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Mono no aware the gentle melancholy of the fleeting. A Japanese exchange student. A professors wife. One year in a Victorian mansion in Massachusetts. Hiroshi craves the whisper of Wolford nylon on warm skin. Elena longs for poetry that makes her feel alive again. Between autumn leaves, crackling fireplaces, and stolen moments unfolds an erotic journey written in haiku, felt in silk. More works & info: kopfkino.vip
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Seitenzahl: 25
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Silken Dreams in New England
A Sensual Novella
Rosa Star
The Author
Rosa Star writes with the precision of a silk weaver and the soul of a poet. Her stories are not mere tales—they are experiences that slip beneath the skin, where romance and sensuality unite in a slow, deliberate dance.
Chapter 1 – The Flight Across the Pacific
The sky over the Pacific was an endless gray as Hiroshi Tanaka sat in United Airlines’ Business Class, staring out the window. Fourteen hours from Tokyo to Boston—time enough to reflect on what lay ahead. A year as an exchange student at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. A year far from the familiar crush of Shibuya, far from cherry blossoms and the silent temples of Kyoto.
He was 21, slender, with the delicate features of a young man who lived more in books than in the world. His mother had packed him a bento box with onigiri and umeboshi. “Eat, so you stay strong,” she had said, hugging him tightly. His father, a professor of classical Japanese literature, had merely nodded: “Learn. Observe. Write.”
Hiroshi wore a simple white shirt, dark jeans, and sneakers. In his suitcase: books by Bashō, Kawabata, and Emily Dickinson—read in English to prepare. And in a small silk pouch: a Wolford Individual 10 pantyhose, bought a year earlier in a Ginza department store. Not for a woman. For himself. For the moment he would roll it over his own skin, to feel what he could never say aloud.
The fetish was a secret. In Japan, invisible, unspeakable. Here, in America, perhaps a little freer.
Chapter 2 – The First Glance
Logan Airport, Boston. 14:17.
Professor Elias Harrison waited with a cardboard sign: TANAKA. He was tall, silver temples, a tweed jacket smelling of pipe tobacco. Beside him, Elena.
She was not what Hiroshi had expected. No stern academic. She was… alive. 44 years old, yet her skin glowed like polished porcelain. Long, wavy chestnut hair tied in a loose knot. Green eyes that seemed to smile before her mouth did.
She wore a long moss-green wool cape, beneath it a silk dress the color of autumn leaves. And the legs—long, slender, sheathed in sheer “cashmere” tights. The heels of her black pumps were delicate, 8 cm high.
“Konnichiwa, Hiroshi,” she said, bowing slightly. Her voice was deep, warm, like a cello.
In the car—an old Volvo station wagon—Hiroshi sat in the back. Elena turned around. “Are you hungry? We have pumpkin soup at home.”
He nodded. “Arigatou.”
She smiled. “You’ll have to speak English. But don’t worry—I’ll help you.”
Chapter 3 – The House on Maple Lane
The house was a 19th-century dream: Victorian, with a veranda, bay windows, and a garden stretching to the woods. Hiroshi’s room was under the roof: slanted beams, a four-poster bed with white linens, a desk by the window. From there he saw Elena in the garden—raking leaves, the nylon of her tights shimmering in the backlight like liquid amber.
That evening by the fireplace: pumpkin soup with thyme, homemade cornbread, a 2012 Pinot Noir from Oregon.
Elias spoke of T.S. Eliot. Elena refilled the wine. “Tell us about Japan, Hiroshi.”
