Banzai!

by Czolgolz
[email protected]
copyright 2000

The first time I saw Omi Tatzayukan I fell madly in love with him.  Now I know what you're thinking: I must be some kind of silly romantic.  I probably sleep with a teddy bear, read trashy love stories, and swoon over movies like 'Titanic.'  Let's get one thing straight.  Nothing could be farther from the truth.

When I was eleven my stepfather raped me for the first time.  This went on until I was fifteen and ran away from home.  By the time I was sixteen I was selling myself on the streets.  It was a miserable life, but it was the only one I knew.  Whoring myself out for some middle-aged businessman just to earn enough money for a decent meal and a place to stay that night.

I began to hate men.  No, hate isn't a strong enough word.  I loathed men, despised them, they were odious to me.  Why shouldn't they be?  It was a man who raped and beat me while I was still a little girl.  It was men who used my body for pleasure and then promptly forgot about me.  No man ever was concerned about me, wondered what would happen to me after he left me that night.  No man ever cared that I was always hungry, in danger, and scared.  Just as long as I was wet and ready I was of no further concern to them.  It was a man's world that had made me old before my time, that had ruined my life, that had killed my sense of trust.

I honest to God thought that I would never fall in love.  The thought me loving a man, of actually letting him touch me for my personal pleasure...the idea was absurd.  That's why my sudden infatuation with Omi was so strange.

I was twenty at the time and had been off the streets for almost a year.  I had just been hired by a sleazy traveling circus to take tickets and sell refreshments.  Of course, they insisted that I wear a skimpy little cigarette girl uniform that showed off my legs and clearly outlined my breasts, but what of it?  At least now I was only leered at, not groped.  I could lay down in my bed at night in the communal women's trailer, alone.  Alone!  My bed, my body, alone.  It was a good feeling.

I met Omi a week after I had been hired.  He was the 'sword and knife man' of the circus.  According to the carnival staff he was a combination stunt man/magician.  Omi would swallow swords, do knife throwing stunts, and juggling acts.  He was out of town doing some sort of promotional thing for the circus when I was first hired.  I never saw him until I happened to catch his act one afternoon.

I had been taking tickets all day and was exhausted.  I was supposed to have been running the cotton candy machine, but just couldn't get myself motivated.  I snuck under the grandstand and decided to rest for a half an hour.

"Ladies and gentleman," barked the ringmaster, "it is indeed a great pleasure to introduce to you Omi Tatzayukan, the Oriental Wizard of the Blades!"

I glanced up at the center ring.  A spotlight fell on a lone figure under the big top.  He was Japanese (I found out later he was the only son of immigrants from Tokyo).  He could not have been more than 5'6", but somehow gave the impression of being a towering giant.  It was the way he held himself, he gave off an aura of authority and command.
 
Someone who was used to being obeyed, someone who wouldn't take no for an answer.  He would have excelled as a drill sergeant or a stereo salesman.  His face reminded me of how Ian Flemming described James Bond's in the books: cruel but not evil.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of phoney, Chinese-style pants.  He had absolutely no body hair and his head was shaved down to the scalp.  His muscles bulged, but not like a body builder's.  Body builders only do exercises that make their muscles enlarge.  Omi's muscles were the thick, ropy muscles of a man whose body possessed great endurance.  He either lead a physically demanding lifestyle or worked out every day.

Omi bowed to the audience.  He then took out two knives from a bucket next to him and began juggling them.  Without breaking pace he grabbed another knife and added it to the original two. Then, another.  Soon he was juggling an impossible eight blades.  Suddenly, without warning, he leaped back and landed flat on his back.  The audience gasped, but they had nothing to worry about.  Laying on the ground, he continued juggle the knives, sometimes hurling them as high as fifteen feet in the air.

A thin sheen of perspiration covered his body.  Such a trick obviously required the greatest of concentration.  Then, unexpectedly, a knife separated from the other whirling blades and imbedded itself in the dirt floor of the tent, inches from his head.  The rest of the knives followed, one at a time.  He was soon surrounded by the handles of the knives that jutted out of the earth near his body.  He leaped to his feet and bowed again.

There was more to his act, but I had to leave.  I found a secluded spot behind the animal cages and thought.  I had never felt like this!  I was so turned on!  Images of Omi's naked body caressing me, holding me, making love to me, flashed through my mind.  What the hell was going on?  Was it his Eastern allure that was making me so hot?  Or his masculine frame?  Or the way he risked his life with knife trick?

Or maybe...maybe I was slowly healing.  Maybe, subconsciously, I was starting to trust men.  Just a little.  The guys in the circus were sleazy, but they meant well.  They were all gentlemen, in a trailer trash, Ozarks sort of way.  Perhaps I had realized that not all men were scum, just the ones I had dealt with most of my life.  Could it be that I had actually, for the first time, developed a crush on a cute guy?  That I wanted a boyfriend?

That was insane.  Men had hurt me, men had caused me to live on the street, to degrade myself, to be a slave.  But, well, was it fair to blame all men?  Here, at the circus, I had to do nothing more humiliating than show off my legs and blow up balloons.  My pay was always on time, and while most of the crew had asked me out, none of them seemed angry when I told them 'no thanks.'

And now this Japanese stud shows up and I start having all kinds of strange thoughts.  Well, I might as well talk to the man.  What harm could come from that?

I certainly wasn't going to let him get any funny ideas about me, though.  I went back to the trailer and stripped out of my skimpy outfit.  I looked at my naked form in the wall mirror.  Life on the streets had taken its toll.  Scars from various overzealous customers covered my torso.  Premature wrinkles surrounded my eyes.  My nose had been broken and had never healed right, at least not in my opinion.  

I still was cute though.  Thick red lips, long black hair, and a full alluring bosom made most men turn their heads.  I wondered what they'd think of my tattoo, a long serpent that ran from the tops of my breasts, over my stomach, around my hips, and down my right leg.

I pulled on some jeans and a ragged T-shirt and went off to find Omi.  I would have a chat with him and see if he had a decent personality.  If he was a jerk, fine nothing lost.  But if he turned out to be a nice guy...well, if he asked me out, I wouldn't  say no.  But I'd have to move slow.  He sure as hell wasn't going to hurt me, I hardly trusted men that much yet.

I found him in his battered RV, one of many of the rag-tag vehicles that followed the circus from place to place.  I knocked on the door.  From inside, a cheerful, accentless voice called 'C'mon in!'

I stepped into his 'house.'  Omi had changed his silly stage costume for street clothes.  His muscles still subtly bulged under what he was wearing.  I noticed several nasty looking scars on his arms and from what I could see of his shoulders and legs.  He had scars too!  His were obviously caused by failed knife tricks, not the blows of insane whoremongers, but hey, it was a start.  We had something in common.

He was sitting in front of a sharpening wheel, grinding a samurai sword.  Sparks flew from the metal as he sharpened the blade.  Next to him sat several knives and an axe.  Tools of his trade, obviously.

"Hey there," he said amicably, as he turned off the wheel.  "Omi.  Omi Tatzayukan."  He thrust his sword through his belt and shook my hand.

His grip was powerful and his hand hard.  Still, it wasn't crushing.  Most men I knew liked to squeeze the life out of your hand, just to show you who was in charge.  Not Omi.

"I know," I stammered stupidly.  "I saw your act.  My name's Rose.  I work the ticket counter."  

"Good to know you, Rose.  Can I get you a beer?"

"No thanks.  I, uh, just wanted to stop by and introduce myself."  What the hell was wrong with me?  With most men I had a hard time keeping my contempt from showing, even if they were nice guys.  With Omi I could barely string a sentence together.  He seemed sweet, but that didn't mean he was.  First impressions counted for little in my book.

Omi was about to say something when the door swung open.  In walked a pretty woman.  She was tall, had poofy blonde hair, and in my opinion, too much makeup.  "There you are," she said to Omi, with undisguised contempt in her voice.  "I thought I told you I needed a ride to town!  Or did you forget that too?"

Omi looked confused.  "I told you I'd take you right after I had fixed up my blades."
The woman snorted, a cold, condescending snort.  "Just like you to forget.  I'm going to the bathroom, you had better be ready to take me when I'm done."  

Omi looked as embarrassed as I felt.  I wanted to leave this humiliating scene.  Omi tried to make things more comfortable.  "Rose, this is my girlfriend Shirley.  Shirley, this is..." but Shirley had already slammed the bathroom door.

I really had no desire to be there when she returned, so I excused myself awkwardly.  

Omi held open the door for me.  "Well, it was nice to meet you.  I hope I'll see you again.  Uh, I mean at work."

Later, I sat on my bed and thought.  OK, he had a girlfriend.  I could deal with that.  Most women deal with that at one time or another.  But she was such a bitch!  I could stand Omi dating a nice girl, but why her?  

During the following week, I nonchalantly asked around about Omi and Shirley.  What I heard confirmed my opinions.  Shirley was a stunt horse rider for the circus.  She and Omi had been dating for several months now and lived together.  Everyone at the circus seemed to like Omi, but no one had a very high opinion of Shirley.  A woman in the trapeze act told me that Shirley constantly was putting Omi down in public, relating all his shortcomings to practical strangers and referring to him as 'The Little Jap.'  One of the high wire guys said that Omi had lived in his trailer for a couple of days when Shirley had kicked him out for some imagined slight.  The circus strongman told me Shirley had once made a pass at him, but I wasn't sure if I believed him.

The whole situation depressed me.  I would often have lunch with Omi and other crew members and was impressed by his wit, his charm, and his personality (and yes, his body).  So why was he with this woman who treated him like dirt?  I once witnessed Shirley kick him in the shin when he accidentally spilled her drink.  She never said a kind word about him and would frequently pepper her talk with racial slurs.  She seemed to almost hate him.  So why was she with him?

My theory was that she wanted a guy she could treat like a doormat.  Omi never stood up for himself.  She enjoyed picking on him.  Humiliating him.  She had a sick personality and Omi was her enabler.

But why didn't Omi dump her?  He certainly could do a whole lot better.  Well, I had seen lots of women who refused to leave abusive husbands because they had deluded themselves into believing that they were in love.  Maybe this was the case with Omi.  Love is blind, he probably loved her despite how she treated him and wouldn't give up on her.  He must have had no self confidence.

I didn't know why I was so concerned about him.  All my life I had never had any tender feeling for a man and now I was worried about a man who was seeing someone else.  My first crush in twenty years and it had to be him, a man involved with another woman.  You'd think I'd have been able to forget about him and interest myself in some other guy, but it didn't work like that.  Other men, while no longer the monsters they once were to me, did not elicit any sort of romantic emotions.  I had eyes for Omi, and Omi alone.

I won't lie to you; I did consider coming on to Omi to see what would happen.  I knew I was attractive, maybe if he felt what it was like for a woman to treat him right he'd dump Shirley.  I never made a move though.  All my life people thought of me as a tramp, a slut, a whore.  If I were to break up Omi and Shirley then my new friends at the circus would start thinking of me that way.  I refused to go back to that role again, not even for Omi.  If he were to ever free himself from this destructive relationship, it would have to be because he wanted to.  I hoped that someday he'd come to his senses.

Strangely enough, it wasn't Omi who dumped Shirley, but the other way around.  Apparently she had just up and left in the middle of the night with one of the truck drivers for the carnival.  When I found out what had happened I went over to Omi's trailer to see how he was doing (and ONLY for that reason, nothing else).  I found him sprawled out on his couch, a nearly empty bottle of bourbon in one hand and a letter in the other.

"She left me," he slurred when I came in.  "She dumped me.  I loved her and she left me for another man."  He wasn't angry, he was sad, despondent.

"Now Omi, listen to me..."

"I'm all alone...all alone...I loved her and now I'm alone."

I wanted to tell him what a great guy I thought he was, how much he had going for himself, how he would find a much better woman some day and if she happened to be a co-worker with black hair and a snake tattoo, well, all the better.  Unfortunately he was so drunk that nothing I could have said would have made a difference.  I took away his bottle and put him to bed.

As I was about to leave, I happened to glance at the letter he had been reading.  It was from Shirley:

Omi,

Sorry, but I've met someone new.  It's been fun, but I realy (sic) can't spend the rest of my life with some chink in a half assed circus.  I need a real man.  Latter (sic),

Shirl

I burned the letter in the ashtray.  I was pissed!  What right did she have to talk to him that way?  The first decent man I ever knew and she spits on his feelings.  I knew what it was like to be emotionally hurt and it killed me to know that Omi now knew as well.  He had treated her like a princess and this is how she repaid him.

I made a vow to myself that I would help Omi forget about her.  Even if he wasn't interested in me as a lover, I would be his friend.  I would be there for him.  I thought back to all the times in my troubled youth when having someone be there to support me would have made all the difference in the world.  Well, I never had anyone help me, but Omi would.  It was the least I could do for him.

Much to my astonishment, Omi seemed fine the next day.  I asked him if he needed to talk, but he simply responded "About what?"  I supposed he was in a state of denial: pretend the pain doesn't exist and hope it will go away.  I'd been there plenty of times myself.

During the next few months I played it cool.  I didn't make an overt pass at Omi, I figured I'd play it by ear.  If he ever seemed interested in me, that would be the time to act.  Unfortunately, Omi seemed to have given up on women.  He never dated, and rarely left his RV after the shows.  While he would still joke around and be pleasant, I got the impression that it was all an act, that he was dying inside.  

How I wanted to let him know how I felt!  Even better, to show him.  I entertained fantasies of slipping into his trailer at night and him finding me there, laying on his bed, nude.  I never followed through.  If I came on to him before the time was right, I could ruin everything.  I'd have to wait until the moment came.

The moment arrived three months after Shirley had hit the road.  A few of us circus employees were playing poker in the prop trailer.  I had convinced Omi to join us.  For the first time in months he seemed to be opening up, to be having a good time.

It was about one in the morning and there were only a few of us still playing: myself, Omi, Bruno the Clown, and Pepe the Dwarf.  Bruno was telling some implausible story about a fling he had had with a local girl the previous weekend.  I grinned, thinking that parents wouldn't be so quick to take their kids to the circus if they knew how the clowns acted on their days off.

When Bruno finished, Pepe snorted in disbelief.  "As if," he laughed

"You got some kinda problem, shrimp?  You're just jealous cuz you never get any."

"F*** off, Sleazo.  You'd be surprised how many women go for a short guy.  Besides," continued Pepe, leering in my direction "I'm not short in every way."

"Bulls***," replied Bruno in a most unclownlike way.  "It takes a big man to satisfy a woman..."

Bruno and Pepe probably would have had a short wrestling match, had Omi not said something.  "Jeez, I envy you two.  It's been forever since I had a date.  Not since...." his voice trailed off.

My heart raced.  Bruno and Pepe continued to argue, but I no longer paid them any attention.  Omi had just complained about not having had a date for a long time.  Maybe he was ready!  Tonight I had to make my move.

When Omi left the trailer to take a leak, I pointedly told Bruno and Pepe to leave.
 
"What for?" asked Bruno.  "I'm down twenty bucks!"

"Because, idiot," Pepe explained "she wants to see Omi's knife!"

"But she sees his act every day!" Protested Bruno, densely.

Pepe shook his head.  "Let's just get out of here."  He pushed Bruno towards the door.  "I still think you're underestimating short guys," Pepe called as he shut the door.

I took out a brush and combed my hair in the reflection of a cracked and discarded funhouse mirror.  Then, for the first time since I gave up whoring, I put on some makeup.  From what I could see in the distorted reflection, I didn't look bad.  Kind of sexy, but not in the trampy, easy way that I was used to.  No, I looked more like a cheerleader or a Hooters waitress.  Sexy, but not slutty.

I unbuttoned the first couple of buttons in my shirt to let a little cleavage show.  I adjusted my extra short shorts and kicked off my shoes.  There, perfect.  Hopefully Omi would be turned on.  My only fear was that he would think I was too eager, that I put out for every guy.  I'd have to hide my feelings for him at first, let him know that he was special.

When Omi returned, he seemed shocked that I was alone in the trailer.  "Where'd the guys go?" he asked.

"Oh, they decided to call it a night," I lied.

"Hmmm.  Well, you still wanna play?"

"Oh yes," I replied (but not poker).

"OK, my deal.  Oh, damn!"

"What's wrong, Omi?"

"Pepe won all my money.  Jesus, I think he was sharking everyone tonight.  I can't ante."  He made as if to put the deck away.

I started to sweat.  Damn it, this was my best chance.  He was lonely, he had been drinking a bit, and we were alone.  "Are you sure we can't play just for chips or something?"

Omi shook his head.  "Nah, I'm bushed.  I'm going to turn in unless you're up for a round of strip poker," he joked.

"Okay!" I said, far too loudly and far too eagerly.

Omi had been getting up.  When I said this he paused and stared straight into my eyes.  I noticed a cold, hard look in his brown eyes.  There was something in there, something secret and dangerous.  I had never seen an expression like that on anyone but him.  For a split second I was scared.  I had to look away.  Then the moment passed.  Omi's mouth broke into a slight smirk.

"Five card stud, deuces wild."  He dealt.

The night wore on.  Off came my shirt, off came his.  Off came his socks and shoes.  I got the impression he had lost a couple of hands on purpose, just to expedite his nudity.  Off came his pants, off came my shorts.  I was wearing a red lace bra and panties, one of the few hold-overs from my days on the street.  He was wearing some silly boxers with large red polka dots on them.  

I had to keep myself from giggling like an idiot.  The night, the alcohol, the silliness of being almost naked and playing cards...must mostly the fact that I was about to make love to a man for the pleasure of it.  Such an alien emotion...my God, the anticipation of actually having a man who would be concerned about my pleasure as well as his!

Omi was obviously turned on, the huge bulge in his pants gave this away.  He seemed especially excited by my large snake tattoo, his eyes kept following it from the top of my breasts to my ankle.  I kept waiting for him to make a move.  For him to reach out for me, to kiss me, to hold me, to say something erotic.  Strangely, he did nothing other than look at me and deal the cards.

Perhaps he was shy, I thought.  Maybe he was afraid of being rejected again.  I wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, to make him touch me.  It would have been so simple.  I couldn't though.  If I came on to him he'd think that I did this for every man.  He wouldn't think that he was special.  He had to make the first move.  After that everything would progress naturally.

The next hand I threw away a full house.  I reached back to unhook my bra when Omi interrupted.  "Hang on a second," he said and reached for something in the gym bag he had with him.  "Now don't move."

His hand flashed towards me, something shiny grasped in his fist.  Like a blur he slashed his hand up my right side and down my left, without ever having made contact with my skin.  Then his hand was still at his side.  I was shocked to see that he held a large knife.

In a panic I glanced down at my body.  No, I was fine, it appeared that he hadn't touched me.  Suddenly there was the sound of ripping fabric and both my bra and panties lay in tatters on the floor.

"I saw 'Mask of Zorro' eight times," Omi said with a grin.

The moment had come.  My red nipples stood our erectly.  My lower half was totally visible.  Not to be crude, but it was easy to see how turned on I was as well.

"No fair," I said coyly.  "I lost my bra, not my panties too."

"Whoops," said Omi, still smiling.

"Whoops nothing," I replied, pretending to be angry.  "Take off your shorts, then we'll be even."

Omi complied, revealing his hugely erect manhood.  I wanted him to grab me.  'C'mon, you stud,' I thought.  'Take me right now, right on this table.  I'll show you what a real woman is like.  I'll never hurt you and I know you'll never hurt me.'

I was shocked when he sat down and started shuffling.  Confused, I sat down opposite him.  This was getting ridiculous.  Jesus, a naked woman was sitting across from him!  Couldn't he tell how much I wanted him?

"Er, Omi," I ventured, "what exactly are we playing for now?  We're both naked."

"I still have on my watch."  So he did, though I could have sworn he didn't a couple of seconds ago.  

"Fine for you Omi, but I don't have a stitch on.  What can I ante up?"  Jesus, would he forget about the stupid game already?

Omi stopped midshuffle.  For a brief moment he had that distant, cold look again.  "Well," he eventually said "how about your lower half?  If I win, everything below your waist is mine for the night."

Christ, when Omi decided to make a move, he sure didn't mess around!  I had expected him to awkwardly try and kiss me at first, I wasn't expecting him to go in for the kill like that.  It was so uncharacteristic of him, but I rather liked his methods.  Play for my lower half?  Very sexy.  I wondered if he would start there and move up gradually, or wait until he had 'won' my whole body before he touched me.

I didn't even look at my cards the next hand.  I just threw them in and said "Looks like you've won, Omi.  I guess my lower half is yours."

Omi stood up and walked around the table towards me.  I smiled at him, but for some reason he didn't smile back.  He simply placed his rough palm on my bare shoulder.  I got goose bumps.  This wasn't the hand of some horny jerk who saw me as a thing, this was the hand of a loving, tender man.  And in a few minutes we would perform the act that only two people who truly cared about each other could do.

Omi's other arm slid behind my knees.  I felt myself being lifted.  I wrapped my arms around his thick neck and rested my head on his bare shoulder.  Even though I had slept with more men than I cared to recall, I still felt insanely like a virgin.  Like this was going to be my first time.  I guess in a way it was.  I looked into the face of the man who was holding me, expecting a kiss.

Much to my surprise, he still had that cold, faraway look about him.  He simply carried me over to a stout, wooden table that was built into the wall of the trailer and deposited me on top of it.  "Lie down flat," he instructed.

I was just slightly put out.  It seemed he had never even heard of the concept of 'foreplay.'  Not even a kiss or a tender word, just right into the act.  

Still, it probably wasn't really his fault.  He was so shy, maybe he had never been with anyone but Shirley.  She certainly didn't strike me as someone who viewed lovemaking as a tender, sensual experience.  With her it was probably 'hurry up and get it over with.'

Well, Omi's lack of experience wasn't going to ruin this evening.  I'd let him take me however he was used to.  Then, after we had both rested a bit, I'd help him understand the need to take things one step at a time.

I closed me eyes and stretched out my nude form, waiting for his first touch.  He seemed to be taking an awful long time.  I opened my eyes and got a horrible shock.

Omi was standing over me, his huge samurai sword clutched in both hands.  His face was contorted in a mixture of rage and insanity.  He was no longer the cute guy I had fallen for.  He was a samurai warrior facing the enemy.  He was a kamikaze pilot about to ram his plane into the bridge of an Allied ship.  At that moment I knew he was going to kill me.

"Omi?" I managed to stammer, as the sword began its hellish decent towards my midsection.  I closed my eyes right before it hit.  There was a loud 'thwack' as the sword sliced through my stomach and imbedded itself into the table.

I suddenly felt very weak.  All my muscles relaxed and I sprawled back on the table.  Though I felt no pain, I knew I had only a few seconds left to live.

I opened my eyes to see Omi's face staring down at me.  "Why?" I asked, with tears in my eyes.

Omi's mouth broke into a hateful grin.  "Three months ago a woman walked out on me.  Now you'll never be able to walk out on me!  You'll never walk again!  I own your legs!"  He began to laugh, loudly and harshly.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the end.  To think I had been murdered by the one man I ever trusted...

I became aware of a change in Omi's laughter.  It was no longer cruel and mocking, but friendly and happy.  I opening my eyes again.  To my shock he was smiling at me in a friendly way.  "I'm just funnin' with ya!" he said, like Jim Carrey in 'The Cable Guy.'  

He had lost his mind.  That was it.  Losing Shirley had drove him over to brink.  Drove him to murder.  At least I thought it would be murder, is seemed like I should have died from shock by now.  I started to glance at my lower half, then quickly looked away.  I just couldn't bear to see my severed bottom half.

Omi began to look concerned.  "Go on, half a look.  Trust me..."

Fighting my revulsion, I looked down.  I had expected to see a huge pool of blood, severed entrails, and my dead legs and pelvis leaking guts and fluid.  I didn't see anything of the sort.

I had been cut in half, all right.  The sword was still imbedded in the table, the hilt sticking out of one of my hips, the end of the blade out of the other.  A thin black crevice ran from just below my navel and down my sides, until it reached the sword.  

But that was impossible!  I had once witnessed a man loose a finger in an industrial accident.  There had been blood everywhere.  But now there was none!  Not a drop!  It just couldn't be.

Omi noticed my concerned look and grasped the hilt of his sword.  Then, like a butcher separating a slice of ham from a pork shoulder, he pushed my lower half away from my torso with the blade.

Still there was no blood.  Then I had a thought that made my head reel: if I was really cut in half, then how could I still feel the table with my buttocks and legs?  But I was sure that I was cut in half!  Though the dimly lit trailer prevented me from seeing well, my lower half was at least a foot and a half from the rest of me.  But the feeling of the cold table on my skin registered just as it should have.

Almost afraid to try, I moved my left knee.  True to form, it bent.  I wiggled my toes.  They responded like always.  Curiosity began to overcome my fear.  I sat my upper half up and took a good look at the situation.

My lower half sat on the other end of the table, temporarily stedfast.  But there was nothing horrific about the scene..no spilled organs, gushing blood, or splintered bone.  My legs and genitals looked as healthy as always.  They still responded to what I wanted them to do, just as if everything was normal.

I looked at the inside of my body, the area under my stomach and the one above my hips.  The parts that should have been leaking intestines.  Instead, there was a pale, fleshlike layer.  I ventured to touch the area under my rib cage.  The new flesh had no sensation, it merely felt like someone else's skin.

Confident now that I wasn't at death's door, I shifted my weight of my top half so that my torso was now upright on its 'base.'  I looked like I was jammed through a hole in the table, but I knew that wasn't the case.  My lower half simply was elsewhere.  

Concentrating, I slowly willed my legs to swivel around.  After flailing wildly for several seconds, I finally managed to swing them over the edge of the table, so that my bottom half was sitting on its rear.  About a foot away, my top half rested on its severed stomach.  Looking at the pair of legs sitting next to me and knowing that they were mine was unnerving, to say the least.

I looked to Omi for an explanation.  He was just standing there, grinning.  Still naked, he rested on his sword as if it were a cane.

"See," he said with a smile.  "Nothing to worry about."

It was several seconds before I could speak.  "Omi...how?"

He shook his head.  "I'm afraid I can't tell you that.  Maybe someday, but not yet.  All you need to know is that you'll come to no harm."

"So...." I dreaded asking the next question "you can put me back together, right?"

"Sure!" he said, with confidence.

I must have looked dubious, so I guess he felt he had to prove himself.  Before I could stop him he whipped up his sword and sliced my left leg off at the knee.  I felt it hit the floor.

Omi picked it up, I could feel his hand around my calf.  I might have struggled, but my toes and ankle were the only joints that I could control.  As for the rest of me, I was afraid of toppling off the table if I tried to move towards him.

Omi aligned my lower leg with my thigh.  He then rubbed the severed area with his forearm, as if he was trying to remove a stain from the fender of a car.  When he removed his hand my leg was reattached and as functional as ever.

"So put me back together already!" I shouted at him.  I was beginning to get scared again, I really did not care to be in two places at once.

Omi shook his head.  "No dice.  Remember, I own your lower half right now.  Unless you'd care to gamble another body part."  With that he reached out his hand and lovingly rubbed my hip.

That pissed me off.  Without thinking I kicked him.  I had meant to hit him in the gut and drive him back, but now my legs were quite some distance from my eyes.  This must have thrown off my perspective.  I ended up clocking him in the jaw, hard.

I felt his jaw slam shut under the force of my kick and saw him topple awkwardly onto his back.  I felt rather bad.  I hadn't really meant to send him sprawling, I just wanted to get him off of me.  He certainly had no right to touch me, not after what he did.  Still, I figured it probably wasn't such a good idea piss off the only man who could restore me to my normal condition.  I hoped he wouldn't be mad.

He wasn't angry.  He looked more ashamed than anything.  He stood up and sat on a crate.

"Listen Rose," he said, rubbing his jaw.  "I guess I overstepped myself there."

"Damn right you did!  Put me back together, now!"  I shouted with vehemence that I didn't entirely feel.

"Rose, if you want me to put you back together, I will.  You don't even ever have to talk to me again.  But before I restore you, could I have a couple of minutes to explain?"

"You've got thirty seconds," I snapped, knowing full well that I was in no position to make demands.

Omi got up and sat on the table, between my two halves.  I suddenly remembered that I was not only bisected, but naked as well.  I covered my nipples with my hands.  My vagina was too far away for me to hide, all I could do was cross my legs.

Omi looked me in the eyes.  He no longer had the hard, cold look.  He just looked like a guy who wanted to be liked...a guy who wanted me to like him.  If that was truly the case, he certainly had a funny way of showing it.

"Rose," he began, "I care about you.  I've had a thing for you ever since Shirley dumped me.  Hell, I've had a thing for you since the first day we met, in my trailer."

Despite everything, I was a little flattered.  Apparently my crush hadn't been one-sided.  Of course, I was sure that my infatuation with him was now a thing of the past.  Well, pretty sure.

"Anyway," he continued "after Shirley dumped me I wanted to tell you how I felt, but I was too scared.  I didn't think you'd be interested.  That's why I was so shocked when you came on to me tonight.  You were planning on sleeping with me, weren't you?"

"I was," I replied, emphasizing the word 'was.'  He certainly wasn't going to be getting any tonight.

Omi tried to lay his hand on my shoulder.  I jolted away and nearly toppled over on my back.  Omi caught me and set me upright again.  I didn't thank him.  

"Omi," I said, getting impatient, "you like me, I liked you (emphasize liked), so why didn't you just let things go naturally?  What the hell is all this?"

"Rose, I've never been attracted to a woman like I'm attracted to you.  Never.  When I knew you wanted to make love, I didn't want you to experience something ordinary.  I wanted to give you an outrageous experience, something you'd never forget.  I wanted to make love to you in a way that you'd never done it before, a way you'd never have again.  Stupid me, I didn't think that you'd not see it my way."

That softened me, just a bit.  In his own strange way he was just trying to be original.  "Omi, why the hell didn't you ask me before?  This is a heck of a thing to spring on a girl."

"If I had asked you if I could cut you in half, what would you have said?"

I thought about it.  "Good point.  But why did you have to do this at all?"  I motioned to my distant legs.  "Omi, the kind of life I used to lead is no secret.  But I bet you didn't know I've never made love to a man for the enjoyment of it.  You would have been the first."

Omi cringed, then turned away.  He looked utterly ashamed of himself.  "I'm sorry Rose...I...Jesus, I'm an idiot.  I really blew it.  I'll...I'll put you back together now..."

I suddenly felt bad.  A few minutes ago I had been willing to throw myself at this man.  Now I was rejecting him because he made an error in judgment.  True, it was a pretty good sized error, but did that mean I couldn't forgive him?  I knew what it was like to have your mistakes held against you.  I thought he might deserve more.

"Omi, come here."  I motioned him towards my top half.  "Bend down, I want to tell you something."  When he was about half a foot away I slapped his face as hard as I could.  He staggered back, holding his cheek.  Now he looked angry.

"Omi," I said, "If you ever surprise me with that sword again, I swear to God I'll cut your nuts off.  And I don't know how to magically reattach body parts."

Omi nodded, confused.

"Now, bend down again."  He backed away.  "I'm not going to slap you again!  Bend down."

Cautiously, he bent toward me.  I grabbed his neck and kissed him.  We kissed for a long, long time.  He wrapped his arms around my lower back.  Still kissing me, he picked my top up and held half of me in his arms.  It was an odd feeling.  The tactile sensation in my rear told me that I was still sitting down, but the feeling in my torso told me I was being carried.  

Eventually we stopped kissing.  I grinned at my half-psychotic 'friend.'  "An experience like I've never had before?"  I asked.

"You'll never forget tonight.  Never," he said intently.

"Yeah, well that's for sure.  But don't we have a game to finish?"