Ueha Aya & Ooshima Yuuka Lesbian Therapy Session. Yuka had carried a secret torch for Aya since they were in school. Years of whispered confidences, shared laughter, and late-night talks had woven a bond tighter than sisterhood. But for Yuka, it was more. Much more. Aya, oblivious, saw Yuka as her rock, her confidante, her best friend. Yuka, painfully aware of the chasm between them, kept her desires locked down, a dull ache in her chest. She watched Aya navigate life, her heart twisting with a longing she dared not voice.
Then came the bombshell. Over lukewarm coffee at their usual cafe, Aya dropped it casually, as if announcing a change in hairstyle. “I’m starting a new job,” she’d said, stirring her drink. Yuka waited, expecting something mundane, office work perhaps, or maybe teaching. “At a… lesbian therapy place.”
Yuka almost choked. “Therapy?” she echoed, her voice tighter than she intended.
Aya nodded, avoiding Yuka’s gaze. “Yeah, you know… helping women explore, feel comfortable… it’s supposed to be really empowering.” Her words felt rehearsed, hollow. Yuka knew Aya well enough to see the forced brightness in her eyes, the tremor in her hand holding the spoon.
“And… why?” Yuka pressed, the question sticking in her throat.
Aya finally looked up, her usual vibrant energy dimmed. “He… he’s not been working, Yuka. You know that. And things are… tight.” ‘He’. Yuka’s blood ran cold. Aya’s husband. The shadow that had fallen across Aya’s life, leaching her joy, her spirit. Yuka had never met him, had only heard fragments, carefully curated versions of their life together. Pieces that painted a picture of neglect, of emotional, maybe even worse, darkness.
Jealousy, sharp and ugly, clawed at Yuka. Jealousy of this man who held Aya captive, jealousy of the women who would soon be close to Aya in ways Yuka could only dream of. But beneath the jealousy, a fierce protectiveness surged. Aya, luminous, fragile Aya, entering this… world.
Days turned into weeks. Yuka, consumed by a restless energy, learned the name of the establishment: ‘Lesbian Therapy Session’. The website, discreet but suggestive, confirmed her worst fears. Aya’s image wasn’t there, of course, but Yuka knew. She knew the curve of Aya’s smile, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she was genuinely amused, something Yuka hadn’t seen in far too long.
Driven by a cocktail of desperation and a terrifying curiosity, Yuka found herself standing outside the discreet, unmarked door. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat. She smoothed down her worn leather jacket, took a shaky breath, and went in.
The reception was plush, softly lit, scented with something vaguely floral and undeniably alluring. A woman with a knowing smile and eyes that missed nothing greeted her. Yuka, her carefully constructed composure threatening to crumble, mumbled something about an appointment, vaguely using the website jargon she’d frantically memorized.
“And who are you hoping to connect with today?” the receptionist asked, her voice smooth as silk.
Yuka’s throat constricted. Could she even say it? Could she utter Aya’s name in this place, in this context? She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the polished floor. Then, lifting her head, her voice barely a whisper, she said, “Ueha Aya.”
A flicker of something – surprise? recognition? – crossed the receptionist’s face. Then the practiced smile returned, wider now, almost predatory. “Ah, Aya-san. A popular choice. Just a moment.”
The wait felt like an eternity. Yuka’s palms were slick with sweat. She imagined Aya, somewhere behind these closed doors, with someone else. Touching someone else. The thought was a physical blow.
Then, a door opened. And Aya stood there.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Aya’s eyes widened, mirroring Yuka’s own shock. Her usual bright smile was gone, replaced by a mixture of confusion and something akin to fear. She was dressed differently here, Yuka noted distantly, in something silky and low cut, exposing more skin than Yuka had ever seen her reveal. It was… breathtaking, and utterly wrong.
“Yuka…?” Aya breathed, her voice barely audible above the soft music filtering through the air.
Yuka stepped forward, drawn in by an invisible force. “Aya,” she whispered back, her gaze locked on Aya’s. The receptionist had discreetly vanished, leaving them alone in the softly lit hallway.
“What… what are you doing here?” Aya asked, her voice trembling now.
Yuka reached out, her fingers brushing Aya’s arm. The soft silk felt electric against her skin. “I came for you, Aya.” The words were out, raw and honest, stripped bare of years of unspoken longing.
Aya’s breath hitched. She looked at Yuka’s hand on her arm, then up into Yuka’s eyes, searching, questioning. In that moment, the carefully constructed walls around them seemed to crumble. The ‘therapy session’, the brothel, the pretense, all faded into insignificance. There was only Yuka and Aya, two women, years of friendship, and a truth that had finally been spoken.
“This isn’t… ” Aya started, her voice catching again.
Yuka pressed closer, her other hand reaching up to cup Aya’s face. Her thumb brushed lightly across Aya’s cheekbone. “This is everything, Aya. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Aya’s eyes fluttered shut. Yuka leaned in, her lips hovering just above Aya’s. She could smell Aya’s familiar scent, a mix of vanilla and something uniquely hers. The air between them crackled with unspoken desires, years of suppressed emotions finally straining to break free.
“Let me,” Yuka murmured, her voice husky with emotion, “let me show you what therapy really means.” And then, she kissed her. Not a tentative, friendly brush of lips, but a deep, lingering kiss that poured all of Yuka’s pent-up longing, her years of unspoken love, into Aya. A kiss that promised not just therapy, but something far more profound, something that could change everything between them forever.
