Tokyo, my heart is in turmoil

Chapter One:
My Journey to Japan Was Driven by Lust, and Not Just Any Lust.
In the US, I helped a large Japanese company win a copyright lawsuit, forcing the infringing party to pay a hefty sum and suffer a complete collapse in the American market. I received a generous undercover investigation fee.
Mr. Ogawa, the company's liaison, told me that the Japanese headquarters was extremely satisfied with my performance and had specially invited me and my wife to Japan for twelve days, with all food, accommodation, and international travel expenses reimbursed.
The company's generosity naturally pleased me. This lawsuit had drained me of my energy, and I really needed to rest. Japan is a wonderful place; it was mid-autumn, the tourist season was nearing its end, perfect for relaxing and enjoying the boundless autumn colors.
However, my family had been to Japan three times before, experiencing all the good food, drinks, and fun. This time, I wanted to go alone, planning a different kind of trip, a completely new way of experiencing it—for example, fully immersing myself in authentic Japanese women.
Was it appropriate to bring my wife?
I've always had a fondness for Japanese women. As a child, I was deeply attracted by the elegance and poise of Japanese women in Japanese movies. Later, as an adult, I had the opportunity to watch Japanese adult films, and the alluring and wanton nature of the actresses was unforgettable. Japanese women are a unique sight on Earth, even those who hate Japan have to admit it. I want to experience it firsthand, to feast my eyes on them, so that I will have no regrets in this life.
In university, I took Japanese as my elective foreign language. My teacher was a foreign teacher sent by Osaka University of Foreign Studies, who always dressed beautifully, her ample breasts heaving in and
out. With such a beautiful foreign teacher, I studied very diligently, consistently ranking among the top students in my class. After starting work, I had little opportunity to interact with Japanese people or speak much, only able to find time to read Japanese newspapers and watch Japanese television. When a Japanese company selected an infringement investigator and chose our company, assigning me to oversee the investigation, it was largely thanks to my strong Japanese foundation. When discussing matters with Ogawa, the contact person for the Japanese company, our communication was half English and half Japanese. He liked Chinese food, and I liked Japanese food; back and forth, my Japanese returned to its best level ever.
I was very familiar with Ogawa, and Japanese men aren't shy about talking about women, so I laid out my plan to travel to Japan alone. His eyes immediately lit up with lust, and he applauded enthusiastically. He said, "He-kun, your idea is good. However, this extra expense..." He hesitated.
I said, "Of course, I'll cover that expense. I'll attend your company's social events, and I can manage the extra time myself. You're a local in Japan, so do me a favor, recommend projects, and handle the connections. My requirements are: genuine Japanese women, high-quality women, women that foreigners generally don't encounter."
Ogawa said, "You mean the fairies in anime?"
I laughed and said, "What, my requirements aren't high, are they? Also, I need natural women—natural breasts, natural vulva, understated makeup, and conservative clothing."
He leaned closer and said, "Should I keep the pubic hair?"
I rolled my eyes and answered, "Yes, completely natural, without exception."
He added, "By 'natural,' I mean like the vegetables and fruits we grow in Japan—we just pick them and eat them directly."
A woman who touches my body inappropriately is just like a fruit sprayer that sprays pesticides indiscriminately, isn't she? I can't have her, I can't have her.
I opened my palms, reiterating that what I need is a woman who looks like a respectable woman, not a scantily clad woman on the street with eyes that seem to want to kill. Understand?
Ogawa's eyes darted around, quickening their pace, his ten fingers tapping back and forth on his chin. He said, "I understand, I understand, I need to think about it carefully."
Fortunately, his thinking time wasn't long.
He asked, "My plan is starting to take shape. Let's leave it at that for now. What are your own thoughts? For example, what are your sexual fantasies? What kind of Japanese woman makes you dream about sex every night? Point me in a direction, and I'll help you open the door."
I couldn't help but become serious. What kind of Japanese woman makes my heart flutter?
Looking back on my life, I've had extremely limited daily contact with Japanese women. My thoughts have only been projected onto movie, television, and computer screens. Among the actresses who are considered presentable, Keiko Matsuzaka is one.
Back when I watched "The March of Kamata" in my homeland, she was bare-legged, her buttocks, clad in black underwear, rubbing back and forth on the floor as she knelt. My eyes were glued to her, I dared not blink, afraid to miss a single detail. She had a sex scene with a Playboy actor, but it was only shown briefly. The male audience members who understood the essence of the film shouted in dissatisfaction, "It was cut! How could it be cut?" Lacking experience, I couldn't imagine what was cut. Leaving the theater, all I could think about was her face, her inner thighs, and her rolling around on the tatami bed. Ah, her sexiness stirred up my teenage world of budding romance.
Later, I had the chance to watch the uncut version of "The March of Kamata" online, seeing the complete sex scene, seeing her full, round breasts. The only flaw was that her nipples were dark, perhaps from overuse. But the flaw didn't detract from her beauty; her looks, combined with her body, basically matched my ideal of perfection as a young man!
Among adult film actresses, there are many, many who can arouse my heart and stimulate my penis. If I absolutely had to rank them, and only choose one, Aida Yu would undoubtedly be the best. When she's not in bed, she's so sweet, her smile so pure, revealing a ring of dimples—she looks like the diligent, ambitious girl next door. But once she's in bed, oh my god, the force she exudes is enough to kill a man. She's made countless films, showing everything that needs to be shown, except her vulva. It's hateful that the old men in Japan who censor films insist on covering her vital parts with thick mosaics, staring at them without moving, making us feel like we're watching a blob of pink paste, writhing incessantly. Why doesn't she learn from Hatano Setsuie and offer her pink vulva for the world to admire? Break through that damned mosaic, and how much more semen would men everywhere offer her!
Either of these two, in theory, would be enough to move me. The problem is, Matsuzaka is already past her prime.
Aida Yu has long since retired from the film industry; perhaps she's already a mother, teaching her children to draw and play tennis.
I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask, so I said, "What do you think of Matsusaka Keiko?"
Ogawa looked at me suspiciously and asked, "Who? That Matsusaka-kun? What's wrong with her?"
I repeated the name, emphasizing, "You know, that sexy actress."
He said, "Sorry, never heard of her." "As for sexiness, there are plenty of sexy actresses in Japan. Many have even stripped naked for a role. Is she famous? You
don't even know Matsusaka Keiko? Does this guy even watch Japanese movies? Is he some kind of hot-blooded man?"
I said dejectedly, "I think she won some Japanese film award. At least she's very, very famous in China." "Let me put it this way," I said, "if I were the emperor and she wanted to be with me, I'd gladly give up the throne."
He said, "So you mean 'choosing love over power'? You have that old Japanese samurai spirit of martyrdom, huh?" "Hmm, that won't do. If she's a really famous star, it's not your turn."
I didn't mention Aida Yu. She's an adult film actress, a superstar in the industry. If we were really going to do prostitution, I probably wouldn't be the one. After all, I'm not the emperor.
I said, "Let me put it this way, I want to meet porn actresses. They're our teachers of sex techniques, to experience their true skills and fulfill a lifelong wish."
Xiao Chuan disagreed, saying, "You just said you wanted them to look like respectable women. Porn actresses are seasoned veterans; they have nothing to do with respectable women."
I said, "I'm in charge. Even in porn, many actresses look more like respectable women than decent women in China or America."
You Japanese, well, you're something else. Also, I want to see your beautiful young women; their eyes don't necessarily have to be as big as anime characters', but they absolutely have to be cute. And then there's the desire to see mature Japanese women, to see just how gentle they really are. Well, I'm afraid that won't be possible, but the desire is very strong. Do you understand what I mean?
Ogawa started clapping again, saying, "Do you want all three, or just one?"
I thought for a moment and said, "If I can manage, I'll take them all." I was ready to go all out and have a major battle!
He glanced at me and said, "Hey, your trip to Japan is only twelve days. You need to adjust to the time difference and the new environment. Is your body able to handle this?"
I said, "There are only about ten things in life that can't wait, and the one thing you can't wait for is romance. Waiting means getting a year older, and then sighing in vain—that's a man's greatest tragedy."
Ogawa nodded, jokingly saying, "I'll give you a good remedy: eat kaiseki cuisine every day, and at least drink plenty of scallop miso soup whenever you have a spare moment. Otherwise, your body won't be able to withstand the onslaught. It's like a toothache; even if I bring you a table full of delicious food, can you eat it all?" "Drink some cold water," he replied. "Mr. He, I don't want, and my company doesn't want, for you to leave Japan feeling powerless and desolate."
I laughed at his joking, trying to bolster his argument, saying, "I don't necessarily have to go to Japan. If your arrangements are to my liking, I can leave tomorrow."
He repeated, "Tomorrow? Tomorrow?"
I laughed.
He clapped his hands together, making a sound, and said, "I'll give you the proposal to review in three days."
Ogawa may be joking, but his efficiency was undeniable. On the third day, he bypassed the company secretary and barged into my office, carrying a large, specially made file from his company. "Mr. He," he said, "the time for you to make your decision has come."
My hands trembled with excitement. I called out the secretary's name, asking her to come and clear my desk. I want to lay everything out and take a good look. Xiao Chuan smiled mysteriously and said, "You want her to help you choose?"
I slapped my forehead. Dizzy, dizzy. Lust is a double-edged sword, and here I am, already caught in it.
I added loudly, "Forget it. I can manage myself."
According to my wishes, Xiao Chuan prepared three options. He emphasized that his arrangement was unique; those without money shouldn't dream, and those with money might not be able to buy it.
Listening to his explanation, I flipped through each file, looking back and forth between the made-up photos and the everyday photos. I arranged the photos in three rows: one with clothes on, one without. Whose breasts were higher, whose were lower, whose pubic hair was thicker, whose was sparser—it was all immediately clear. A pink dream filled my mind; I wanted nothing more than to kick Xiao Chuan away, greet the beautiful women, lie down on the spot, and plunge deeper into their gentle embrace.
My crotch hardened. Yes, in front of Xiao Chuan, this less-than-ideal-looking man, my crotch hardened.
Xiao Chuan rubbed his hands together, and without my permission, lit a cigarette, puffing out clouds of smoke. I pulled out a hard-shell envelope and pushed it in front of him. He flicked some ash from his cigarette and said, "If you can handle it, it's all yours. But..." I looked up, unsure what he was up to. "Don't mess with me," I thought. "If you keep this up, I'll kick you out. "
He said, "No, no, don't treat me like an enemy. I've helped you out again, a lot. What's a good friend?
Finding a woman for a friend is what a true friend does!"
I straightened the envelope and had him flick some more ash.
He said, "Like you Chinese say, a good person should go all the way. I've worked hard for you, secured a considerable amount of pocket money for you, earmarked for specific purposes, you know. You want to stay in hotels all day and sleep, nobody can stop you, you've even earned some extra money to take back to America. I want you to spend it all, not a penny left. The Japanese economy is weak, very weak, it needs consumption, all kinds of consumption. I'm not sure if the pocket money will be enough. I think it's about right. You can't stay awake all the time, can you?"
I reached out to Ogawa for a cigarette. He twisted his neck and said, "Didn't you say you quit for 20 years?"
I took the cigarette, didn't light it, smelled it, and rolled it on my chin. It smelled like tobacco, but what I smelled was a delicate woman's scent.
He said, "I've instructed the person in Tokyo to keep company activities to a minimum, so you have ample personal time to spend with women."
I closed the file he brought, snapped the unsmoked cigarette in half, and said, "I'm ready."
Ogawa said, "Good luck!"
The second time
... Departing from Los Angeles, I flew for nearly twelve hours on an ANA flight, arriving at Haneda Airport in the afternoon.
At the international arrivals exit, a huge English welcome sign stood, proclaiming, "Tokyo will surely touch your heart!" Tokyo, I've arrived. You will not only touch my heart, but also shake my body. I entrust my body and soul to you; please don't let me down.
Two young men from Ogawa's company picked me up at the airport. In the car, we exchanged brief pleasantries; I didn't ask many questions, and they didn't say much either. I figured they were just errand runners; someone else would tell me the details sooner or later. I hoped it was sooner rather than later; waiting too long wasn't good for my health.
The company booked me a hotel in Shinjuku, an American-owned chain, standing tall and stylish, very close to Kabukicho. Kabukicho is infamous, practically a red-light district, a place where men's semen flows freely. They insisted on checking me in, pressing the elevator button for me, and watching until the elevator doors closed.
When I finished washing up and went downstairs, the two men jumped up as if they'd seen a yakuza boss. Being treated like a big shot felt good in one word.
The car drove into a tall building, and we rode the rapidly ascending elevator. Through the elevator's large glass windows, Tokyo at night stretched out its enormous coat. Endless lights twinkled; which of those lights were burning for the three Japanese women I was about to witness? Just thinking about it made my crotch itch. In the world of business , one is often not in control of one's own destiny. In Tokyo at night, I longed to give my body to the women of Tokyo. Luckily, I had changed into comfortable autumn clothes; all others could see were neatly pressed trousers.
A group of company employees were waiting in a Western-style restaurant, the magnificent night view still visible through the large glass windows. I shook hands with everyone and exchanged business cards. Only one woman was present, around forty years old, tall and thin, with an average appearance.
I guessed she was in charge of finance. With her there, there was no chance of drinking with prostitutes. I didn't care. Hadn't I told Ogawa that the company should leave me alone, that I could act independently? The
company employees treated me with great respect, showering me with compliments, especially praising my Japanese, saying it sounded very Osaka-accented. I could only laugh it off. Tokyoites and Osakaites like to subtly undermine each other; there's a deep-seated resentment between them. I drank the easy-to-drink sake, but after a few cups, I vomited, the aftereffects kicking in, and I started to feel dizzy and lightheaded. I cursed myself inwardly, how could I be so careless as to drink so much? Was my first night in Tokyo really going to be spent in a stupor? Seeing this, the company's vice president quickly explained that the sake they served had a strong aftereffect, but the effect wouldn't last long.
He said to relax a bit, and I'd be fine as ever. His mention of "relaxing" made me wonder about what he meant and where it would happen, and I glanced at the women at the table a few more times. Was she going to join in?
The mystery was soon revealed: "relaxing" meant singing karaoke, and the woman was the main performer. Goodness, don't let her unassuming appearance fool you; her singing voice was absolutely first-rate. She sang Japanese and English songs in turn, each one captivating. At that moment, I thought she was actually quite pretty. In China, the people who accompany you for drinking and singing are usually young and beautiful girls; middle-aged women would never have the chance, and if they insisted on doing so, the guests would be very unhappy. Japan is entering an aging society, and people in all walks of life are getting older.
I also belted out a few songs, earning polite applause. The vice president was right; as the effects of the alcohol wore off, my spirits gradually rose.
The food was eaten, the songs were sung, the conversations were told, and it was time for the banquet to end. A sharp-looking young man approached, handed me a file, and said, "This is your schedule in Tokyo. Have a good time."
I didn't open it immediately. I stood up, gave him a slight bow, and said thank you. There was no need to ask too many questions about such arrangements; I figured the arrangements were obvious.
Back at the hotel, as soon as I entered, I quickly turned on the desk lamp and eagerly began reading the company's plan. Reading it made my blood boil, and my dormant penis awoke, standing erect. I flicked my penis with my fingernail; it was now fully erect. What to do? The first woman I was supposed to meet was scheduled for tomorrow morning. Now, I was awake, excited, but how to pass the time? Should I rely on my own hard work? No, absolutely not.
I turned on my laptop, played online games for a while, and browsed Tokyo's delivery website, looking at the photos of the girls on duty, carefully reading the descriptions, comparing videos and cartoon illustrations. I called the shop, and a man answered. I told him I needed 90 minutes for in-room service and requested a "VIP" girl named Ryoko who was over 1.6 meters tall, had fair skin, and was over 1.6 meters tall. I liked her personal review and the manager's comments. I was told the girl would arrive in an hour and a half, and I needed to wait at the hotel entrance. After confirming, he asked my name and what I would be wearing so Ryoko would be easily recognizable.
I went downstairs early and waited outside the hotel. Japanese people are punctual, and I didn't want to waste time.
Ryoko arrived on time. She was dressed casually, in high boots and a miniskirt. I smiled at her and asked, "Ryoko?" She smiled and nodded, swaying her hips as she walked towards me, took my arm, and said, "Shall we go in?"
After entering my room, she politely asked for the service fee. I paid, and she put the money in a transparent plastic bag, then called the shop to let them know she arrived safely. She put down her bag, took out her own clothes, and said to me, "You can take your clothes off now." I quickly stripped down to my underwear, while she changed into a silk nightgown. She took my hand and we went into the bathroom together.
We were completely naked, and she soaped me, washing me thoroughly from head to toe. I kept caressing her breasts, kneading her buttocks, and penetrating her vagina. She remained silent, seemingly enduring it all. I was a little reluctant. Yes, she was young and beautiful, with a healthy body; if she were a quiet type, ninety minutes would be a long time.
For me, sex needs romance, and romance requires communication. Just having sex isn't enough. If I had known this, I would have chosen sixty minutes—it would have saved money and time.
After washing, we returned to the room. She changed into a lace-trimmed top and a thong. She had me lie face down and began to massage me. Her technique was mediocre, but lying comfortably, being served by a beautiful girl, with Western music playing softly in my ears—it was a rare and wonderful experience.
Ryoko told me to turn over, and I obeyed. My aroused penis stood erect, defiantly pointing at her. She reapplied oil to her hands and gently stroked my penis. If she kept pressing like that, I'd probably lose my virginity in a few minutes. And if she remained silent afterward, what would I do? I couldn't just sit and wait; I had to take the initiative and try to prolong our physical intimacy.
I remembered that there were quite a few Chinese women working in Japanese brothels. I didn't want to discriminate against my compatriots, but when you come to Japan, you should pay for the real thing. If you buy a knock-off, you can communicate in Chinese; there's no need to travel this far.
I blurted out in Chinese, "Where's my hometown?"
She exclaimed, then said in Japanese, "What did you say?"
I switched to Japanese and asked, "Where in Japan are you from?"
Her hands didn't stop; she answered in a muffled voice, "Fukuoka."
Fukuoka? I'd heard that Fukuoka was as famous as Akita, a place known for its beautiful women. Looking closely, she was indeed fair and radiant.
I said, "No wonder, your hometown is known for its beauties."
She smiled and quickened her movements.
I asked, "What's your bra size?"
She stopped, looked down to examine herself, and said, "D, I guess."
I said, "That's not small, isn't it considered large in Fukuoka?"
She shook her head, her breasts swaying, and said, "No, not really. If it were a size bigger, I'd go into acting.
" I thought of the breasts of many adult film actresses; many were large, but quite a few were small. I said, "No need, smaller ones still get roles."
She didn't believe me, saying, "Impossible. If they were, they wouldn't be famous."
I said, "You've never seen adult films, have you?"
She said, "No. Aren't they made for men? To let them masturbate."
What she said made sense. Which man says watching adult films is appreciating art?
I said, "Your breasts are so beautiful, I want to take them home and use them as a pillow, is that okay?"
She laughed, rubbed her breasts with her hand, and said, "I'll put some dish soap on them, so you'll slide off the pillow and never be able to sleep.
" It seems calling her a quiet type is a bit unfair. She's not quiet at all, she even has a sense of humor, worth exploring, worth exploring.
Ryoko lay down on her side, assuming a 69 position with me, her genitals pressed tightly against my nose. Her thong was transparent, her pubic hair and labia squeezed together. I clicked my tongue and said, "Your rules are that you can touch me, but I can only look, not touch you, and I certainly can't put anything in you. Am I right?"
She moved slowly against me, her body pressed against mine, while she gripped my penis, rubbing it with a smacking sound, moaning softly.
Damn Japan, making porn is legal, but genitals have to be censored; not censoring and selling is illegal. Prostitution is legal, but genitals are right there, yet you can't use them; using them is illegal.
Utter hypocrisy, true perversion: finding ways to torture people, with an extremely nasty attitude. Everyone says the Japanese are obedient and law-abiding, but you can't go too far. A woman's genitals are right in front of you, and you can only look and sigh? I can't abide by this law, and I won't let Ryoko abide by it either. I have to break this stinking law, I have to defile Ryoko.
I yelled at Ryoko, "Stop! If you don't stop, I'll ejaculate, and then you have to leave." I don't want you to leave.
She actually stopped and tore off a tissue to wipe her hands. She said, "So what do you want to do?"
I said, "I want to chat. I want to know your past life, starting from kindergarten. Can we sit up and talk?"
She said, "No. I'm shy. To tell you, my experience is too mundane; I can finish it in a few minutes."
I said, "Okay, you can start."
She said, "From kindergarten to middle school, I never liked studying and liked skipping classes. After graduating from middle school, I went to Tokyo to find a job, but I never stayed long because I was always sleepy and late, so I got fired. My current job is the one I've worked the longest. I like the night shift that starts at 7 pm; I don't have to get up in the morning." To my parents, I told them I work at a real estate company and often show apartments to clients.
I asked, "Wow, that's quite a life; you could make up many stories."
She didn't say anything.
I said, "Why do you do this?"
She said, "To make money."
I asked, "Do you have a boyfriend?"
She said, "We just broke up, so my heart is very fragile. I want to talk to someone and relax."
I asked, "Have you ever encountered difficult customers?"
She said, "Rarely." Difficult customers like to ask, "Look at my dick, is it big? Is it thick? Do you want me to put it in?"
She voiced my thoughts. I don't blame her. I won't give up.
I said, "I'll add five thousand yen. I have a condom. I want the full service. Are you willing?
" She didn't say anything.
I said, "I admit I'm a difficult customer. But you have to understand me. If you finish with your hand, I'll be in more pain."
She said, "Add two thousand, and I'll give you oral sex, no condom needed."
My penis immediately became erect. I said, "See? See? It heard you." It said, "Not enough, not enough, let's do it for real."
I lifted her thong, my fingers moving along the lower edge. Her legs straightened. I pushed her legs apart, slipped my hand into the thong, and pulled it down. She bent her knees, letting me pull her pants down. I lifted her legs, buried my head between them, parted her pubic hair, and licked inside. Her legs opened, tightened, opened, tightened, bumping against my head.
I straightened up, bit open the condom, and gestured for her to put it on me. She turned her head away, ignoring me. Did she not want to put a condom on me, or did she not mind me going in with a knife? I thought, whatever, I'll put it in first. Having sex without a condom is a completely different experience from having sex with a condom, much more stimulating. My penis pressed against her vaginal opening, touched it, withdrew, touched it again, withdrew. I thought, no matter how exciting, I couldn't take the risk; this line of work was too risky.
I put on a condom, inserted my fingers into her vagina, felt the moisture was just right, adjusted her body slightly, and thrust my penis deep inside.
After we finished, she helped me clean up, set up the bathtub, and said, "You take a bath, I'll go tidy the room."
I pulled her back and said, "Bath with me, it'll only be a few minutes."
She leaned into my arms, splashing her hands in the water. I said, "Do you feel anything?"
She said, "Of course. It's wet there, your thing is rolling around, it feels great."
I said, "But you broke the rules. You shouldn't have agreed to have sex with me.
" She said, "I've never been a good student. I need to rest too. I don't have to exert myself, you're busy all the time, isn't that good?"
I stroked her breasts and said, "Only a D cup, seems like more. I see an F cup."
She laughed and said, "They swell when I'm in heat, they don't count." Not only were her breasts swollen, but her waist and belly were too, making her look like a chubby little girl. I'm sorry.
I said I wanted to put my penis on it.
She touched my limp penis, squeezed it a few times, and said, "You're joking."
I asked, "What are your plans for the future?"
She said, "I don't know. Entering this line of work, you can make money, but you'll lose even more."
I lowered my head, wanting to kiss her lips. She dodged, only letting me kiss her cheek.
My hand moved down, touching her anus, my fingers digging inside. She pressed her legs together, preventing me from moving.
I said, "The information your shop provides says your anus is an erogenous zone."
She said, "I didn't write that, so it doesn't count."
I said, "Have any customers fallen in love with you?"
She said, "Maybe. I haven't been in this line of work long, and customers say all sorts of things, I don't know if it's true. One customer's eyes were blazing, saying fate had brought us together." I let him talk, and I unzipped his pants. As soon as I did, he ejaculated. I heard people say loving yourself is good, it's better than constipation. Anyway, I'll never get married or have children in this life. My happiest moments were when I had money in my pocket, went to a host club, drank, and listened to ramblings.
I asked, "What are you going to a host club for?"
She said, "To be served and listen to beautiful lies."
She neatly folded my clothes, dressed herself, bowed repeatedly to me, and then drifted away.
Ryoko was nice, but too professional, lacking in romance. She was just a stopover before I reached my destination, a prelude to the play; tomorrow, the main event would begin.
Chapter Three
I slept soundly, got up early, had breakfast downstairs to refresh myself. Today was packed with plans: in the morning, I'd meet a girl named Iwasa Akira, we'd explore Asakusa together, have sashimi and sushi for lunch at the Tsukiji Fish Market, and then go to her apartment. If I had the energy in the evening, I'd arrange my own activities.
Iwasa Akira was a freshman at a junior college in Tokyo, majoring in English, and from Hokkaido. She idolized America, ate Western food, loved American rap music, and had taken the English name Sally. Her recent wish was to study abroad in the United States, planning to stay in the Southern California coastal area for a year or two, so she needed to earn money for the trip.
I took the JR-Yamanotake Line and got off at Asakusa Station. Not far from the exit, Jing was already waiting at Kaminarimon. She had long, jet-black hair with long bangs, wore a light pink casual kimono, and had a handbag and fan ready, along with red straw sandals with bright red toes. She didn't bow to me, but extended her hand to shake mine. Her hand was pale and bluish, small like a doll's. We exchanged pleasantries in English. I hadn't spoken English for several days, so speaking it felt very familiar.
She said, "Let's take a rickshaw and show you around."
We booked a 60-minute ride from Kaminarimon, taking the eastern route. The driver placed a small stool in front of the rickshaw for our convenience.
The driver covered us with a blanket and offered to take a picture first. The driver said to Jing, "You're so beautiful, you could be a kimono model." "Why don't you come work as a hostess at our shop?" Jing giggled, covering her mouth.
After taking the photos, I moved closer to Jing, really wanting to reach out and touch her thigh. But a blanket is meant to provide convenience, isn't it? I didn't reach out. She was dressed in traditional clothing, pure and lovely; touching her in front of everyone would make me look lewd. Besides, what's the rush? Her body was wrapped in a yukata; I'd seen her nude photos, and I knew her shapely figure by heart.
The driver had a black cloth draped over his chest, and a large "雷" (lei) character printed on the back of his white shirt. He kept his head down pulling the rickshaw, then looked up at the road, introducing us to the buildings along the way and their stories.
Jing kept calling out "Siguoyi, Siguoyi.
" "Siguoyi" is a word frequently used in adult films, often used when the actress is manipulating the actor's penis, the penis rising higher and higher, the actress's eyes widening, and her mouth constantly uttering exclamations of praise—meaning "Oh," "So amazing." I thought, Jing, when we get into bed, when we're all lovey-dovey, don't forget to call Siguo a lot.
I asked the driver, "Pulling people and walking takes a lot of energy, do you need to exercise more?"
He said, "Of course, I do at least several hundred push-ups a day." My son is in high school, and he just sits in front of the computer when he gets home. I said, "Move around a bit." He said, "Move what? I'm so young, I'm better than you no matter what." I said, "Okay, show me how many push-ups you do. If you do more than ten, I'll buy you an Apple computer. If you do more than twenty, I'll give you a plane ticket to Hawaii."
Jing asked, "What did your son win in the end?"
The driver said, "Nothing. He struggled and struggled, but he could only manage eight push-ups at most, his fat butt sticking up high, but he just couldn't bring himself to sit down. The kid wasn't convinced, so he's been secretly practicing every day these past few days, and he's eating more than usual. I hope he succeeds, I'll give him an Apple computer. But even more won't do, Hawaii is too expensive. I've promised my wife that for twenty years, and I still haven't had the chance to fulfill it."
As the rickshaw passed through parks and ancient pavilions, the driver often stopped to take photos for us, or to do strange chest-expanding or leg-sweeping movements for us to photograph, making Jing giggle.
I realized the driver was going to great lengths just to win a smile from the beauty. I was the main guest, I paid, but in his eyes, I became a supporting character. As a man, I completely understood. If I were in his shoes, I would also try my best to please Jing. What I couldn't learn was the driver's tireless work pulling the rickshaw, or doing hundreds of push-ups a day. The driver's stamina was enough to be an adult film actor; I wonder if he'd ever tried?
My interaction with Jing was good, and before we knew it, we had taken dozens of photos. My youthful body kept bumping into hers, causing my penis to become erect; if it weren't for the blanket, I would have been embarrassed. It seems that blankets not only protect from the wind and rain, but also conceal one's penis.
Back at Kaminarimon Gate, we entered Senso-ji Temple, where Jing offered incense and drew a fortune stick. Upon seeing the stick, she feigned surprise, covering her mouth with her hand and widening her eyes. Judging by her expression, it was a bad omen, or even worse. She tied the stick to a wooden rack nearby and told me, "Take the good one, leave the bad one behind, and give it to Kaminarimon to ward off misfortune."
She asked me, "Aren't you going to draw one?"
I said, "No. I don't believe in bad ones, especially bad ones."
She smiled sweetly at me.
We strolled around Nakamise Street on both sides of Senso-ji Temple. I bought a few small items to take back to America as gifts.
I asked Jing, "What do you need to buy? I'll give it to you." She said, "Really?" I said, "Sure." She happily picked out a mask and finally bought one.
We went to the Tsukiji Fish Market for dinner and then took the subway. Inside the carriage, there was a prominent "Anti-Pervert" poster, calling on women to bravely confront harassers on the subway and trains and completely eliminate such behavior.
The carriage wasn't crowded, and we got seats. I whispered to Jing, "Have you ever encountered a pervert?" She shook her head, giggling, "No, I'm not pretty enough. My butt and breasts aren't attractive." She held up a round fan close to my ear and said, "I'm thinking, one day I'll wear a really short skirt, take the Saikyo Line during rush hour, squeeze into the most crowded area, and see how many perverts I can run into.
" I didn't believe her and said, "Are you kidding?"
She said, "Of course. I'm going to buy pantyhose with pointed hair, and underwear for mousetraps, to kill them." Once, I was on a night train and encountered some perverted-looking office workers. I was nervous and moved closer to a bespectacled man who looked like a college student, accidentally brushing against his pants. Good heavens, his... well, it was like a small mountain. I stared at him in horror, but he didn't look back, facing the window like a statue.
When we arrived at the Chuji Fish Market, Jing took me into a sushi restaurant. She happily sat down, put down her handbag, fanned herself vigorously, and said to me, "He-kun, I'm thirsty, I want some orange juice." I didn't ask for much, just lots and lots of sushi and lots and lots of orange juice.
I checked the menu with pictures and chose the most expensive "cherry blossom" sushi. While the sushi chef was making it, a white man swaggered in, sat down, one leg under his buttocks, and loudly shouted in English, "Beer, Kirin beer!" The waiter brought it over, and he gulped it down, then slammed the glass down. The chef, busy making sushi, looked up, his eyes blazing with anger.
The man smiled at me, and I responded. He picked up his glass and said, "Picking up Japanese girls? That must be pretty good."
Jing took the glass and said, "Even better than good."
The man chuckled and said, "I've never seen a Japanese girl I understand English."
They struck up a conversation, chatting animatedly. "I've heard some Japanese girls are particularly fond of white men, falling in love with every one they meet. Is Jing one of them?" I'm paying money to be a third wheel? To be a sucker? What kind of nonsense is this? Absolutely not!
At this moment, Jing turned to me and switched to Japanese, saying, "He's drunk, even more foolish now, he was already foolish."
I asked the man, "Where are you from?"
He said, "America, Boston." "America? Ever heard of it?"
I said, "Yes. I live in Los Angeles."
He pretended to stand up and said, "I knew it, you look like someone from there."
He moved his chair next to me and said affectionately, "After so many days in Japan, you're the first American who has made me happy."
Jing laughed with me. I guess I won the first round of this battle with the man.
He began to tell me that he couldn't find a job in America, so he came to Japan alone to look for an English teaching job. He didn't expect the competition to be so fierce; he couldn't find one in Tokyo, he couldn't find one in Yokohama. Tokyo was expensive, and the US dollars he brought were dwindling, making him very anxious.
I asked, "What are you going to do next?"
He said, "Go to Aomori Prefecture; a rural school has agreed to hire me." Tokyo, Tokyo, I both love and hate it, it breaks my heart, yet I can't bear to leave. Before leaving, I wanted to have a nice sushi meal by myself, but looking at the menu, I didn't expect it to be so expensive, so I'll just drink beer instead. "Hey, want me to buy you a drink?"
I said. "Okay, you buy me beer, I'll buy you cherry blossom sushi?"
He ordered beer, picked up the menu, and read it with a "hmm" sound, saying, "I can't agree." But it looks really good. I can't agree. "Huh, what's this?"
Jing asked him, "Do you know how to eat it?"
The man said, "Is that even a question? Of course. I fell in love with Japanese sushi in Boston." Anyway, tell me, I think your rules are different.
I guess I won the second round of this battle with the man. But this is just a mental victory. If I lost in the third or fourth round, in the decisive physical confrontation, a mental victory would be a cheap, insignificant victory, and would only invite ridicule.
The sushi was served. I stared at the plate in front of me, silently reciting, "Only a complete victory is a true victory." Let me eat and drink my fill, then I can get back into the fight and conquer the nameless hill!
I followed Jing back to her apartment, which was surprisingly small. Next to her desk/dressing table was a small refrigerator, and in front of it was a small round chair that, when pulled out, reached the edge of the bed. Sitting at the foot of the bed, one could easily reach the bathroom door. The bathroom was even smaller; one could only sit upright on the toilet, and if one wanted to read or bend over, one would bump into the shower door.
Seeing my surprised expression, Jing busied herself tidying up, saying, "Do you think my room is small?"
I said, "It is a bit small." "
How can we enjoy our sex life in such a small room?"
Jing asked, "I heard that houses in America are particularly large, is that true?"
I said, "Yes, my bathroom is bigger than this."
She said "Oh," straightened her back, turned around, pulled back the curtains behind her, pointed outside, and said, "Come and see, it doesn't feel small when the window is open."
Outside the window were rows of houses that looked like building blocks, with strings of electrical wires connecting them, and clothes hanging in the sun on the balconies.
I asked, "Don't you think it's too small?"
She replied, "No, not at all. This is Tokyo, Tokyo!" I have my own room, my own privacy, which I don't use much. I go out during the day and don't come back until late at night, and I'm very, very content.
I hugged her tightly, cupped her head, and sucked on her tongue; her breath exhaled a sweet fragrance. She stood quietly, whimpering softly, waving her hands upwards.
I let go and said, "Is something wrong?"
She breathed heavily and said, "I'm thirsty, I want some orange juice." She bent down, opened the refrigerator, and a bunch of orange juice bottles rolled out. She frantically grabbed them, then collapsed to the floor laughing. I picked up a bottle, opened it, and handed it to her. She drank it all and made a face at me through the clear, empty bottle.
I hugged her tighter, trying to drag her to bed, but she struggled, saying, "No, I have to take my clothes off first." With her back to me, she untied her bathrobe, took off her inner bra, pulled down her panties, and threw them into a basket of laundry by the bed. She stood there motionless, as if wanting me to see her naked body. Her skin was so white and delicate, her buttocks slender, her two buttocks rounded, concealing her anus. She was so natural and at ease, as if I didn't exist. She
turned around, and I squatted down, my eyes close to her vagina. She instinctively covered herself with her hand, saying, "What are you doing?"
I said, "Nothing, just curious, just curious."
She tidied her pubic hair, said, "Do you think I need to trim it?"
I quickly shook my head, saying, "This is good, this is best.
" Xiao Chuan is a reliable man. I told him I wanted a natural woman, and he provided a genuine, high-quality body.
I carried her to bed, and she pushed the pillow aside. Several bras were stuffed under the pillow. I picked one up, and she reached for it, saying, "It's not clean, I didn't have time to wash it." I took off her clothes. I stripped myself naked, satisfied with stroking my penis, hoping she would exclaim, "I love it! I love it!" She spread her legs, silent. Her pubic hair was thick, curly, and shiny black; without my fingers touching it, only the outline of her labia was vaguely visible.
I began to moan. She started to groan, a long moan followed by a short one, rising and falling rhythmically. I asked, "Will the neighbors hear you if you moan like that?"
She laughed and said, "I want them to hear."
I asked, "Are they home?"
She shook her head and said, "No. They get off work late, it's almost midnight. The walls here are so thin, you could hear a chopstick fall. That woman is really loud, and that man is really lewd; when they're doing it, it's so noisy I have to wear earplugs."
I increased the intensity of my thrusting, not forgetting to use my free hand to continuously stimulate her clitoris, saying, "Shout, shout, shout so the people downstairs can hear."
She said, "Yes, yes. I've had enough, I don't want to just listen to others, it's my turn.
" I asked, "Is there really anyone downstairs?"
She said, "No. Only the old man on duty." Hehe, he's sticking his old butt out, pressed against the wall listening.
Her whole body began to tense up, very stiff, then turned into a strong trembling. I stopped thrusting and continued to stroke her clitoris. Her muscles slowly relaxed. She said, "It feels so good, like lying in a hot spring, my whole body being washed by the spring water, with countless little fish swimming in my armpits and genitals."
I said, "I'm going to ejaculate, inside?"
She shook her head violently in fright.
I said, "In my mouth?"
She opened her mouth, quickly covered it with her hand, and shook her head violently.
I got out of bed first and carefully went into the bathroom.
When I came out, she was still lying there, motionless. I said, "Do you want to wash?"
She said, "Wait a minute, I want to keep the feeling from just now."
I asked, "Want some more orange juice?"
She shook her head and said, "No. I'm not thirsty at all." I felt like I was dripping wet, drooling constantly.
I dried myself off, lay down next to her, pulled a pair of bras from under the pillow, and inhaled deeply. She stood up unsteadily and groped her way into the bathroom.
She came back, straddled me, and took my limp penis into her vagina. I said, "Not so fast, it won't go in unless it's hard. Let's talk first."
She swayed and said, "Isn't that better?" I gently moved, rubbing my clitoris, and said, "Once your penis is hard, I'll go in immediately."
Her breasts trembled, her nipples slightly upturned. She raised her arms, revealing faint armpit hair, and tidied her hair that was damp with water.
She reached out and ran her fingers along my inner thigh. She said, "You're like someone."
I said, "Like who?"
She said, "My middle school English teacher. I chose to study English because of him." He was middle-aged, thin, and now that I think about it, his English pronunciation was terrible. I became obsessed, eagerly participating in class discussions and chasing after him with questions after class. In other classes, I never spoke up or asked the teacher questions. I hated studying; if it weren't for him, I probably would have dropped out. Once, I went to his office. It was dark, and all the other teachers had left. I pretended to ask questions, and he pretended to answer. His glasses kept slipping down, and I couldn't help but laugh. He came over, hugged me, and slipped his hand under my skirt. I pretended to resist, twisting my body. He suddenly stopped and told me to leave.
I tilted my head back and kissed her nipple, waiting for it to harden before gently biting it. Her legs kicked up and down, pulling my hand back to her genitals, pressing down, slowly pushing.
I said, "Is this how your teacher touches you?"
She nodded.
I said, "But your teacher came first."
I inserted my finger inside her, and she reacted as if struck by lightning. Her jaw and lips trembled, her head snapped back, and her waist slammed against me. She cried out in English, "I'm going to lose it! I'm going to lose it!"
I teased her, saying, "I don't understand. Please speak Japanese." "How do you say it in Japanese?"
she asked with difficulty. "I didn't know at the time. I thought he hated me." I was heartbroken and decided to leave my hometown for Tokyo, to work first and then go to university. I didn't like university; I didn't care what I studied, but I ultimately chose English. For a while, I was very perverted. Standing on the train or subway, I would stare at men's crotches, hoping they would get erect. Sometimes, I even wanted to reach out and touch it, to make it bigger. Back in my dorm, I would write erotic novels, writing my fantasies, like being a maid or a tutor.
I asked, "Have you published any?"
She said, "No, they've all been rejected." In Japan, there are so many people writing erotic novels, both men and women. They even award prizes every year based on the author's gender. I lack experience; I need to work harder.
I don't think Jing is absolutely normal. I don't think I'm absolutely normal. No one who's addicted to sex is absolutely normal. I'm powerless with myself. With her, I gave it my all.
My penis hardened again, and she squeezed it tightly, saying, "Again."
I said, "Again what?"
She squeezed harder, saying, "This one, put it in."
I said, "I want to hear a sentence."
She asked, her voice trembling with tears, "What is it?"
I prompted, "Faced with the wonders of the world, what would you do?"
She said, "Take out your phone and keep taking pictures.
" I said, "Don't you say anything?"
She said, "I miss it, I miss it."
She laughed. I laughed. That was the sentence I'd been waiting for. We became one.
After the passion subsided, we embraced. I stretched my arms and legs, kicking the bathroom door hard. I said, "You need to work hard to earn money, save money, and move to a bigger house, or buy your own place."
She said, "I can't do it, you don't know how expensive houses are in Tokyo." But I'm particularly keen on saving money. I have a little notebook where I record my income and expenses, and I read it every day to see where I can earn more and where I can spend less. "Have you noticed? I shower really quickly. Saving water means saving money."
I said apologetically, "You should have told me sooner. I like to shower; it only takes a few minutes."
Her cramped Tokyo room gradually filled with a mixture of body odor and the smell of filth.
Chapter Four
The next day, Ogawa arranged for me to observe an adult film shoot in Nakano. The lead actress was a relatively new adult film actress named Sasaki Nobuko, whose fame was steadily rising.
Nobuko dropped out of university and had worked several jobs, her last being a teller at Sumitomo Mitsui Banking Corporation. She disliked the boredom of a nine-to-five job and was stopped by an adult film scout in Shibuya, where she immediately agreed to audition.
The scout was surprised by her quick agreement and hesitated. The scout relied on his silver tongue; getting girls into adult films usually takes a lot of effort. Many girls worry that the producers of adult films are part of the Yakuza, the Yamaguchi-gumi, and that the filming is just bait, leading them to agree to be sold to brothels or overseas.
The talent scout reminded her that she wanted to be a nude model, not a fashion model, and that she shouldn't joke around. She replied, "So what? That's exactly what I'm doing. I never fail to do what I promise."
Nobuko's debut film sold well; in seven months, she had already filmed six movies. For a new adult film actress, the six months between success and failure are crucial; if she succeeds, she's a star; if she fails, she returns to the vast sea of people.
Nobuko safely weathered this major hurdle and established herself firmly in the adult film industry. She was earning more in a day than a bank clerk's monthly salary; having reached this point, it would be difficult for her to turn back.
Ogawa explained that on-site observation opportunities were extremely rare and couldn't be bought with money alone. He wouldn't reveal many details, but instructed me to observe more and talk less on set. After filming, the actress would go with you and follow your arrangements.
Back at the hotel for sex, dinner together, karaoke at a nightclub—you two could discuss it yourselves. If you both felt good about each other after meeting, you could arrange a second time, at most a third. Remember, she's an actress, and you have to act like an actress, like it's a play. Don't fall in love with her or be reluctant to leave Tokyo.
The filming location was a rented apartment suite. The nine-story building was gray and old, looking like the surrounding buildings, utterly unremarkable.
I knocked on the door and saw a row of shoes neatly laid out on the floor, including three pairs of women's high heels. A staff member led me through a narrow entryway, turned right, and into a large living room with a mix of Japanese and Western styles. A bright pink sofa sat in the center, illuminated by four or five lamps. Several men stood behind the lighting equipment, busy working. I passed a bedroom and a bathroom, entering the innermost dressing room.
There were two men and three women in the room. They all greeted me as I entered. The staff member who had led me in gave me a cup of coffee and asked, "Does anyone want more coffee?" No one answered.
I had studied Nobuko's photos and recognized her immediately. Nobuko was sitting in a black chair, getting her makeup done. She wore a white bathrobe, loosely tied at the waist with a belt, revealing her underwear and bra, and had blue slippers in her mouth.
Two female assistants, their backs to me, were silently arranging Nobuko's performance costumes and makeup at a table. The makeup artist, a man with a small braid, was busy with his work and chatting idly with Nobuko. The other standing man was the director, wearing a beret and shorts, holding a printed script. He read aloud and explained to Nobuko.
It seemed that adult films weren't just about sex; there also had to be acting. Otherwise, how could Japanese adult films be considered realistic?
Nobuko complained, "This line is so long! You know I'm terrible at memorizing lines; I always forget them." The director ignored her and continued reading.
Nobuko said, "From now on, the lines should be just 'yes' or 'no.'"
The director said, "Then you'd just be a pile of flesh, not a star."
The makeup artist said, "That's right. I only do makeup for stars, not for piles of flesh.
I'm really looking forward to seeing Nobuko's pile of flesh. Having seen countless photos, I know the contours of Nobuko's body intimately. Soon, my hand will be able to touch it, my head will be able to bury it. Ladies and gentlemen, if I'm not the lucky one, who is?"
Filming officially began. The set was silent.
The first shot was of Nobuko sitting on a peach-colored sofa, earnestly talking to a man off-camera, essentially giving an interview, before masturbating alone.
Nobuko got into character, performing the prescribed movements in sequence, her moans turning into shouts, her legs kicking up and down. The lights were intense, and standing far away, I couldn't see the details of her body clearly. I moved closer to the camera, and the cameraman glanced at me, muttering something. I saw a close-up of Nobuko's vagina. Her pink lips were slightly parted, parting the light pubic hair.
Her fingers moved, inserted, her hips rising and falling.
I was so focused that I only reacted after being tapped on the shoulder several times. A crew member gestured towards the entrance. There stood an ordinary-looking middle-aged man, a simple bag slung over his shoulder. Oh, that must be the male actor.
After Nobuko's scene was finished, the boxed lunches arrived; it was lunchtime. I sat with Nobuko and the director, each with a plate. Nobuko had her hair redone, adorned with several hair clips, and wore a thin jacket, revealing half of her breast. A laptop sat in front of her, and she occasionally tapped on the keyboard.
We started chatting. I said, "Nobuko, your Japanese sounds beautiful."
Nobuko replied, "Really?" She smiled, revealing slightly protruding teeth.
The director said, "She's a daughter of Edo."
I was momentarily confused and asked, "What's a daughter of Edo?"
Nobuko explained, "It means a true Tokyoite. My grandfather and my grandfather's father were both from Tokyo."
I asked Nobuko, "Were you nervous filming?"
Nobuko said, "No. I feel like a natural actress. When I filmed my first movie, I wasn't nervous at all. The director wasn't him, it was another director—who was quite angry, saying, 'This is your debut, not nervous, not shy? Where's the virginity? The audience will think you're a seasoned veteran.'" The director
chimed in, "Aren't Tokyo women impressive?"
Nobuko said, "What I wasn't used to was that the filming crew was so close together; we actors would accidentally kick the cameraman's foot." In one of my films, the editing was poor. We were rolling around on a mattress, and a foot in a white sock peeked out from the bottom of the shot. A quick glimpse would have been fine; viewers might not even notice. But it kept moving, trying to get the audience's attention.
Also, my body was accompanied by the shadow of a filmmaker, like a ghost; easily frightened viewers would be scared.
The director said it must have been a low-budget director who didn't have the time or budget for extensive editing. My films would never make such mistakes.
Just then, a phone rang, and a woman came in and handed the phone to Nobuko. She listened with a soft "hmm," while simultaneously putting food in her mouth.
I quietly asked the director if she had a boyfriend.
The director shook his head and said, "I don't know. We don't pry into actors' private lives. It's the rule in our industry. Filming is work; once it's over, we're done. Male and female actors don't date outside of work. From what I know of the industry, it's unlikely that adult film actresses have boyfriends; it's not easy to maintain a relationship. We Japanese men watch the most adult films in the world; it's very difficult for us to have our girlfriends or wives become adult film actresses."
Nobuko put away her phone and quickly finished eating. The director stood up, clapped loudly, and said, "Eat quickly, we need to get ready to work." A female assistant came over to help Xinzi put on her clothes and fix her hair. Another female assistant squatted in front of her, applying powder and color to her genitals. After finishing, she gave her a large bottle of water to drink.
The director whispered to me, "Xinzi's breasts aren't big enough; she's not naturally gifted. Some women get breast implants, but she doesn't want to. She believes natural is best. She's slowly becoming famous because of her personality."
I asked, "Can we finish filming in one day?"
He said, "We start preparing at eight o'clock. We'll shoot six scenes. If everything goes smoothly, we'll wrap up at six in the afternoon. If not, we'll have to work until midnight. Six shots are my limit for a day's work. Xinzi is smart and capable. At the current pace, wrapping up at six shouldn't be a problem. Every day we delay means an extra day's rent for the apartment. We can't afford to delay; the investors will be angry."
Xinzi changed into a form-fitting swimsuit and walked back and forth in high heels. The director, holding a printed sheet, explained the scene to her. The cinematographer switched to a digital camera and kept taking pictures of her. I asked a staff member nearby, "Why are we taking photos?"
The staff member said, "To be used as DVD covers and promotional materials. We're taking photos now, so be emotionally engaged, and they'll be in the photos.
" After a while, Nobuko took a break. The male actor who was about to act opposite her walked over, and the two bowed, saying, "Please take care of us." I noticed they didn't exchange names. The director stood in the middle, going back and forth explaining the scene to them. The male actor was in his forties, tall and thin, with neatly trimmed sideburns. He didn't look at Nobuko, facing the living room, nodding repeatedly.
Their scene began. They embraced in the porch, Nobuko knelt down, unzipped his pants, and took out his penis.
Nobuko masturbated for a few minutes, then the director yelled, "Cut!" Two female assistants quickly brought Nobuko water and tissues.
The male actor stood facing the wall, breathing heavily. The director, looking displeased, yelled at him, "What's wrong with you today? You're about to cum after only a few minutes? If I don't call 'cut,' you'll ejaculate. How can I continue filming if you can't perform?"
The actor turned around, his pants still open, and said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't sleep well last night, I'm exhausted. Give me a few more minutes, I'll definitely recover."
The filming continued. They lay on the mattress on the floor, surrounded by four men filming, less than two meters away, with the cameraman and lighting technician standing even closer. A female assistant squatted next to the director, carrying a basket filled with rolls of toilet paper, drinks, and condoms, ready to be delivered at any time. The cameraman constantly adjusted the angles and postures, while the director wrote instructions on a whiteboard, holding it behind the cameraman's head for the two actors to see.
Sex is human nature, the most natural behavior; why would a director be needed? Under the watchful eyes of many, following the director's instructions, sex degenerates into acting; how can you perform if you can't act?
The male actor ejaculated, his job done. He put on his robe, smoked, and drank coffee. Then he dressed, didn't even shower, collected his pay for the day, and left. Perhaps he went home to rest, or perhaps he was heading to another filming location; maybe he even took some pills along the way.
Nobuko's work wasn't over yet. Another male actor arrived and greeted everyone. He was of medium height, muscular, with slightly long hair and neatly trimmed fingernails. He put down his bag and started carrying out his costumes—several sets of various sizes. Once everything was ready, he sat in a corner of the living room, drinking coffee and playing on his phone. The crew was setting up the bedroom, transforming it into a hotel room. The curtains were completely drawn, and the room was brightly lit.
The next scene was a romantic one, the pace slowed, with the two kissing extensively and whispering a lot.
Nobuko became even more immersed in the role, her eyes overflowing with love, her moans sounding even more real. She spread her legs, waiting for the male actor to enter. He made a "pause" gesture, and the director yelled "cut." The male actor gestured that he wanted some water.
His female assistant quickly handed it to him, taking the opportunity to smooth out the rolled-up sheets.
Nobuko also asked for a drink. The two chatted intimately. For some reason, I felt a pang of jealousy, as if the male actor had stolen my woman. This feeling was absurd, of course. At that moment, I understood why actresses couldn't keep their boyfriends or husbands.
The filming was finished, and the male actor received an envelope, presumably containing his payment for the day.
I asked the director when the DVD would be released. He said he needed to edit it, blurring all the key parts, and then submit it to the censors for review; it would take at least two months.
I felt sorry for the Japanese audience. They paid for porn, but couldn't see the actress's vagina. I came all this way to witness the whole thing; I was lucky. My Japanese friends, I'm so sorry.
Afterwards, Nobuko and I took a taxi to a karaoke room.
She was wearing a miniskirt, a tight red top, black boots, black stockings, and carrying an ochre soft bag. She wore light makeup, or perhaps no makeup at all, and looked younger than I'd seen on set, with a slight air of shyness.
The karaoke room's exterior was frivolous, its bright colors resembling a children's playground. Stepping into the narrow corridor, harsh, strained voices drifted up from several places. Our karaoke room was in the middle.
Nobuko sat down on the sofa, removed her hair clip, letting her light brown hair fall loose. I said, "You're beautiful." She said, "Thank you, thank you." She took out her phone and started taking selfies. I also took out my phone and took a picture of her. She pulled on the top corner of her lace bodysuit, pulled in her stomach, revealing half of her snow-white breast, and said, "Take a picture of this." After
taking the picture, I leaned forward, hugged her, and kissed her, placing her hand on my crotch, letting her touch my hardness.
She said, "No, not here."
She pulled away and pointed outside.
The karaoke room's glass door was solid in the middle, with transparent strips on either side, allowing us to see and hear the passersby and their conversations clearly.
I was unwilling to give up, so I zipped up and down my pants, making a pained expression. She covered her mouth and laughed, saying, "I think you're hungry. Let's order."
I was indeed hungry. My stomach was hungry, my penis was hungry, let's take it one step at a time.
She ordered pizza, beer, and grilled sausage. The beer came first, and we raised our glasses. She drank it quickly, letting out a loud burp. She covered her mouth and laughed, repeatedly apologizing. Her fingers were long and neatly manicured, with light nail polish.
The pizza and grilled sausage were served. I ate the pizza, she ate the sausage. The sausage was long; she took a bite and stuck out her tongue. This action made me think of my penis. Damn, she watches too many porn movies; everything has a connection to that. I asked, "Is the sausage good?"
She nodded and said, "I like barbecue."
I said, "What do you think about when you eat it?"
She stopped, and her face slowly turned red.
I asked, "Which one is better?"
She took a big bite and said, "Of course, this one is better." This is a hobby, that's work.
I said, "Wait a minute, let's do that, hoping to combine our hobby and work."
After eating, we sang karaoke. She mostly chose pop songs and anime theme songs. Her voice wasn't great, but her pitch was pretty accurate; she sang earnestly, bobbing her head back and forth.
I chose old Japanese songs, wanting her to sing them for me. These songs took me back to university, back to the time I fantasized about my Japanese foreign teacher, Yoshiko. Rumor had it she was a Japanese spy; I really didn't believe it. What kind of intelligence could she get at a university? What time students got up, how many times a week did teachers have political study sessions? Female spies were always involved in seduction. Yoshiko was so beautiful, her success rate in seduction must be incredibly high. If she took a liking to me, I wonder how many seconds I could hold out. I think, no more than two seconds.
I added a few English songs, and we sang them together. The English songs all had Japanese translations; I sang in English, she sang in Japanese. The Japanese translations were utterly nonsensical, probably the work of internet software. We were having the most fun singing. She was laughing so hard she was almost falling over. I took the opportunity to press myself against her, kissing her and squeezing her breasts through her clothes. She lifted her clothes, letting me kiss her breasts.
She glanced at the door, unzipped my pants, took out my penis, and kissed it. When it got hard, she helped me put on a condom, put one foot on the chair, lifted her skirt, and let me penetrate her from behind. Her body bounced up and down, making my penis even more erect.
The sounds coming from the karaoke room next door undoubtedly created even stronger stimulation. She couldn't help but scream, and then there was complete silence next door. I covered her mouth and thrust even harder.
When we went to pay at the counter, the cashier looked suspicious but couldn't do anything about it. Leaving the karaoke room, I thought about taking her straight back to the hotel. But then I thought, yesterday's intense battle with Iwasa Akira had taken a toll on my energy, and if we went back to it again, while the desire was there, my stamina might not be up to par. I had boasted to Nobuko that tonight I would achieve a perfect combination of hobby and work, and I needed more time to catch my breath.
I suggested going to a bar in Roppongi, but she wasn't keen, saying it was all foreigners. I asked, "Don't you like foreigners?"
She said, "No, they get drunk all the time, and some even have AIDS."
I said, "Their skills are amazing."
She said, "It's nothing, big or small, as long as it's hard, it's good." "Let's go to an izakaya," I suggested. "It's not a big place, the atmosphere is cozy, Japanese people like to go there."
I readily agreed, saying, "You pick one, we'll go."
She put on sunglasses and directed the taxi into a quiet alley. Only a few shops were open in the alley, the neon lights not ostentatious. The izakaya had only one owner and one waitress. They greeted us, the waitress's voice high-pitched and cheerful. The owner's eyes flickered, probably thinking Nobuko looked familiar.
We sat down at the bar, and Nobuko ordered sake mixed with oolong tea for me, saying it was a peculiar habit of Japanese men. I wasn't hungry at all, but she was in high spirits and ordered grilled pork as well. I said, "You have a good appetite." She said
, "Outside of work, I love to eat, I'm not afraid of getting fat; I love to sleep, I can never get enough sleep.
" My sake and tea arrived, and the owner drank the first drink with me. Nobuko said, "Drinking the first drink with someone is to prevent the customer from feeling lonely."
I wanted to talk to the owner more, but seeing how shy he was, I was afraid it wouldn't be appropriate to start a conversation.
A baseball game was on TV, and Nobuko watched intently for a while, commenting on the two teams and their records, with the owner nodding in agreement. I asked, "You like baseball?"
She said, "Yes, I played in middle school."
I looked her over and said, "You look very healthy."
She said, "Yes, I graduated from a sports high school. I studied ballet and gymnastics when I was little, and I majored in figure skating in middle school."
I said, "Why didn't you continue?"
She patted her thigh and giggled, saying, "My legs got thicker and thicker, I was afraid the boys wouldn't like me." "Just kidding, we're an all-girls school, we rarely see boys. Besides, I'm afraid of competitions, I always have insomnia the night before.
Once I'm on stage, I can't execute the moves I practice, I even fall over small turns.
" Her grilled pork was served, and she babbled "ooh ooh ooh" for a while.
The izakaya was small, with only one private room besides the bar. The private room was bustling with people, and waitresses were constantly going in and out, seemingly overwhelmed, wiping sweat from their brows. Nobuko felt sorry for her and said, "I used to work as a waitress. Don't be fooled by just a few tables; when you're busy, your legs will give out."
I said, "You're very kind."
She said, "Not really. I'm a loner, I only want others to listen to me, I don't like listening to others. You could say I've always been the center of attention, which scared the little boys half to death. Sometimes, even I don't like it."
I said, "Your personality is suited to be an actress."
She put down the grilled pork, wiped her mouth, picked up my glass, took a sip, and said, "You're right." When we first started out, our group went to the bustling Shinjuku district to promote our DVDs. The other actresses were shy; they hid the DVDs inside their clothes, too embarrassed to show them. I, however, was fine. I'd call out to any man I saw, "Please be kind to me, buy my DVDs, and I'll give you a pair of underwear for every box you buy."
I asked, "You brought so many underwear?"
She said, "I can't give any away. People take the DVDs, but nobody dares to take the underwear. You know, Japanese men are naturally shy; they can only watch porn. Hmph, without us, they'd be even more pathetic."
Thinking about it, that made sense.
I said, "Now that you're famous, you must be quite satisfied with yourself, right?"
She said, "Not yet. Unlike other actresses, I rarely watch my own DVDs. I watch them often, pointing out flaws in my performance, calling the director to apologize for my shortcomings, and promising to work harder and do better next time. Think about it, so many men's pleasure depends on my performance for a few seconds; how could I not give it my all? My DVDs are piled up on my dressing table; I see them every day, and they motivate me." Sometimes, I'd sneak over to the tape stores to check my sales figures. Customers would walk past my tapes without even stopping; I really wanted to stop them and ask why they weren't buying.
I asked, "What's your dream?"
She lowered her voice and said, "To be famous, very famous, to have men all over the world masturbate to me."
I raised my glass and solemnly told her, "Go for it. You'll definitely succeed."
She said, "Actually, I am quite famous. I've been to Taiwan."
I said, "Oh, that must be very interesting."
She said, "That's so interesting." The four of us were accompanied by six bodyguards. At the autograph session, the line of fans stretched outside the bookstore. I signed autographs like crazy, so busy I didn't even have time to go to the bathroom. Newspapers, magazines, and TV stations interviewed me one after another.
After the event, I was so tired I could barely stand, but I felt incredibly happy. I asked myself, "Who am I? Have I become a big shot? Otherwise, how come I have so many fans?" That kind of scene was truly inspiring. For the first time, I felt that I had chosen the right career, and my life had a bright spot. Back in Japan, I started a Chinese blog and Twitter account, and several thousand people clicked on my tweet that very day.
I asked, "Are the clicks even higher now?"
She shook her head and said, "About the same." I don't understand Chinese, so I can't understand what they're writing. I've used free online translation software, but it all turned out as gibberish.
I suggested, "You could also consider developing your Chinese audience. You know Aoi Sora, right? She's incredibly popular in China."
She said, "Yeah, so many people, Aoi-kun giving me this few fans is enough."
She held up her little finger and traced a small section with her thumb. She said, "Sigh, I'm afraid I can't catch up to her." To go abroad, you have to fly. I'm particularly afraid of flying. Takeoff and landing are okay, but during high-altitude flights, I get extremely nervous, constantly worrying that the engine will detach or the plane will crash. When filming on location, I'm not afraid of taking off my clothes, but I'm especially afraid of lying on the beach listening to the waves; the crashing sound makes me want to vomit.
I said, "You're prone to airsickness and seasickness."
She said, "It's hard to say." When I go to the amusement park to play on the water slides, I'm not afraid of any ladder, no matter how high. Hehe, it was so much fun thinking about it. Water skating, my swimsuit was showing all over the place! After a few tries, I noticed a lot of boys stopped skating and waited by the ladder, hoping to see me exposed.
We lowered our voices, almost whispering. I noticed the izakaya owner was starting to lose focus; clearly, he was eavesdropping. I thought, chatting with Nobuko is certainly enjoyable, but staying in the izakaya all the time isn't good—talk is cheap.
I asked, "What else do you want to eat?"
She wiped her hands and said, "I'm too full."
Just as we were paying the bill, the people in the private room came out. It was a group of men and women. One man glanced at us casually, couldn't help but say "Huh?", then chatted with his companion for a few moments before coming over to Nobuko and saying, "We know you, we're big fans. Can we take a picture together?" Nobuko nodded, took out a makeup mirror from her bag, and tidied herself up. She whispered, "This man must have watched a lot of porn to recognize me."
After the men finished taking photos, their companions wanted to as well, one after another. Nobuko smiled and flashed a V-sign.
Her face was beautiful and fresh, her movements natural—she hardly looked like an adult film actress.
The customers left satisfied, and the owner quietly approached, saying, "Want one with me too?" Nobuko said, "Sure." The owner's voice trembled with excitement, "Thank you so much! I'll hang the photos up. Your meal today is on me, no need to pay."
The waitress took their picture, and the owner, too nervous, darted around nervously and coughed incessantly. The waitress said, "Boss, if the photos are up, will our business be good?"

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Tokyo, my heart is in turmoil

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