Jiro winced. It felt like a knife was twisting at his guts. This happened every time he thought of Misha. When was the pain going to end?

“I’m sorry … Aya. I need more time to get over her. And I think it’s something I need to figure out for myself. It’s not you, it’s me.”

Aya snorted. “You definitely took that line from some TV show. Fine. If you don’t want to play with me, then I’m going to take a nap. Get some sun. I’m tired from all this detective work. Wake me up in thirty minutes, okay?”

“But …”

“Here,” said Aya. “If you change your mind, you can pleasure yourself with this!” She bunched up her shorts and pitched them at him. They hit Jiro in the face. He caught the scent of her sweat and her coppery musk. It was the same scent that had been on her bikini bottoms.

“Aya, I don’t think …” He trailed off. Aya had turned and was already asleep, her six-pack abs and bolted-on chest heaving up and down to the motion of her breaths. As expected of a fisherman’s daughter, he thought, scratching his head. They can fall asleep anywhere … One minute she’s grinding against a pole and the next minute she’s snoring away like nothing happened …

Jiro sat back and thought about Misha. He had told Aya he needed more time. But he had been telling himself that for years. And, in truth, time hadn’t made things better. Running away hadn’t made things better. The only option now was to face his fears. But that was the problem. He didn’t know how to do that.

Despite his distress, as time passed, Jiro found himself stealing glances at Aya’s bare body. It was impossible to keep his eyes off her for long. He drank in the curves of her body. The chiseled abs, the toned muscles of her arms and legs. She had taken off her shoes and even the pink soles of her feet were flawless, with perfect arches. It was like she had stepped out of a bikini model magazine, postprocessing and all. Under his jeans, little Jiro began to harden.

“Well one thing is for sure,” he said, looking down at Aya’s shorts. They lay in his lap, like an invitation. “With this girl, nothing is ever boring.”

Pop!

Jiro froze. He thought he had heard a sound. A sound like someone popping the cork out of a bottle of champagne. He looked around. There was nothing. Just the empty jungle gym, the trampoline, the lounge chairs.

He shrugged. It was probably just his imagination. Aya was right. If anyone came in through the doors, he would be able to hear the squeaking of the hinges. He was relatively safe here … He looked at the shorts in his lap. Then he looked at Aya’s naked body, glistening in the sun. Just one more sniff … He brought the shorts to his nose and breathed in deeply, inhaling the coppery goodness.

God, she is so hot. He almost regretted his decision to reject Aya. But doing it alone is fine. It is different from doing it together, he thought to himself. Unable to resist the urge, Jiro lowered his hands to his pants and began to rub himself through his jeans …

Pop!

Jiro stopped. No, this time he was sure of it. It was the same cork-pop sound. It felt like it was coming from right next to him. But there was no one around.

Pop!

The sound came again, even louder. It was coming from beneath him. Jiro flipped around in the lounge chair looked under. Nothing.

POP! Jiro let out a yelp. This time, the sound was right in his ear. He sat up and nearly tumbled off the chair in shock. Standing right next to him, where nobody had been before, was a little boy. He was dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and had a flower pinned to his hair. He looked to be no more than six or seven years old.

The boy stuck a finger in his mouth and made the popping noise against the side of his cheek.

“Hi mister,” said the boy with a smile. “I saw you scratching yourself between your legs. Do you have a rash or something?”

Jiro blinked. He was sure there had been nobody there.

“Do you have a stick in your shorts?” said the boy, pointing at Jiro’s erection.

“Where did you come from?” Jiro said.

“Where did you come from,” echoed the child. He looked at Aya again. “Does she have a rash too? I saw her rubbing herself too.”

“Don’t look at her.”

“Why? You were looking at her.”

“You shouldn’t be here without your parents …”

“Are you some kind of pervert, mister?” said the kid. “Why are you gripping that lady’s shorts?”

Jiro looked at the shorts balled in his fist. How was he going to explain himself out of this one? “N-no, you see I was …”

“My parents said to call the police if I ever saw a pervert. I think I should call the police.”

“No-no,” said Jiro, waving his hands frantically. “Let’s not do that. Let’s not call the police.”

“If you don’t want me to call the police,” said the kid. “Then let’s play a game.”

“A game?” He looked over at Aya. She was still asleep, bare chest rising and falling. “What kind of game?”

“It’s very simple,” said the boy. “We are going to flip skirts. And whoever flips the most skirts wins.”

Jiro looked at the boy. He was clearly not as innocent as he was letting on. Were kids of six or seven supposed to be this clever? And something was strange about the expression on the boy’s face. It was not a face Jiro had ever seen a child make. That means …

Jiro reached over and grabbed the kid by the collar of his robes. His hand brushed against the boy’s skin. It was cool to the touch, despite the summer heat.

"You're a yokai, aren't you?" he said.