wash through my body. Our tongues wrestle in a game of cat and mouse, hers pulling and tugging at mine as I lap at her abundant nectar. As we kiss, I can feel my shaft growing, rising to fight against the restricting confines of my pants as my desires begin to blossom.
My hands move on their own, slipping through the opening of Hachi’s dress to grope and tease her immense mammaries. As if to reward me, I feel the smooth folds of her dress begin to fall away as our mouths continue to explore each other. Kneading and playing with her breasts elicits a series of soft feminine moans that vibrates between the tips of our tongues and drives Hachi to thrust ever deeper in my throat until I’m practically fighting off her advances.
It’s only when I pull on her teats that I earn a moment of quick respite as Hachi moans sensually, arching her back forward and releasing her snakelike tongue from my mouth. As she shifts, her melon-sized breasts are pushed into my face, smothering me despite my efforts to hold them at bay.
Her shifting forces me onto the carpeted floor of the apartment, and I find myself pinned as Hachi leans over me on all fours, her nude form outlined by the dimming light above. The taste of her saliva is still fresh on my tongue, and I can feel her spectral corruption spreading throughout my body, sapping away at my free will. My desires have become her desires, and she desires I worship her breasts.
My body moves to her will, my digits sinking into her tit flesh as I begin to massage her immense mounds. Unlike her tongue, Hachi’s body is cool to the touch, reinforcing my belief of her inhuman nature. Yet, even as the thought is born, it is pushed to the back of my mind, replaced with the need to fulfill my, no our, festering desires.