Have you ever had a dream where you knew it was a dream?
I’ve had quite a few, actually. And this is one of them, at the moment.
I was able to get a bird’s eye view of another version of ‘me’. From there I understood that this was a dream.
And this ‘me’ was clearly in the form of a young man.
I could tell myself that when I was younger, I had a real charm.
Although I had grown up enough not to be called a child, this ‘I’ retained a skin like a baby’s.
I had rosy cheeks, shiny, silky black hair that had not yet developed any kinks, and a carefree smile.
I think this must have been just before I started middle school, because the ‘lad’ had grown up, but not big enough to be considered an adult.
The way he gazes intently at something, with eyes so big and round that they could easily be mistaken for a young girl’s, seems to reflect his pure, soft and sheltered heart.
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“Fufufu. What are you looking at so intently?”
Even though it was a dream, “I” was kind of smiling.
And as I followed this idiot’s gaze – there she was, my senior.
And she was bathing.
This brat was taking advantage of the fact that the walls of the bathtub in his senior’s house were made of bamboo, allowing him to peer into the bathtub through the gaps.
In short, he was peeping.
His bright eyes are like those of a lad with great ambitions, but what he is really harboring is simply a perverted desire, without an ounce of innocence in his eyes.
What is this? Why must I dream of such a dark history?
But it was not over yet.
My senior took a bucket of hot water from the bathtub and poured it over her.
Her black hair and white skin were soaked in hot water, reflecting the lamp’s light and giving her skin a faint glow.
I had always considered my senior an adult, but her body here was still young.
Her waist was just beginning to show a fuller line, and her bottom was still small and firm.
But this young I was so engrossed in this that he swallowed like a fool, and the sight of it depressed me, even though it was only a dream.
Next, my senior lathered herself well with soap and cleaned her body in the following order: nape, behind the ears, neck, and collarbone, which made her strangely mature. If you ar e ab le to r ead thi s mes s age , y ou are re ad ing fro m an unaut ho rized aggr ega te si te. Rea d at m y Wo rdP ress at sta bbi ng w ith a sy ringe . ho me. blo g to su ppo rt me and my tra nslat ions.
Her knees were washed with one knee bent forward and the other extended backward, and when the lather reached the tips of her toes, her entire body was already covered in white foam.
It was at this point, however, that my senior stopped.
She looked down at her own body and made no attempt to rinse off the foam whatsoever.
What’s wrong? The young “I” thought, but before he could think of the reason, she started to wash her chest again. Perhaps she felt she had left something unwashed.
She traced her slender fingers in a circular motion around the outer curve of her bulging, almost swollen breasts, until her fingers reached the nipples in the center, which were so pale pink that they seemed almost the same color as her bare skin.
Soon the protrusions hardened, and as their pinkness was revealed as the bubbles were smothered, a thin, adolescent girlish “mmmh” echoed through the bathhouse.
“Haaa, haa, haa, mmh, ahh…”
My senior’s beautiful cheeks were soon tinged with vermilion.
But even the young I could tell it was not because of the steam from the hot water.
Then, her hand slid through the not yet fully grown pubic hair and reached the clitoris, which was still covered by skin.
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From there, my senior hesitantly stroked it with the soapy slipperiness.
But what about the young me?
He also looked at such a scene, this time full of worry.
“Big SisOnee-chan, what is she doing?”
Yep. I remember. The young “I” still called her “Big Sis” at that age.
“Is she in pain somewhere? She’s grabbing her chest, so maybe it’s her heart or something…”
The young I’s eyes, filled with heat, were suddenly colored with fear and frustration.
“Mmh, ahh!”
“I knew it. She must be in pain somewhere. Oooii, someone! This is bad!!”
Thinking that, “I” ran towards the cafe outside my senior’s house, shouting.
“This is terrible! Mister!”
“Oh? What’s wrong?”
The one who answered “I” was the owner of the coffee shop.
In other words, my senior’s father.
“Big sis is in the bath, and she’s in pain!”
When “I” explained what had happened in the bathroom, my senior’s father was momentarily lost in thought. Then, Thi s chapt er tran sl ation is ma de po ssib le by stab bin g wit h a syr inge tra nslati ons. Che ck onl y up-to-d ate tran slat ions on my Wor dpres s si te.
“Oh, it’s okay. Just leave her alone.”
“Why?”
“Don’t worry about it. Or rather, let me ask you this. How do you know what’s going on in our bathtub?”
“I” didn’t answer. Or rather, “I” couldn’t answer.
“I” just turned red in the face and hurried home.
○●○●
“I see, so that’s how it is.”
When this dream began, I had a strange feeling of déjà vu.
But now I remember.
This was not only a dream, but also a long-forgotten “memory” in itself.
This time, another timeline.
It was dusk in summer.
With mosquitoes in the air, this time an older version of ‘I’ just returned to my house after a terrible day at work.
My house is a famous merchant’s house in my country, with a beautiful tiled roof, and outside a gardener tends our garden.
But there were many times when “I” was alone in this big house.
My mother was often ill and recuperating in her room, and my father was always away on a business trip.
The nanny, who cooked meals at regular times, and the helpers, who cleaned and washed clothes, were too… how would you describe it… formal? Because they work without any sense of personality.
I had no intention of feeling lonely or anything like that, but when I looked at this memory again, I could not help but see a hint of loneliness in “my” own eyes.
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“Dad, when are you coming home? I miss you already…”
My father was strict, but I always remembered muttering something like that when I was young, lying on the veranda with an ice cream in my hand.
“Speaking of which, Dad said he had received an order for weapons from the “Hero” last time. If that’s true, it could be a long time before he comes back.”
“I” said to himself, sighing sarcastically. It is a common behavior you develop when you spend a lot of time alone – you tend to talk to yourself more and more.
In the midst of this boredom, a woman’s voice rang out from the front door, causing “I” to get up.
“Hey, Pops! Are you home?”
She sounded like a young woman, so he wondered if she was a customer of his father’s.
If so, he’d have to ask her what she wished to order.
And so the lad, who had always been a good student and a diligent housekeeper, ran to the front door, note in hand, as he always did.
But the strange thing was that when he opened the door, the person standing before him was someone he hadn’t expected.
It was none other than the “Hero”.
And this “Hero” was a young girl who had been nominated by my country at the age of nineteen at that time.
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