OIL BURNER

    It was cold outside, a dreary misery that tried to work its way into one's
very bones.  Even at this height, the whistling gale slammed rain against the
windows.  In a strange sort of way, the weather gave Juzo Hasegawa a sense of
satisfaction.  It was dreadful outside but he was inside, warm and well-fed, in
the cosy chambers of his mistress's appartment.  He grinned as he looked out at
the spattering rain.  He liked Melissa's home: a vast, luxurious flat high up
in one of Oedo's most exclusive buildings.  A rich uncle had left it to her,
she had told him, and if most of her modest librarian's salary went on its
upkeep, so what?  What else, she said, was a quiet woman of modest habits
expected to spend her money on?
    And she was prepared to share it with him, from time to time, as a treat.
He inhaled the scented air and lay back on deep blue velvet cushions, fingering
a golden tassel.  The decor was relentlessly gaijin, no Japanese austerity and
minimalism for Melissa.  It was a complete contrast to all the other places in
which he had lived and he realised that it satisfied some need within him that
paper screens and tatami mats, no matter how neat and precise, could never
touch.  Melissa had a way of doing that, he thought, awakening desires in him
that he barely knew were there and then fulfilling them.  He really was lucky
to have met her, to have found someone who cared for him.
    Why? he sometimes wondered.  What did she see in him?  A wrecked, scarred
creature that barely knew itself, why would a woman like her want him anywhere
near?  He didn't really know that much about her.  She dropped a few hints,
self-dissmissively suggesting a quiet, retiring life of modest luxury and
scholarly enquiry.  And yet... sometimes he wondered.  He had looked up her
records: she was a nonentity, from a small, discreet family of foreigners who
had acquired some wealth.  As the last survivor, she had inherited everything.
Nothing worrying in that: those who kept an eye on him would have checked as
well and he'd certainly have heard about it if they thought her in any way
suspicious.  But sometimes, he wondered.  One of the things she definitely saw
in him was a way to meet her physical needs: she was perfectly open about it
and he was as flattered as hell that she found him sexy.  But she had a few
quirks in that direction that sometimes faintly worried him.
    Oh, come off it, he told himself impatiently.  After everything you've been
through?  After Sachiko?  What's a few leather straps and feathers and oil and
the large glass... hmm.  All right then, a few quirks.  She's entitled to have
a few quirks.  But every time he came around, she seemed to reveal a few new...
quirks.  And she would watch him enigmatically, cat-like, as if wondering how
far he would let her go.
    A door opened out in the hall, then she came into the sitting room, wearing
a diaphanous cloud of dark plum chiffon, shot through with gold thread.  As she
moved and the fabric slid over her, he could glimpse pale curves beneath it.
His train of thought immediately derailed, dissolving into lust.  Seeing his
expression, Melissa paused and folded her arms in front of her.  What that did
to her breasts made him giddy from the sudden change in blood pressure.
Melissa shook her head in mock severity.  "Juzo," she said sharply, "You're
practically drooling."
    "Your fault," he replied faintly.
    That made her smile.  "Oh dear.  A bit weak at the knees, are we?  Well, I
promise to be gentle."  Something about her tone suggested she would be
anything but.  She bustled past him.  "Take that in, would you?  I'll go find
the oil, I know I had another bottle out here somewhere..."  Her voice faded
out into the kitchen.
    Hasegawa looked where she had pointed.  On the heavily carved wooden table
beside him was a grey, conical... thing.  What the hell was it?  That was
definitely what she'd pointed at.  It looked heavy, a strange grey hat?  With
shapes cut out of it?  He reached out and picked it up - oops!  It was lighter
than he'd thought and his movement made the top fall off.  He raised both
pieces and stared at them.
    The top piece was hard and smooth, blatantly phallic.  Its edge was
scalloped, fitting neatly into the similarly scalloped top of the, the bottom
bit.  He didn't know what else to call it.  He curved his fingers around,
sliding his cupped hand down over it.  When his hand got just below the wavy
line where the top bit lifted off, the broadening conical shape forcing his
curved thumb and fingers apart.  What was she going to do with it?  Oil, she
had gone to get oil.  He remembered other things she had done with oil.  To
him.  He looked at the way the top bit fitted onto the bottom bit of whatever
it was, trying to work it out.  It just lifted right away, with nothing to
attach it.  The shape of the whole thing seemed designed for pushing but once
you pushed it somewhere how would you get it back?  His mouth was suddenly dry
and he tried to swallow but couldn't.  His hand was still curved around the
bottom of the cone.  It was huge, it'd make a hole you could put your fist
through.
    Melissa was coming back and he realised he was shaking.  She held a little
bottle.  "Still here?  Come along, it's nearly midnight."
    He stood up.  "What-"
    "The candle and the matches are already by the bed," she said, not turning
around.  Matches?  His heart pounded.  Drawn into her wake, he followed her.