Since commencing correspondence with Cute Little Pixie I had maintained other connections too, these were mostly a few email conversations and one of them, a polish woman was keen to meet to see if I was 'ze man to tie up me'. We were to meet at lunchtime at a restaurant at London Waterloo station. Despite several emails confirming the arrangements she no-showed, and I had wasted about three hours of my day. Though she wanted to re schedule I deemed her unreliable and lost interest. The only other activity in January was a rare meet up with Claudia for mutual oral sex in an anonymous motel. It was verging on mandatory and boring for me, my mind was elsewhere, it was obvious Claudia would also be Pole-axed out of my life.
Me: What did you think of the PA's Tale?
I received several blank messages from Pixie until one arrived with her real name displayed. She was Silvie Carney. She'd made the same mistake I had with Lady Samantha, sending an email with her personal details accidentally attached.
Pixie: Hello - I'm not sure you are getting messages from my mobile....did you get the last one? I enjoyed the PA's tale, the second half was better and I particularly liked the end about going out with an invisible crust on her face. I don't care if it's nasty or disgusting to enjoy that kind of story - it is sensual beyond any ridiculous advert for sexual pleasure
Me: I just got 3 blanks in a row, then your last Vault message that you were sending the email directly, which I also got. Hello Sylvie!
Pixie: My name revealed.
Me: I thought you'd like the crust, it's based vaguely on a true occasion. Your name and nasty habits are secret with me.
Pixie: I thought it might be, or else how would you know what it felt like? I'd like to know what happened.
Me: She was Japanese
Pixie: Hence bukakke?
Me: She was a delightful outcome of my working in Japan.
So I told Pixie/Silvie a little about Mariko. How the first crustation was in England when she visited me. We had been apart two or three months, and I hadn't had a release for three weeks. After the pub the sex that night in my living room was full of passion and intensity even though it was straight forward vanilla missionary and mutual oral. She was lying on the rug when I came heavily around her mouth and across her top lip. Afterwards she immediately lolled into a deep sleep. Jet lag and a little drunk the poor thing crashed out.
I was dozy too, drink and sex culminating in a powerful orgasm will see to that, but when I stirred awake just a few minutes later I saw her olive skinned slender body stretched out, relaxed and asleep. Jet black hair and eyelashes, stunning high cheekbones and the prettiest lips I'd ever seen; she was the ultimate sleeping beauty. I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, gently putting her to bed. The big globs of my ejaculation were still semi liquidy on her face, mostly accumulated pornographically just beneath her nostrils, which drew in air over the pearly deposits. It was erotically satisfying to see her fine facial features decorated bukkake style, so I didn't clean her up and soon fell asleep next to her.
In the morning I woke first, and saw the glob had desiccated to a thick crust, like an elongated solid bubble across her top lip. I got above her and wanked a second fresh load, also thick and creamy onto the stale old stuff. Even then she didn't properly wake up, just rubbed her nose and rolled over back to sleep.
Silvie liked the story, she said it was very cute and intimate and accepting. The way it should be. Then she asked, 'What happened to your relationship with her?
This question was trailing into territory I preferred to avoid, our correspondence had run to the early hours and I allowed the natural breaks as we nodded off to delay answering her.
The unwelcome territory was my lingering affections for Mariko, and some raw emotions about losing her.
* * *
Mariko had been the pinnacle and culmination of my revelationary explorations in Asia, from lithe saucy Orientals to horny keen expats my wheels of fortune were places like JJ Mahoney's in Seoul, The Giraffe Bar in Manila, Hong Kong's Joey Bananas, the Ritz in Hanoi and the Hard Rock Café Beijing. But Tokyo was the real deal, and its hub were the bars of Roppongi: Geronimo's, Mogambo's, Castillo's, Gas Panic and at hub central, the worlds' greatest bar; Motown.
Walking into Motown after a three week absence, the bar staff pouring my drink without my asking, expat regulars welcoming me with open arms and familiar little huddles of flirty Nipponese smiling. There would always be newcomers too, some were occasional drinkers resident in Tokyo but many were visiting businessmen. Dozens of nationalities and occupations mingled and pulled, or pushed through the long narrow bar to the latest beats of global rock, pop and rap. I loved the place and moved freely through it. The greater Tokyo metropolis of the Kwanto had over thirty million inhabitants cramped into miniscule apartments and hotel rooms. We expats and expat attracted Japanese may have lived ten miles and ten million people apart but Motown was our watering hole.
And with those smiling Japanese girls I was aware of the 'Motown Map', a real time gossip network of who was with who, who had a one night stand, who betrayed who, who was a bastard and who was a 'nice guy'. Following any encounter with a member of a particular gossip pod my assumption was the groupthink opinion of me was uniform. So if I was inappropriate or stupid in some way with one I risked the pod's ostracism. Some guys like to work their way through girls to meet their most attractive friends, but I thought that was a high risk strategy.
Trying to be the nice guy, the interesting foreigner who is also flirty and fun was my method and though it inhibited quick wins it tended to yield more fruitful successes.
'Where you come from?
'What hotel you stay?'
These two questions quickly established your credentials on the Motown Map.
I was a Brit, which was good as far as being English speaking, but often a poor fourth place in the attractions stakes after Americans, Australians and Canadians. I found this a lot in Asia, typically when the questioner was trying to gauge the likely generosity of my tipping. However I worked for a global branded company, which was good, and stayed in the Capitol Tokyu Hotel, nearby and famous for accommodating western musicians - including rock stars, and this tallied high marks as it reflected a man with a good job, career and income.
I met Yumiko. 'You me go!' she had explained. She was very pretty, with an hour glass figure which was unusual for a Japanese. There was nothing doing at first and the second time I saw her she was with a much more attractive friend. I went on Motown Map alert and did not switch my attentions to the more desirable friend.
I got to know Yumiko's whole pod as I tried to develop things with her and discovered that her friend was not only prettier and sexier, she spoke better English and was much more fun. She also passed my drinks test which Yumiko had ominously failed.
I buy a girl a drink, and happily buy another, then I wait. Even if I finish my own second drink first I wait till she finished hers. If she doesn't offer to buy the third, I will but that will be all. In my books she is only after free drinks and a good time at my expense. If she offers the third drink I would happily still pick up the tab - I wasn't stingy, just making an assessment.
Yumiko never offered to buy me a drink and she never offered her hourglass body either, and oftentimes she was puzzlingly unavailable to go out. It didn't feel like a relationship and it didn't look like a relationship was forthcoming. I was in a fix because I was very attracted to her friend, Mariko, and would often run into her once or twice during my business trips to Tokyo, but Motown Map concerns prevented a callous switch of affections.
One trip I had doggedly called Yumiko several times to null response, but I was working long hours that week so it didn't matter as I hardly went out at night. Then on Thursday evening Mariko called me on her 'handy phone' and asked if I was going to Motown because, 'Friday is a national holiday so tonight is party night.'
An hour later we were sat on bar stools pushed close together in a heaving Motown, and after a while I asked why was Yumiko was so difficult.
'Because she is seeing other guys,' was the abrupt answer.
So it wasn't a relationship.
Yumiko failed the drinks test and Motown Map and 'Yu mi went'. Thereafter when I was in town I frequently found myself chatting to Mariko, and as the months rolled around into winter we were often the last two of our group still in the bar. It would still be crowded and we were physically close together. It was intoxicating until suddenly, around 2am, she would tap both open palms on my chest, give me a heart stoppingly beautiful smile and say, 'I go home now, see ya, ja ne,' wave and be gone.
This happened several times and on each business trip to Japan I would ask her if she would like to come back to my hotel, and each time she declined, each time with a beautiful smile.
As my feelings for Mariko evolved from merely amorous to a real attraction I stopped chasing other women, not just in Tokyo but everywhere. The cyclic change in my lifestyle was underway, after a period of unrestrained casual sex I was falling under the spell of monogamy again.
Except once.
I had arrived in Tokyo for a week's work straddling the weekend, had seen Mariko and walked her to the Roppongi Crossroads taxi rank where she cheerfully chimed 'bye bye,' and hopped into a cab.
The next night in Motown I met two Finnish air stewardess, and they invited me back to their hotel in another downtown area called Shinagawa. You can imagine what went through my mind as I sat in the taxi between these two bombshells with white blond hair. They looked how Hollywood's central casting department thought a Finn Air stewardess would look.
In Hannah's room we drank white wine and talked and eventually her voluptuous friend who was reminiscent of Dianna Dors before she got fat, said it was time for her to 'Leave us to it.'
Some sort of signal must have passed between them that my radar completely missed.
No blond sandwich then, so I settled down with the more slender and short haired Hannah. We kissed and caressed on her bed, I undressed her and then she purred approval when I took my shirt off. That had never happened before, nice little ego boost - my workouts had paid a dividend at last. But as things developed OG would not co-operate with the condom so it was lots of oral sex. She loved it, I loved it and I flooded her pale Nordic face with a spray of heavy thick sperm. She (and I) loved that too.
Hannah was single, had an affair with a married man back in Helsinki, who had left his wife to be with her. But after a few months he left Hannah to return to the wife. This had been a recent event and left her feeling very rejected.
The Finnair crew were only in town a couple more days and I didn't see her the next night in Roppongi. The following night I ran into Mariko and her friend Eriko early on. They were going to 'salsa salada,' I didn't know if that was food or dance. Whatever she was trying to pronounce she promised to teach me to dance.
