You were no stranger to being different; as long as you can remember, you’d been a little outside of the normal flow and ebb of everyone else’s lives. Some of the things they held so important were inconsequential to you, such as the implicit timing involved in life: such and such job by this age, marriage by that age, house ownership by this age. You’ve always had your own schedule. This is why, that rainy day in the tourist town of Hida-Takayama, Japan, where you saw Kimmiko for the first time, you knew exactly where she was coming from.
You were in the town’s historic district, with its russet brown wooden buildings with sliding paper curtains. The finest sake in the region is brewed here. When you ducked into this brewery’s lounge to hide from the monsoon happening outside, it was her that greeted you with a smile, and warmed with her serene beauty. Kimmiko, dressed in the traditional-style servant kimono, brings a cup and a pitcher of sake to you. She pours your drink, and sits on her knees, looking at you. What does she want? She hands you a towel, and you realize – you must look odd, soaking wet. You thank her, in your terrible Japanese.
“English?” she asks.
You nod and smile. Kimmiko is obviously pleased. She speaks to you in halting English. She compliments you on the way you butchered her language; it’s really not important that you are a perfect speaker, instead, it’s appreciated when a foreigner tries.
You spend several hours there, enjoying your sake and Kimmiko’s company. She serves the regulars and manages to circle around to you, stopping to chat for a few minutes, before seeing to everyone else. As the night lingers, so too is Kimmiko able to linger with you longer, until, at the end of the night, you are her only customer, conversation partner, and concern. It is not uncommon for the house to join its guests in drinking sake, and soon you, Kimmiko, and the rest of the staff are singing and bonding like the best of friends. Kimmiko leans in and asks, “Would you walk me home?”
The rain has let up by now and you have a pleasant stroll through the empty streets, still slick with rain. When you arrive at Kimmiko’s apartment building, you pretend to be noble, but she pulls you inside anyway. You sit on the couch in Kimmiko’s modern apartment and she plops down in your lap. She sits up and tells you her secret: “I’m not like most Japanese women,” she says. She unties the sash around her waist. Her kimono opens, revealing the most amazingly huge, heaving breasts – do they even make bras that big? It was impossible, you had no idea that was hiding beneath her clothes this whole time.
“You’re different too, aren’t you?” she says. She takes your hand in hers. She guides your hand toward her, until you are holding her breast. It’s so heavy! You try not to gasp, but you still intake your breath sharply. “I can tell you are,” Kimmiko says.
Like Kimmiko's face but would rather select your own body style and options? 
