I know why you're all here.  You want to hear a "lemon" story, 
complete with all the details.  I have to be honest, some of the 
details are a bit sketchy to me, too.  Like who the guy was, for 
instance.

And I *know* you're looking at me now in shock and thinking "Akari? 
*You*?"

Well, let me try to explain what happened...

========================
Ukyou Kuonji presents
a Ranma 1/2 fanfiction

SUSHIZUME NO SUMO

With apologies and homage to Rumiko Takahashi and Anais Nin
========================
WARNING: This story is marked lemon, after all; the central event is 
an erotic encounter.  It's not *loaded* with sex, but it's there.  If 
sex scenes are not your cup of tea, then I guess you should go on and 
check out the next post.  I really would like some commentary on this, 
though: lemon's not typical for me.  Send all C&C to ukyoukwnji@aol.com. 
Thanks.  Now, on with the story...
========================

I know, I know... you must think I'm awful, for having allowed this to 
happen.  After all, shouldn't I be faithful to my darling Ryouga-sama?

But you must understand... this happened *before* I met him, even 
before my dear Katsunishiki was crowned champion sumo pig of Japan. 
Well, not much before *that*.

In those days, I had devoted my fifteen years to raising the best sumo 
pigs in Japan.  Grandfather was so proud of my dedication, but worried 
that I might be losing a bit of perspective.

"You should get out more, Akari-chan.  Meet some other people, meet 
some boys.  It's not like you can make love to the pigs, you know."  
He said all this with a twinkle in his eye, but there was a serious 
part to his admonition.  The Unryuu farm needed an heir, after all, 
and I was the only Unryuu left; the only one who could provide that 
heir.

That part of life didn't interest me much.  Comes from being around 
it too much, I guess.  Raising animals, you find yourself learning 
more about sex at its most basic level than any of those so-called 
sophisticates in Tokyo or Osaka.  The difference is, there's nothing 
titillating about it.

Breeding high-quality sumo pigs requires keeping careful track of 
which boar mates with which sow and when.  I have to supervise these 
matings more often than not.  It's not that I don't enjoy the task -- 
I love every minute I'm with my precious piggies -- but the act itself 
is something quite unsettling to watch.  The boar circles the sow, as 
if appraising her.  It doesn't take long before you can see this pointy 
red thing dangling down from his belly.  It looks sharp and angry, like 
a firebrand or an arrow.  The boar then places his forelegs onto the 
sow's back -- sometimes I or one of the hired hands have to assist him 
in this -- and then, he jams it into the sow, who quite naturally 
reacts with a loud squeal.  One of the hirelings tried to convince 
me one that it was a squeal of pleasure, but it always struck me as 
a scream.

And I often found myself wondering... is *this* what all the carrying 
on is all about?  All the songs, all the poetry, all the beauty man 
can create... this is what it comes down to?  A few minutes of pain 
for the female, and pleasure for the male?  What's so special about 
this?  Why is it so all-fired important?  Why is everyone so taken 
by it?

***

It from was watching that scene, repeated over and over before my eyes, 
I decided to swear off of men.  Granted it wasn't as if I'd ever known 
much about them, but if they were anything like these boars (and aren't 
humans just highly advanced animals, anyway?), the very thought of 
being on the receiving end of their... affections... chilled me.

At the same time, there was the matter of some of the hired hands, and 
later, a number of village boys, taking an interest in me.  It pleased 
Grandfather no end that I was blooming into a desirable young woman, 
but I was alarmed at the intentions that I imagined them having toward 
me.  So I laid down the law: anyone who could out-wrestle our prize 
boar, Katsunishiki, would be the man for me.  Many tried... none 
succeeded.

And I found a strange thrill in watching suitors come and go, trying 
their luck with Katsunishiki.  I would watch every match intently, 
breathing in the musky aroma of sweat and strain, as they battled my 
champion.  Some held their own for quite some time, and watching the 
combatants push and shove against each other, a little part of me 
would tighten, tighten... waiting for the moment when, with one 
magnificent final thrust, my champion Katsunishiki would push the 
boy out of the ring.  And when he did, the emotional rush that would 
overtake me was just fantastic beyond imagination.

In short, sumo had become my sex.  What did I need the real thing for?

***

The summer of my fifteenth year had us entering the All-Japan Sumo Pig 
Competition, held that year in the beach resort town of Miyako, up in 
northern Honshu.  Katsunishiki, after many battles with porcine and 
human competetors alike, had finally earned the title of prefectural 
champion that year, and as such, would prove to be a formidable 
contender for the All-Japan title.  Grandfather and I were truly 
excited about our chances:  to win this would be a coup of major 
proportions, both for the Unryuu Farm, and for family-owned sumo-pig 
farms in general.  For three years, the title had been owned by an 
incredible specimen known as Butanishiki, owned and raised by Butazumo 
Farms Limited.  

Can you imagine it?  A *corporation* had produced a three-time champion 
sumo pig.  It was sacrilege enough when Butnishiki first entered the 
competition when I was ten.  All the family farms raised a howl of 
protest even then.  But the judges ruled that this corporate pig 
could compete, and after two unsuccessful attempts, Butanishiki won 
the All-Japan tournament, and was not dislodged from that lofty perch 
for three whole years.  It was a terrible blow, even for those family 
farms, like ours, that had never raised an all-Japan champion.  The 
corporate world had done better than those many boars raised and 
trained with tender loving care in the time honored traditions of 
sumo husbandry.

But now, our time had come.

***

We arrived early to the circus-style tent in which the tournament 
was to be held.  Grandfather and the hirelings went off to tend to 
Katsunishiki, and I had been sent off to wander around.  "You've 
earned the day off, Akari-chan.  Just enjoy the matches today.  And 
remember, regardless of the outcome, you and Katsunishiki are already 
winners.  And you..." he tousled my hair, "have always been my little 
champion.  Now, why don't you head off to the beach and mingle a bit?"

The beach, however, was the furthest thing from my mind.  I was far too
nervous to go anywhere but the tournament grounds.  I hadn't brought 
a swimsuit, anyway.  I was dressed in what I considered to be reasonably 
good clothes for the occasion: short tartan skirt, over-the-calf white 
stockings, and a thin white blouse with the Unryuu family crest over 
the left breast (well, you wouldn't wear a *kimono* to a sumo pig match, 
especially not in the heat of midsummer), and I preferred to remain that 
way for the day.  I had to check out the schedule of competitions, after 
all, and find a good seat from which to watch them, and I wanted to look 
professional, as if I belonged there.  Which I did.

As I looked at the tournament schedule, I was pleased to note that 
Katsunishiki was set in a different octant than the notorious
Butanishiki. 
This meant that they would not face each other until the final, and what 
a final it would be!  At the same time, I was a bit distressed as I 
looked about the tent.  The planners had obviously not considered the 
sport's popularity, as there was hardly room enough to hold the crowd 
that had attended our prefectural competition a week or so back.  And 
what with the occasional holidaymakers dropping in to observe the 
matches, we would be crowded in this place like sushi come match time.

***

It was as I feared, and worse.  I had found a seat, front and center, 
but as the crowds began to filter in, the seats filled up rapidly, to 
the point that I was compelled to stand in order to see over the heads 
of latecomers that simply stood practically at the edges of the ring. 
The event security guards managed to push them a reaonable distance 
away and set up sawhorses so that the combatants would be able to 
compete without being molested by the crowds, but that meant there 
were people standing barely a foot in front of me.  What could I do? 
I stood up too.

The tournament opened with a parade of the entrants, in reverse order 
of seed.  Katsunishiki was fourth from last, and I whooped loudly as 
he crossed the dais, performing the traditional leg excercises of the 
sumo wrestler.  Butanishiki came last, of course, and was greeted by 
the usual lusty boos from farmowners and sumo purists alike.  If he 
was aware of the reaction, he paid no notice of it, but went through 
the exercise ritual flawlessly.  I had to admire this animal -- he 
was showing more poise than many humans I could name.

The matches began, and Katsunishiki beat his first opponent quite 
handily.  And then, the rains began.

It was a slight drizzle at first, but slowly, inexorably, the rain 
increased in tempo and volume.  There was nowhere for the beachgoers 
to seek shelter from the rain, save for our tent.  And so they came, 
in droves.  By the start of the quarterfinals, I was hemmed in so 
tightly I could hardly even move.  It occured to me that there would 
be trouble if a fire, Kami forbid, should break out.  It never crossed 
my mind that a very different kind of fire was already smouldering 
just behind me...

***

Once again, Katsunishiki faced his opponent down and advanced to the 
semifinals.  He was going to have his work cut out for him -- his next 
opponent was ranked second in Japan only to Butanishiki himself. I was 
shaking from the excitement and tension of it all.

As I hopped giddily from toe to toe, I grew aware of the man behind me 
pressing himself against me rather more forcefully than necessary, 
even in this standing-room-only throng.  And as I moved up and down, 
I realized I was rubbing up against him... and that there was more and 
more I was rubbing against with each movement.

So I stopped, and stood as still as the crowd would let me.  I had no 
wish to provoke him to anything.

Whether he actually made any effort to control himself, I could not 
say, but his swollen member would not subside.  and I felt it nudging 
my backside through both of our clothes as the remaining quarterfinals 
progressed.  I was torn with conflicting emotions: I could see his 
penis in my mind's eye, sharp, piercing, red and angry.  It was as 
if he was holding a knife to me, threatening to slit me open if I 
resisted.

At the same time, I was in a feverish state of my own, having watched 
my dear Katsunishiki triumph twice already in the space of an hour or 
two.  I felt the wetness that accompanied each triumph, and I knew 
this prodding was amplifying the sensation.  I almost wondered what 
it would be like to share it with someone... 

I was starting to understand the songs.

***

The semifinals began, and Butanishiki swiftly dispatched his competetor.
The time had come for Katsunishiki.  I stood on my tiptoes to get a 
better view of the ring.  I found myself resting my buttocks ever so 
slightly on the man's bulge behind me.  It was starting to feel almost 
friendly, as if I were to squeeze a boy's hand in a movie theatre.

The two boars faced each other within the ring, and with the referee's 
signal, went at each other, pushing each other backward, each giving 
ground, then gaining it back.  I watched, transfixed...

...but I could feel a hand slip under my skirt, and slowly advance up 
my thigh, even as Katsunishiki advanced on his opponant for what I 
could see was to be his final push.  There it was, that great heave...

...and his opponant was on his backside, out of the ring; at the same 
time, the hand had clutched the hem of my panties.  I screamed in 
jubiliation at the victory -- he had made it! -- and without thinking, 
jumped for joy.  At that moment, the hand pulled down as I leapt up, 
and when I landed, my panties were at my ankles.

I was alarmed.  What was I to do now?  There was no way to get help -- 
Grandfather and the hired hands were busy readying Katsunishiki for the 
title bout, and my protector himself was obviously quite preoccupied. 
I couldn't take this day away from him.

Could I reach down and pull them back up?  I tried to bend my knees, 
but with the crowd pressing in from all sides, I couldn't get down 
far enough to reach my panties.  I resumed my standing position, and 
endevoured to bend at the waist, as the announcer and referee resumed 
their positions on the dais.

"Ladies and gentlemen, introducing..."

An involuntary gasp escaped my lips.  In bending over, I had granted 
him perfect access to me, and I felt the head of his penis slip inside. 
I blinked in surprise as I felt the tip slide in... it wasn't sharp at 
all.  It was not going to cut me to ribbons.  It merely wanted to be 
there, to share its own excitement with me... and perhaps partake of 
my own.

As the combatants once again entered the ring, I felt the man behind 
me as he moved closer to me; his chest against my back, his hips just 
barely touching mine, his warm breath on my neck, but most of all, 
the tantalizing touch of his sex in mine.

Once again, the signal was given, Katsu-kun made the first move and 
bumped Buta-san backward slightly.  At the same time, the man behind 
me gave a little push, and advanced within me.  Again, I gasped.  Now 
the two pigs began pushing in earnest.  With every push, every step 
backward and forward, the penis would advance and retreat ever so 
slightly and yet... there was no mistaking the movement.  The bout 
went on for some time, and as the two boars locked into a clinch, 
I could feel him behind me, close enough to drape himself over me; 
he was inside of me deeply now, pushing with each movement of the two 
competetors.  I could feel a fire building up within me, the winding, 
the tightening wait for the end.  I cried out my Katsunishiki's name.

And he roared to life, standing full on his haunches and shoving at 
Butanishiki with all his might.  The corporate pig was unprepared for 
the ferocity of Katsu-kun's assualt, and was tossed out of the ring 
with surprising force.  The crowd exulted, cheering the new champion, 
and the man behind me was pressed against me so tightly I could hardly 
breathe.  Then, with an almighty thrust of his own, he emptied himself 
into me.  I was already quaking from the thrill of victory, and now, 
this pulsing thrill filled my self, my soul.  My knees locked up, and 
in the heat and humanity, I fainted.

***

It couldn't have been long after when I awoke.  The crowd, though it 
had thinned considerably, was still milling around under the tent. 
Grandfather was still nowhere to be seen; of course, from my vantage 
point on the sandy floor, I wasn't able to see anyone anyway.

Including the man who'd made love to me...

***

I got less and less of a thrill watching Katsunishiki wrestle my 
suitors after that.  It was no longer important that he win, after 
all; in fact, I started to hope that he'd lose one sooner or later. 
But how could I cheer against my darling Katsu-kun?

Ryoga-sama, then, was a godsend, and I can hardly wait; maybe some day, 
once we're married, we could re-enact that day, with him filling in 
for that other man.  But for now... could this be our little secret? 
I don't want Ryouga-sama to find out about this.  He'll enjoy the day, 
when it comes but... he doesn't have to know about this.

========================

Author's notes --

This little story was spawned from a chat I had a while back with my 
online mentor, New Najar.  He was commenting quite favourably about 
'Subterraneo', and suggested I try to write something *really* erotic. 
Well...

I knew my own personal experiences couldn't compare to the literary 
fantasies some have conjured up (I'm not knocking Konatsu here; it's 
just that reality -- and morality -- imposes certain limitations on us 
all, ne?)  So I recalled a scene within Anais Nin's short story 'The 
Woman on the Dunes' of an incident in the middle of a teeming, jam-
packed crowd.  It's the ultimate example of what Erica Jong referred 
to as the 'zipless fuck,' and one of the most erotic scenes, IMHO, 
I've ever read.

The problems were how to adapt it to the Ranmaverse.  After all, most 
of the Ranma girls would deck anyone who tried this sort of thing. 
It's even significantly out of character for the ordinarily virginal 
Akari, but she's the only one who might not fight it off (she leaves 
the martial arts to Katsunishiki, after all)  And besides, she might 
just be able to get off from a sumo match, especially if, as at moment 
of victory, she experiences another thrill of a totally different 
nature.  And so, here we are.

It feels like a rather feeble attempt to replicate the experience, 
although to be honest, I've been writing this story almost sequentially 
for a change, and the tension that's been building up in myself over 
the past week has let me sort of empathize with this Akari.  The
subplots really started to crowd out the focal scene, and it got kinda
touch-and-go trying to work it in adequately

I'd like to know what you all think of it; I admit that lemon writing 
caters to a completely different audience than any other genre, but hey 
-- all the better for the variety of response.

Additionally... I don't know if it showed any or not, but I know nothing 
about breeding pigs, and next to nothing about sumo (it's not like you 
get it on 'Wide World of Sports' or anything, ya know).  If it didn't, 
great; if it did, let me know what I can do to straighten it out.

Write me at ukyoukwnji@aol.com.

Until next time, ja!

Itsu mo,
Ucchan   ^_^