Yuri Worlds

[30] Soak

Kei gave them a long stretch to quietly reflect on the experience of the tea while she tidied up and asked about their day. Yasha actually got the most into it by pointing out the rustling of trees, the moments of nature, and her fascination with the aging shacks alongside the shrine. She noted the flowing beauty and raw destructive power of nature.

She also asked if she could spread out in this room on a futon since she wasn’t really “with” the others, just placed in their group. Yasha explained that she made arrangements to camp out in the shacks and do work on them during the quieter days of this trip. While Kei was concerned about her feeling lonely, she had no problem with this arrangement. Without a preamble, she swiftly segued into laying out their itinerary for essentially the next twelve days.

The visualization she offered was a lined chart with an extravagant map of the area, which resembled Japan but mirrored and inverted against what would’ve been the California coast in other realities. The highlights alone, with flexible dates and positions except where theatrical presentations and accommodations had been prepared, were quite intimidating. Special garden tours, historic shopping centers, already hinted at massive gaming locations, marvelous ryokans with onsens, majestic castles, natural hikes, curated city walks, writing and calligraphy lessons, a park with gentle deer as friendly as squirrels, a brewery tour, a Warring Goddesses Era museum trip, several beachside accommodations, and a weapon training and historical fair focusing on the naginatas this region was famous for. It seemed like far too much for so short a time, but many of the items were marked optional. Misaki felt a pang of guilt that they wouldn’t be able to partake in everything. But they had a filling, warm, and delightfully fresh dinner.

The main entrée reminded her of the soups they sometimes got from local Chinese takeout, which were hearty with so many different meats and vegetables. There was no comparison when it came to flavor. The essence of care and the emotion of joy infused and transferred through every energizing waft and sip. It clearly had the distilled flavor and inspiration of its cooks. She didn’t want to complain, but Misaki felt like they were eating more than anything else so far on this trip. Her altered stomach could take it, but it wasn’t happy.

The rest of the evening was theirs to relax in and converse with the others. Kei and Fuyuki playfully argued about what era of music their guests might best enjoy. Haruka had somehow manifested a gorgeous plate of Yuzu lemon crinkle cookies. Among the travelers, only Yasha had any room for them. Yasha stared after Maharu when the girl bounded away from the game in the other room and widely waved at everyone assembled, thanked them with delight for such a full and wonderful day, and lovingly squeezed Yuka until she sighed and squeezed her back.

It didn’t take long for more of the group to break off and head home. Yasha accepted a raised, dainty kiss on her hand from ladies girl Kosame, but both Nishikawa sisters otherwise gave her a wide berth. Naoko was the last to leave, having opened up some exam work she brought over on a side table while chiming in cheerfully for conversation.

The guests were welcome to the bath, and Namiko popped several joints before Chika urged her to go first. The Sasaki moms made sure they understood normal bathing etiquette. That was one thing in particular that Misaki hammered into her brain, and the others diligently educated themselves about too. This world had no regional variations on those expectations. Yasha also knew what she was supposed to do but concurred to let Namiko go first.

Meanwhile, Misaki visited the little indoor outdoor area and reveled in the deepening night sky. So many unfamiliar yet vaguely recognizable constellations tickled her eyes. It was paradoxically warmer and yet chillier as a vague, docile version of the breeze wafted through the air and rustled the bamboo.

So nice. It was so nice. And she knew the shower and the tub would be so lovely. A thousand moments to follow beckoned her. But why did she have to say goodbye to this one? Why did the silly little moment on the roof have to pass? Why did listening to the club defend and pick apart a court case flow by so swiftly? Why was the game, and why was the quiet little shack becoming distant memories? So many beautiful things happened today, and so many darkly terrifying things as well. She would endure so much and such uncertainty to renew the joyous wellspring. But it didn’t work that way.

She should’ve treasured every little moment with Guy when they were children. She should’ve celebrated the team they were, with Dwight watching out for them. Even the moments away from friends were so achingly precious in contrast. And then the uncertainty of what this trip would be like. She shouldn’t have stressed about what was going to happen and whether it would be good. She should’ve lived in anticipation and made the arrival all the more celebrated. So much should’ve happened, so much could’ve happened, so much did happen, and so much will happen. Torturing herself won’t change it.

She breathed in the quiet little space, the preserved fragment of wilderness amidst so many comforts. Just a moment. That’s all. And then the rest.

Letting go of the garden area, Misaki made her way upstairs to prepare everything she wanted to bring with her into the shower. Nothing too extravagant. Just a towel she liked, some generic, inoffensive soap, and a loose, simple set of clothes to wear to bed. The towel and soap were surely unnecessary with the supplies their hosts provided, but they made her feel better to bring them.

She knocked on the door to check on Chika. They had a quick and minimal conversation, but Chika invited her in. Her friend was naked over by the sink and not interested in hiding this fact as she smirked deviously.

Misaki‘s instinct was to stammer, avert her eyes, and spin around in circles to affect a retreat. Chika didn’t let her escape. She snagged her and brought her over to the sink and the mirror.

“Onee-chan, am I bigger than you expected?”

Without thinking, Misaki responded, “Actually, smaller…”

Chika’s expression tightened into a glare before she shook it off. “Why did that bother me? My fake tits feel smaller than this, even though they are much bigger. And being a part of them, without any break time, changes your perspective. This friggin hair is gonna take another eternity to dry. And my hips are saucers. I asked for it though. Going back to a dude will be a load off. Already have my fill of learning about the fairer half. Wanna squish and snuggle loaned soft stuff, big sis?”

She generally invoked a menagerie of innocent, sisterly nude scenes from half-remembered programs. In isolation, the notion would’ve been scintillating to Franklin, but being an inseparable participant made her quiver like gelatin. Chika relented and wrapped herself up, with a teasing amount of flesh still uncovered. She lingered in case Misaki wanted to reveal her all together, but the girl plastered herself with her change of clothes and a drape of the towel. Once Chika left, she really had no reason to delay undressing any longer. However, she remained covered in as many layers as possible.

Chika had pronounced, colorful cartoon nipples. One of them rested normally against her chest, while the other pointed up and out like a miniature version of Pluto‘s nose. They had a very naturalistic position on her chest. Anime girl, but uniquely human when stripped to that level. She was so small with those dainty shoulders and the innocuous curves of her body. The dimple hint between her legs brought such a subtle art to her entire body. And Misaki knew that beneath the pretense of all the layers she clung to, her body reflected many of those same traits. Very much the older, more developed sister to the Chika template. The snail was spinning in dizzy circles.

No point in putting it off. She hung up the towel, put her folded change of clothes somewhere that they wouldn’t get wet, brought her soap into the still steamy bathroom area, and began undressing before she could think about all the processes and implications involved. Soon enough, she was completely naked. And, this time, that reality gazed back at her.

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Misaki‘s breasts felt strikingly enormous as she folded her arms far underneath and wriggled and shifted, finding no comfortable position for her limbs. Melons, colorful jutting melons. Ridiculous but somewhat accurate. The rosy nipples were understated compared to Chika’s puffy ones. Her shoulders felt higher and less wobbly, even though the surging emotions were more chaotic than a squiggly line. She had the distinct dimple between her thighs too. A girl.

In so many inescapable, soft, and invading ways, she was a cute anime girl. But this was a loaner body. This was a temporary requisition—a place saved for the sake of this trip. She knew she didn’t belong here, even though it was a comfortable position to accept. That was all right. She gently folded her arms over her generous breasts, squeezing them in a fashion that actually made them look bigger and reminiscent of Namiko’s teardrop monoliths. The stereoscopic feedback of seeing those things, feeling her own touch, and bracing herself through a tenderly pleasant echolocation was overwhelming. How could she even survive taking a shower like this?

Just go do it, she told herself. Everyone was waiting for her to be finished. Get it over with and don’t worry about it.

She mechanically snapped up everything she would need in the shower and positioned herself on the little seat to begin washing up. The first wave struck her like a dazzling meteorite. The spray retained the warmth from when Chika used it, before dipping to a fair chill, and rebounding with renewed steam. Washing and scrubbing was a slippery, squishy adventure with physical geography that she found no respite from. It wasn’t bad, but every fresh feeling denied her efforts to translate them into a recognizable sensation.

As with all other things though, she found a place where freaking out finally stilled to mechanical numbness. Just washing up, like every other day.

After she rinsed with the first wave, she slipped into the bath with the light sparkling across the painterly surface and sank beneath. The bath infused her with a chaotic awareness of the voids and swells that swallowed her shape. Another meteor strike, and this one atomized all sense of reason. It was blissfully relaxing and yet infinitely panic-inducing. She waited softly and inhaled a quiet energy beyond measure.

It was so peaceful, with only one frustrating ripple. Her hand bearing the wristband clinched and twisted like an intangible hand gripping long hair that she didn’t have. She had half a mind to just rip it off. Actually, that didn’t seem like a bad idea at all. No, it was an awful idea, and her rational mind knew it, but her discomfort with the blasted thing compelled her to act.

If anyone asked or sirens went off, then she would just explain she was being cautious about not getting it wet, even though the instructions said not to worry about it. An abundance of caution and being totally pissed off.

It clung to her for a tense moment, as though some strange adhesive had developed underneath. Probably just some weird consequence of the material and sweat. One more good tug was all it took to free the device from her flesh. Nothing went off. No sirens sounded. Her bladder felt even tinier than the one Namiko insisted upon, but she held the jumbled mass of her muscles as tight as possible.

The spot that the band occupied on her wrist was visibly discolored, with a deep shade of gray bordering on black. The mark feathered spikily along the edges as though it were the remnants of that creature attacking. What the hell! How was this possible? What did this mean?

Was this because she wore it or because she peeled it off? Roiling panic gripped her. Her heart and mind expected that the blotch would expand and consume her until she was nothing but an acrylic slick across the surface of the water. Desperately, she leaned and stretched out of the bath to reach for the showerhead attached to the wall. Switching to the sharpest spray, she aimed the full force against her skin. Awkwardly scuffing the soap against her flesh like a scouring pad only managed to turn her skin an angry red, muddled by the darkness.

Whimpering and at the verge of sobbing, Misaki said a quiet prayer as she dangled half out of the bath, casting waves and whorls that risked splashing water everywhere.

“Please, Goddesses. Please, whoever will listen. Please help me…” She was tempted to slip on the old-fashioned words that her family so encouraged in Franklin. But it seemed this world had different rules. Whatever helped.

Through tears carefully clearing, she inspected her diseased limb.

The blackness was gone. Just as strikingly as it had vanished from Yuka’s leg. She checked and double-checked over and over with every angle of the light. The redness of her assault remained, but the fearful blackness was gone.

Despite how firmly the vision of horror clung to her mind, she tried to tell herself that it was just a trick of weird anime shadowing that caught and deceived her. Maybe she’d even held the wristband as an eclipse over her flesh, although that she knew that wasn’t the case. It didn’t matter now though. What mattered was it was okay. She deserved to sink back into the hot water and just let every thought of the world outside drift away.

Screw putting that creepy wristband back on, even though she knew it would have to go back eventually. The settling motion of the water and the quiet, enveloping peace let her forget for these few minutes that panic had so recently consumed her. She existed in a perpetual but transitory wash of stillness. Like those shows built around contemplative, natural moments. Mostly to save on the budget. But also to present the world as a snapshot that lived only now. Scares fell away. Joys passed. Tears dried. The sun rose and set, then rose and set again. Each day is unique; each day is like the one before. Some Zen shit, as Chika would flippantly comment. She let it heal her as she rinsed again and soaked, and left the chaos and calm of the bath behind.

Before leaving out the door, she had to resolve the wrist conundrum. Wearing it again seemed like the best move, but she had seen a terrifying thing done to her flesh. Probably just a sticky, preserved soup of sweat and grime and everything that traveled with her throughout the day. Not an explanation, but her best effort. She could also wrap that side up in a towel, sprawled across her like she just wanted to keep it close to finish drying her hair. Made total sense, but she also knew that her blazing anxiety and her piss poor poker face would immediately worry anyone she came across.

No other choice. She had to put it back on.

The black wristband didn’t seem to care that it had been abandoned or splashed with enough water to acquire several rivulets. She dried it quickly and planted it back where it had been. Nothing. No changes. No reaction from her body or from the device. It just displayed the same unchanging surface and travel codes as it had since she got it, as though etched in stone like an obsidian grave marker.

That morose sentiment dissipated when she entered the main section of the bathroom. Namiko just arrived. And she was totally naked too. Feeling bummed around Dwight or this cheerful, pink-haired lady was absolutely impossible, especially with the stupendous props she had at her disposal for comedic effects. Her dainty hands could barely encapsulate the areolas. She seemed more like a prehistoric fertility statue brought to life. Each pillownormous entity had the swoop of handling a massive mesh bag of fruit they sometimes got from the supermarket. Dwight sometimes dangles those around as boob mimics. He didn’t need to pretend anymore. She had her swing bags free for a shakedown.

Namiko spared no goofy notion till her dear friend and roommate couldn’t contain her rapturous giggles.