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My first full year as an associate at the firm was 2018. It was a challenging year, but on the whole, I had a very good time, mostly working with Burton. As we spent long hours, days, and even weekends working together, he rose even further in my estimation. He treated everyone with kindness, gentility, and respect, regardless of whether they were partners in the firm, important clients, or doormen and custodians.I more time I spent with him, the more I got to see his interactions with his family. I thought his wife Melissa was consistently mean to him, constantly nagging and complaining, never showing the slightest gratitude for all of his thoughtfulness. His daughter Annabel at least spoke to him in a civil tone of voice, and sometimes gave him a ‘thank you, but she clearly took her father for granted.I once made the mistake of criticizing Melissa when she had been particularly unpleasant to him, and Burton immediately rose to her defense.“Melissa has been a wonderful mother to Annabel and stood by my side for over two decades,” he said in a calm and measured voice. “She’s given me the best years of her life. I won’t hear any criticism of her.”I slowly got used to having Jerry as my boyfriend. Sex with him continued to be great. He introduced me to new positions, taught me to accept anal sex, though I never really enjoyed it. We had sex in every part of my apartment – the bathroom, the kitchen island, the dining table, on the rug in the living room in front of the TV, the entrance hallway – in addition to my bed. Sex was the one time when he remained attentive to me, always making me cum more than once.But in everything else, his attentiveness to me declined in direct proportion to our time together. His initial gallantry about paying for things disappeared almost as soon as he moved in with me and I found myself paying for everything.Then he began to ask for things on a regular basis – an expensive sports watch, the best running shoes, workout clothes, expensive dinners out, the list seemed endless. He kept badgering me to buy a car. He wanted an expensive German one, a Porsche or a Mercedes. He kept bringing home glossy brochures from the dealerships and talking to me about the Mercedes AMG package versus the Weissach package on the Porsches.Out of bed, I began to feel less like his girlfriend and more like his mother. He was only two years younger than me, but he acted like a little boy, especially when I refused to do what he wanted or buy him something that he asked for. He would sometimes scream and shout, and even pound the wall, then mope around for days.I usually left before he got up in the morning and often came home late after having dinner with Burton. Most nights, I found Jerry waiting for me in his briefs. The sight of his perfect body was always a turn-on for me. He would begin undressing me as soon as I shut the door. He’d almost always fuck me up against the wall in the hallway. No matter how tired I was, he could make me cum.I was so busy at work that I didn’t have time to dwell on these issues or to sit down with him and hash things out. We settled into a drift. I was unsatisfied with the state of our relationship, but there were some positives. Mindful of Burton’s advice, I didn’t want to end things without first seeing whether we could work things out. But that would take time.He had an uncanny knack of sensing when I was at the end of my tether. Every time that I was rehearsing the lines on the subway to tell him I was breaking up with him, I came home to find he had done something really sweet and thoughtful. He had flowers for me, or he set up a romantic candlelit dinner in the dining room, or he bought tickets to a French movie that he knew I would enjoy – and he wouldn’t.* * * * *Just after Thanksgiving 2018, I was assigned to work on a proposal to a large but very secretive Japanese conglomerate. They were scouting acquisition targets in the US and wanted blue-chip legal representation. Burton was the partner handling the proposal, and we began working on it as soon as the initial contact came in. We worked through the day and late into the evening till we were both bleary-eyed.“Let’s get dinner,” he said. “Save everything so we can pick up where we left off first thing tomorrow morning.”We continued working on the proposal the next day and were done by lunchtime. Burton emailed it to Benson, who was the other partner working on the proposal. The two of them finalized it and sent it to the Japanese. Burton came by my cubicle about six in the evening, looking a bit worried.“Any response from the Japanese?” I asked.“Yes,” he said. “They want to meet next week.”“You don’t look very happy about it.”“No,” he said. “They want the first high-level meeting, where they get to know us, in a karaoke bar. Apparently, their chairman, Ichiro Hashimoto, especially loves Western themes. I know nothing about karaoke.”“I’ll work it out,” I said. “Just give me the date and time.”Two days later, I got a call on my office phone from Tokyo.“This is Mr. Hashimoto’s secretary.” The woman had a British accent, with only a slight Japanese overlay. “I would like to go over the arrangements for his visit with you.”“Certainly,” I said. “We’re going to a Japanese karaoke bar. I can send you the details by email.”“Mr. Hashimoto is very traditional,” she said, speaking slowly. It sounded like she was choosing her words carefully. “He rarely leaves Japan. He knows very little about American culture. He thinks he loves the American West, but all of his knowledge comes from old cowboy movies. I hope you can recreate that sort of experience for him.”“I’ll do my best.”The Japanese arrived and sent their junior representatives to the office to discuss formalities. Burton asked me to run the meeting with them.“It’s all about face and status,” he told me. “All the details are covered in face-to-face meetings between underlings. The underlings serve as puppets, executing orders given to them by their bosses. The seniors only meet each other socially, and at formal, ceremonial meetings.”“Seems very inefficient,” I said.“The Asian ways are all based on trust-building, Johanna. It takes a long time to set up a business arrangement, but once it’s up and running, there are rarely any glitches.”Burton asked Stuart Cleghorn, one of the senior associates, to join me in the junior meeting so I wouldn’t be alone. The Japanese team consisted of two American-trained lawyers and a young translator, Makoto Nishimura. Stuart had read up on the deal very carefully. He spent an hour before Ankara bayan escort the meeting going over his detailed notes with me. I was afraid that he would replace me on the deal, a feeling that was reinforced when both Japanese lawyers kept looking at him for confirmation every time I said something.The hard work that Burton and I had put into the preparation paid off, and there were very few issues items that required extended discussions. After three hours, one of the Japanese lawyers sat back and said, “Everything seems to be in order. We will take this to Mr. Hashimoto. Of course, he will be more favorably inclined if you reduce your retainer by ten percent.”“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” I said.He inclined his head, Japanese fashion, and they left.“You didn’t have the authority to turn down their request to negotiate the fee,” said Stuart, as we walked back from the elevators. “It’s Burton’s call.”“He’ll back me up.”“Benson’s also on this deal. He may not be so kind, especially if we fail to close.”I went to Burton’s office later in the afternoon and told him everything about the meeting, ending with my refusal to negotiate our retainer.“Good,” said Burton. “That’s one less thing I need to negotiate. Nishimura, their translator, was just on the phone to me. Hashimoto wants to know what time he’s being taken to karaoke tonight.”“I’ve got a private room booking at seven-thirty. I’ll text you the details.”“I’d like you to come with me, Johanna.”“Is that proper protocol?”“Hashimoto will have his translator with him. I should have an associate with me as well.”I was relieved he asked me to join him and not Stuart.“Okay. I’ll go home and change. I’ll meet you at his hotel at six-thirty.”I went home and changed into jeans, a plaid shirt, and a neckerchief. I pulled out my old belt from Montana. Dad had given it to me on my last trip out with him. The belt had silver conchos on it and a buckle that Dad had won in a rodeo. I found my old leather wide-brimmed hat, pulled on my boots and looked at myself in the mirror. Satisfied that I looked like a real cowgirl, I picked up my purse and got a rideshare to the hotel.Makoto Nishimura was already waiting in the lobby and stood up when he saw me.“Mr. Hashimoto will really like your outfit,” he said. “I hope you have booked a suitable venue.”“I called ahead and asked them to set up the main bar with old folk and country music,” I said. “Synced to clips from old Westerns.”Burton arrived a few minutes later. He wore the same dark suit he had in the office but had on a ten-gallon hat. He did a double-take when he saw me.“You look like you just stepped off a stagecoach, Johanna,” he said. “Perhaps a bit too authentic.”“Is there such a thing?”Hashimoto came down. He was in his late fifties, but muscular and robust without an ounce of fat on him. Like Burton, he wore a dark suit with a Texas ten-gallon hat. Nishimura did the formal introductions and we bowed in response to Hashimoto’s bow. He spoke volubly to Nishimura on the way out to Burton’s limousine.“Mr. Hashimoto compliments you on your American geisha,” Nishimura said to Burton as we got into the car. “He says she looks very genuine.”“She’s not a …” Burton began as we got our seatbelts on in the limo.“I’ll play whatever role is necessary to make this a pleasant evening for Mr. Hashimoto,” I interrupted.Nishimura nodded and spoke to Hashimoto, who looked visibly pleased.The hostess at the bar was a small Asian woman, as were most of the staff at the bar. I identified our party and she led us to our table. We sat down, and she gave us an iPad.“You can use this to cue up any music you want for about half an hour,” she said. “After that, if you want to continue to choose your own music, you’ll have to move to the private room you have booked.”Nishimura ordered sake and sushi for himself and Hashimoto. Burton ordered beers from himself and me. I cued up an old gunfighter ballad and hit play.“Marty Robbins,” I said to Nishimura, who repeated it to Hashimoto with a Japanese intonation, ‘Marty-u Robbins-u.’Mr. Hashimoto nodded enthusiastically and rose. He went to the small stage and took the mike. He sang along to the scrolling lyrics with gusto in his heavy Japanese accent, attracting amused looks from everyone in the bar. Nishimura brought him a fresh cup of sake and he sang through the next one. As the third song came up, Billy the Kid, and Hashimoto gestured energetically at me.“He would like you to join him,” Nishimura said.“Don’t feel that you have to –” began Burton.“It’s okay,” I said. “I like Marty Robbins too.”I went up and joined Hashimoto. He put an arm around my waist, and we sang together. We sounded like a pair of cats on a fence, but he looked blissfully happy, repeatedly pointing at the accompanying video of a horseman twirling a forty-four. Hashimoto kept me with him, singing song after song as Nishimura fetched him cups of sake.At the end of half an hour, we retired to our private room. I went to set up the karaoke machine, but Hashimoto pointed to the battered piano in the corner and spoke to Nishimura.“Mr. Hashimoto asks if you can play the piano for him,” he said. “Johanna, he can’t treat you like this,” whispered Burton.“Actually, I’m having a bit of fun, Burton.” I turned to Nishimura. “I’m not very good. Let me think about it.”Mr. Hashimoto had yet another fresh cup of sake in his hand and waved it at me. He was visibly tipsy and pointed at Burton’s empty beer mug. Burton smiled at him weakly and ordered another beer.I sat at the piano and ran my fingers over the keyboard. I thought of playing an old Glenn Campbell or Merle Haggard song, but I didn’t think I could play one fluently without sheet music. Then I got a brainwave – Rossini’s William Tell overture was the staple of countless old Westerns. Mom always said that an ape could play it, though only a maestro could play it well. Well, I’m an ape, I thought. And Mr. Hashimoto is drunk.I launched into it. The piano needed tuning, but I played fast and lively, so the false notes were not too obvious. As soon as he heard the well-known giddyap intro, Mr. Hashimoto jumped up and began dancing around the small floor. He was as excited as a little boy. I played faster and he grabbed Burton’s hand and dragged him to his feet. As the two men whirled around, I repeated the intro twice before going on. When I was done, Mr. Hashimoto put his arms around me, hugged me tight and let loose a flood of Japanese.“Mr. Hashimoto says you are the best geisha he has Escort bayan Ankara had for many years,” Nishimura translated. “He is, …, how do you say? … head over heels with happiness. He wishes to express his gratitude and asks if you will accept one thousand dollars as a small token of his regard.”Burton’s face went red, and I spoke quickly to cut him off.“Thank Mr. Hashimoto,” I said. “But tell him I am enjoying the evening too much to think about money. His company is payment enough.”“Johanna, this is getting ridiculous,” whispered Burton. “You shouldn’t have to put up with this. You can leave any time you want.”“Don’t worry about me, Burton.”I put Kenny Rogers’ Gambler on the machine, and Mr. Hashimoto began singing at the top of his voice.Our waitress brought in more sushi and as well as sashimi. We ate and drank as the evening wore on. Mr. Hashimoto periodically insisted that I sing with him, which I did. He held my waist, but his touch was affectionate, not lecherous. Burton was out of his element and I periodically patted his hand to reassure him.Around ten, Mr. Hashimoto spoke to Nishimura and he turned to us.“Mr. Hashimoto has had a wonderful evening. He would like to thank Mr. Wilson for his hospitality and thoughtfulness.” Burton rose with evident relief, but Nishimura went on. “He would like to avail of the services of the geisha for some more time, in his hotel suite.”“Mr. Nishimura,” said Burton, his tone harsh. “For the last time, Ms. von Eschenbach is not a geisha. Our firm does not deal in sex. If Mr. Hashimoto requires sex to close the deal, our firm wants nothing to do with him.”“I see there has been a misunderstanding,” said Nishimura, smoothly. “In Japanese culture, geisha are not sex workers. They merely entertain with music and arts, as Ms. von Eschenbach has done so well. Mr. Hashimoto has no sexual designs on her.”“Is late, Mr. Nishimura. Ms. von Eschenbach and I would like to retire –” began Burton.“Mr. Nishimura, I will be happy to accompany Mr. Hashimoto to his hotel suite – as a geisha. I will hold him to his promise of no sex.”“Johanna, think of the risk –”“I can take care of myself, Burton.Burton dropped us back at the hotel in the limo.“Call me if you have any issues, Johanna,” he said. “Any time, it doesn’t matter how late.”He left with a worried expression, but I gave him a cheery wave, looking more confident than I felt.We took the elevator up to the suite on the top floor. Nishimura helped Mr. Hashimoto open the door with the key card and spoke into his phone in Japanese. We had barely sat down in the sitting room of the suite when there was a discreet knock on the door. Nishimura went to answer it.He returned with a waiter carrying a bottle of Japanese champagne in a silver bucket. Just behind him was a light-skinned African American woman with hazel eyes and straight black hair. She wore a skirt shorter than a ballet tutu, fishnet stockings, a silk choker necklace, and high platform heels. Her short white translucent top left her midriff bare and displayed her full breasts and nipples nubs to advantage. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her firm breasts jounced as she walked.The waiter put down the bucket and left.“Hi,” said the African American girl. “I’m Fannie, the saloon girl you asked for.”Mr. Hashimoto responded to her in Japanese.“Mr. Hashimoto says that you are very beautiful,” translated Nishimura.“Cash in advance,” said Fannie. “If he thinks I’m beautiful, he can pay me a $100 bonus.”Nishimura smiled, and handed her a roll of bills. She counted them before putting them in her purse.Mr. Hashimoto looked at me and spoke in Japanese, pointing to an electronic keyboard in the corner of the sitting room.“Mr. Hashimoto asks that you play some music while he is having sex,” translated Nishimura.This was altogether more than I had bargained for. I had been reassured when Nishimura said that geisha were not sex workers. But it seemed that sex was very much on Mr. Hashimoto’s agenda for the night.He came up behind Fannie and put his arms around her under her armpits and cupped her breasts under her top. He kneaded them, tweaking her meaty, black nipples between finger and thumb. She gasped at the suddenness of his action. His erection made a prominent bulge in his pants and he pressed it against her firm, round ass. His lips were on the side of her throat, his tongue tracing lines of saliva up and down. All the while, he spoke to her in a steady flow of Japanese.Nishimura took his duties as translator seriously and continued translating without missing a beat.“Mr. Hashimoto loves your firm, young breasts, so round and supple. Your nipples are hardening, showing your rising excitement.”He looked at me, pointed at the keyboard, and made an urgent movement. It was clear he wanted me to start playing. I was caught in two minds – I really wanted to leave, but I feared that if Mr. Hashimoto didn’t sign with us, it would be blamed on my interference. I wished I had listened to Burton and left with him.I reluctantly went to the keyboard. It was a high-end Yamaha, a professional model with sound quality nearly as good as a grand piano. I sat on the bench that faced into the sitting room. I couldn’t help watching what Mr. Hashimoto was doing to Fannie. It drove all thoughts of music from my mind.He had a hand between her legs now, reaching around her waist. Her skirt was rucked up, revealing her black lace-trimmed thong. His fingers played with her fat pussy lips through the thin shield of silk and lace, while his thumb repeatedly manipulated her clit. She was panting now, and a damp line appeared on her thong. His other hand stayed on her breasts, alternately kneading one and then the other. He continued speaking to her in Japanese and Nishimura kept translating.“Your pussy is so warm, so wet; it is inviting my hard cock. Your nipples are getting longer and harder! You are such a hot saloon girl, I’m a gunslinger, and I’m going to put my rod in you, fuck you so hard! I’m going to make you scream!”He shrugged off his jacket, undid his tie, and unbuttoned his shirt. His chest was well-muscled and hard. He put his fingers under the hip strap of her thong and ripped it off.“Hey!” she gasped. “Those were expensive!”“Don’t worry, Mr. Hashimoto will give you a large tip that will more than pay for it,” said Nishimura. I assumed he had been witness to Mr. Hashimoto’s sexual escapades before.Mr. Hashimoto pushed Fannie over to the sofa back and bent her over it. He unzipped his pants, stepped out of them, Bayan escort Ankara and his organ swung out, fully erect. It was surprisingly dark, contrasting with his pale skin. He positioned himself behind Fannie, doggie style, his cockhead at her wet pussy lips. She swiveled her had to look at him.He looked over at me, his expression instructing me to play. I had been thinking furiously about what I could play that would have any relevance to the situation at hand. The closest to saloon music I could think of was ragtime, but I knew I couldn’t possibly play a rag without sheet music. Roberta could have done it with her eyes closed and I wished I had her skill. In the end, I played John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High, very slowly and carefully to minimize the false notes.With the first notes from the keyboard, Mr. Hashimoto began pushing his cock into Fannie. He timed his mini thrusts to the music. Fannie rotated her hips as he entered her, creating enough friction that he sighed deep in his throat. When he fully entered her, his hard belly hit her rounded buttocks with a smack. I increased my tempo of playing and he began to fuck her faster and harder. She was either a very good actress, or was really excited, because she began to moan in between her gasping breaths.“Omigod, just fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!”He obliged, working his member like a piston in a staccato motion. She twisted her hips faster to match him. He reached around her and began kneading her breasts again, pinching and tweaking her nipples. He was still listening to me play, and I’d reached the end of the song. I switched to another John Denver song, I’d rather be a cowboy. I’d often played it to Dad on the guitar, and I hoped I could muddle through it on the keyboard.I didn’t have to play through it, for Mr. Hashimoto began to cum with a great deal of groaning and juddering of his lower body. Again, I couldn’t tell whether Fannie was acting or really having an orgasm with him. She thrashed under him, twisting her body, and screaming, “I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”They were both covered with sweat. Fannie’s top was soaked and clung to her breasts. Her skirt was bunched into a thin line of fabric around her waist and was wet as well. Mr. Hashimoto lay on Fannie’s back, still breathing hard. He kissed the nape of her neck and whispered in Japanese.“You’re a great fuck,” Nishimura translated.Mr. Hashimoto pulled out of Fannie, his cockhead slipping out with a gentle plop. He had cum, but he was still quite erect and hard. His semen began dribbling out of her wet pussy, coursing down her inner thighs to wet her stocking tops.He straightened and, showing surprising strength for a man his age, picked her up and carried her to the suite bedroom.“You can leave now,” Nishimura said to me.I stood up and headed for the door. He intercepted me and handed me a thick wad of bills. I didn’t take it.“It is customary for a geisha to accept a cash token,” Nishimura said.“I don’t want it,” I said. “Give it to Fannie.”“If that is your wish,” he replied. * * * * *The following week, Mr. Hashimoto and his team of lawyers came to our offices and signed the deal retaining us to represent them in the U.S. The signing was held in our main conference room and Burton and Benson had pride of place. Siegel, our managing partner, sat beside them. I was with the other junior associates in the third row of chairs behind the senior associates and managers. Mr. Hashimoto met my eye and I thought I saw a twinkle.After the ceremony, Nishimura approached me and gave me a small, beautifully wrapped package.“What is it?” I asked, suspicious.“Just a spray of dried cherry blossoms, a symbol of Japanese American friendship. Mr. Hashimoto is waiting for you in one of the private conference rooms. He has requested a private meeting with you.”“I need to clear it with Mr. Wilson –” I began.“Mr. Wilson, Mr. Benson, and Mr. Siegel have been informed. They have given their consent.”“I’d like to hear from them.”“If that is your wish,” said Nishimura.I found Burton and asked him if it was true.“I specifically told Nishimura that it is up to you, Johanna. You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to.”“I’ll do it. It will be okay.”“If he tries anything inappropriate, call security. Don’t worry about the deal.”I went to the small private conference room with Nishimura. Mr. Hashimoto rose as soon as I entered. He bowed deeply and I returned it.We sat on opposite sides of the table and looked at each other for a moment. He spoke in quiet Japanese, enunciating each word carefully, as though he could make me understand by speaking slowly and clearly.“Mr. Hashimoto wishes to tell you that the evening spent with you was the most enjoyable evening he has had for many years.”Mr. Hashimoto spoke again. He did not look at Nishimura but directly at me, eye to eye.“He wishes you to know that he never bought sex from courtesans while his wife was alive.”Mr. Hashimoto poured himself a glass of water from the cut glass pitcher on the table and drank before he continued.“Mr. Hashimoto wishes to apologize most profusely for making you witness him having sex,” said Nishimura. “He was intoxicated and forgot that you are not a real Japanese geisha ….”Mr. Hashimoto interrupted Nishimura with another stream of Japanese, making me wonder whether his English was as non-existent as he maintained.“I’m sorry, let me translate more fully. Mr. Hashimoto says that he is ashamed of his behavior and wishes to apologize most profusely.”When Mr. Hashimoto went on, he leaned forward with a painfully earnest expression and put his hands on his heart as he spoke. Nishimura was shocked to such an extent that his mouth dropped open for a moment. He managed to close it before he translated. He cleared his throat before he spoke, but even so, his voice was hoarse.“Mr. Hashimoto says that in the short time he has spent in your company, you have touched his heart. You are a real cowgirl, so much better than the fictitious cowgirls he has seen in the movies. He wishes that …” Nishimura paused and cleared his throat again. “He wishes that he was thirty years younger so that he could pursue you as a lover.”Mr. Hashimoto rose and bowed before he spoke again. I rose to my feet in response.“Mr. Hashimoto invites you to Japan at a time of your choosing,” said Nishimura, handing me an embossed envelope with my name on it in ornate calligraphy. “Here is an open Japan Air Lines first-class ticket from New York to Tokyo. Call the airline and they will send a limousine to take you to the airport and escort you from the curb to your seat on the plane. Obviously, you will be met in Tokyo and all your expenses will be covered.”Mr. Hashimoto came around the table and bowed yet again. His eyes were glistening.“Johanna von Eschenbach,” he said with his heavy Japanese accent. “Cowgirl, not lawyer.”
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