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I was not ashamed to admit it. My eyes were not following the oxide-bitten bars of steel that passed beneath our feet, nor were they swinging through the restless arms of trees that sheltered us from the sun.

 

Instead, they were snuggled in the damp crevice between the vanilla mounds--pinched with brown sugar--that peeked from the cargo shorts of my guide. My chin and lips protruded upward, as if caught on a snag, trying to mask the obvious inclination of my eyes. Sliding down those winter slopes, I traced her Spring baked thighs and watched them shake with each foot upon the train tracks. Her thighs were firm with muscles (and oh so capable of squeezing), and they jiggled like chilled pudding. Her waist's narrow dip seemed ready to accomodate the placement of my palms. It was when I was climbing her spine, like the vertical steps leading to an ancient mountain temple, when she quickly came to a halt.

 

"Oi," she said, against a profile sharper than obsidian.

 

"Um... Y-yes?" I attempted nonchalance. A marble of sweat rolled down my neck. I swallowed, hard.

 

Her sideways gaze assumed a dark shade, gleaming like a bulb behind a shock of red drapes. "You were looking at me again in 'that way,' weren't you?"

 

"I didn't--I mean, why would I? Er, rather, why would anyone ever--"

 

There was a flash and a glance before sandled toes flogged my stomach. I snapped like bamboo in the wind and fell onto the dirt beside the tracks. My head slid into the wall of brush that surrounded us like a subway tunnel. Luckily, by force of habit, my arms were craddling my camera from the fall.

 

"Hey!" I said. "Every time you do that, there's a chance you could seriously damage my camera!"

 

She stood atop the tracks like a warrior on a hill. Her eyes were not pitiful, nor even condescending, but dull and cold like the pebbles in the shade. And she spoke:

 

"I will respect your possessions when you learn to stop leering at mine."

 

I had nothing to say to that. I felt like a lecher and a sore loser. I didn't deserve to defend my actions.

 

"Understood," I said. I bowed deeply, as flat as a table. "I apologize for disrespecting you... Cyra-sama." I stared into the dirt, anticipating her response.

 

"Miyata-san, you... You are being a fool! Please do not address me with the 'sama' honorific. I am merely a guide from the village, and nothing more." Her speech was frayed and jagged, like it were torn out with a jack-knife. "Please, Miyata-san, let us hurry to the ruins."

 

I sincerely did not wish to fluster her further, so I did not ask about her sudden change in attitude. I returned to my place on the tracks, and we continued our walk.