Japan 1891

The incident at the Japanese bathhouse. Was it only yesterday? If I live to be one hundred the memory of it will be burned into my brain as vivid as it is at this moment.

First of all, the bathhouse. I had been more than a little relieved when, after making a few discrete inquiries, I had discovered that many of the more lurid stories I had read were, at the very least, exaggerations, at most, downright fabrications, written for the sole purpose of titillating the sensibilities of proper Victorian gentlemen such as myself. By law, I discovered, in modern times the genders now must bath in separate rooms within all public bath facilities. That decency law had been enacted over twenty years prior to our arrival in Japan. Either the baths must be totally separate or, just as in our hotel, a partition wall separated each bathing facility into two parts. Women on one side and men on the other.

Let me explain just so there is no occasion for misunderstanding. In my brother-in-law's absence, my niece's welfare is solely my responsibility. And I take this responsibility very seriously. As accustomed as she might be to living in this country, we are, after all, in a foreign country, and her life and that of her father have been threatened more than once since our departure from the first Universal Peace Conference in Rome. If separate bathing facilities meant that I could not have visual contact with my niece during that time, still separate facilities better suited my Victorian sensibilities.

On the other hand, I have lately come to realize that the very thought of viewing my eighteen-year-old niece's body,

sans vêtements

, oh yes, that interests me just a bit

too

much.

It was shortly after dawn ‘Alex' and I were already on the road. Travelling north, we were making our way on horseback out of the city and along a steep, winding mountain road. It was a warm, early summer morning. The sun shown brightly in a cloudless sky. Travelling under an alias as I had since unceremoniously departing Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland, I rode alongside my lovely young niece. Each of us rode on the back of a tall, sturdy roan. I was dressed for a jaunt in the country and she was dressed in a riding habit. As usual ‘Alex' did not ride side-saddle. As usual I found my niece's nonconformity delightful.

We rode for several miles, and the bulk of our journey was uneventful. As we rode, we enjoyed a companionable silence. You may or may not be aware but I often have little regard for the fairer sex. As a rule I find them to be silly, fickle creatures. However my niece is one female who's company I thoroughly enjoy, perhaps because she does not feel the need to fill the silences with mindless prattle. On occasion Alexandrée would point out various points of interest and explain interesting bits of Japanese history with the skill of a seasoned tour guide before lapsing once again into silence. Indeed, Alex knew the country well. For the past seven years her widowed father held the position of French Ambassador to the island nation.

As we neared our destination Alexandrée began to explain to me about the nature of establishment we would be visiting.

Onsen

, she informed me, is the Japanese word for a natural hot spring. The facility she and I would be enjoying was operating in connection to an ancient and exclusive teahouse. This teahouse catered to a very exclusive clientele. The

onsen

was located high up in the mountains and was a private spa facility. This particular bathhouse, she pointed out in a most matter-of-fact manner, was not

technically

a public facility but catered only to invited guests, generally wealthy gentlemen and their mistresses. Thus it was not subject to the segregation laws regarding most public bathhouses.

The more I learned, the worse her revelations became. The spa itself had been formed by the naturally heated mineral water which bubbled up through the mountain's volcanic rock. This water fed several large, deep pools formed naturally into the bedrock. The hot springs themselves were located in a secluded area in the gardens behind the teahouse. I was taken aback. Not only were there to be no separate facilities for men and women, but the baths themselves were actually located out-of-doors. Needless to say, I was less than thrilled with this revelation, but what could I do? By this time I was committed. Tempted as I was, what kind of a coward would I have shown myself to be to turn back at this point?

To say that I was uncomfortable would be an enormous understatement.

The teahouse itself was a quaint little building with red beams and a red tile roof nestled amongst the towering evergreen trees like a setting for a fairytale. At the gate, we alit and two young oriental men came forward to care for our horses. We left our shoes at the front door.

Inside my niece introduced me to an extremely ancient looking Japanese woman not much over three feet tall whom went by the affectionate nickname of

‘Mama-san'

. Though it was not stated as fact, it occurred to me that the old woman must be the proprietor at the establishment, or perhaps the proprietor's wife or widow. After a lovely tea ceremony where we sat and calmly gazed out over a pristine garden while being serenaded by a young woman playing a stringed instrument called a

hamisen

, I was shown to a small changing room where I was to exchange my street clothes for a short robe of thin cotton material which tied around my waist and some unusual footwear fashioned of woven straw and held in place by a strap which ran between the first and second toes.

A petite young female attendant, whom I hypothesized to be the Mama-san's granddaughter, pointed me to a panel at the rear of the changing room which slid open to reveal another, equally private, equally lovely garden.

Alexandrée met me in the garden and led the way through a wonderland of lush greenery to a type of oriental gazebo. There another young Japanese woman gestured, showing me where I was expected to leave my robe and slippers in one of a series of baskets which lined the inside wall.

My niece and I stood face to face beneath the sheltering roof of the gazebo. After a few uncomfortable moments of indecision, I had slowly began untying the sash which held my robe, feeling both awkward and self-conscious about undressing in front of not only my niece, but the female bath attendants as well as all of the other people in attendance, most of whom appeared to be Japanese businessmen. These men were for the most part accompanied by their mistresses or by ladies which, by their facial paint and bejewelled hairstyles, I took to be geisha. Each of the ladies had their black hair piled atop their heads, and the younger geisha had their faces painted white with bright red lips. To my great relief, none of the Japanese bathers so much as glanced in our direction. Just another naked European. Somewhat more uncommon this far north of the city, but no great novelty in Japan these days.

If the others seemed uninterested, I noted that Alexandrée's eyes did not leave me as I slowly opened my robe. Starting at my face, her gaze drifted slowly down as the robe fell away from my body. Her sapphire eyes missed nothing. She gauged the breadth of my shoulders, took in my lean but muscular chest and moved gradually down over my taut, washboard stomach and abdomen. Finally her gaze fell upon my loins and the nest of coarse black hair there which accentuated my own prominent genitalia. I noted, too, that my niece's gaze lingered in that area for much, much longer than was, in fact, required for a casual, inquisitive glance. As always, the foreskin hooded the broad head of my flaccid penis, making the head of it appear somewhat wider than the base as it hung heavily between my long legs partially obscuring the view of my nearly hairless scrotum housing two low-hanging testicles. This was the first time in my adult life that I had been naked in front of a female. And yet there I stood, trying my best not to be self-conscious, fully naked in front of any number of women, one of which just happened to be my very own niece.

By concentrating on ‘Alex' I succeeded in blocking out all of the others from my thoughts. At this point, as far as I was concerned, there were only the two of us there in that secluded garden. Could it have been a mere coincidence that as Alexandrée's eyes beheld my naked genitals for the first time she chose that particular moment to lick her full, red lips? In spite of myself, I was utterly mesmerized by the spectacle as the tip of her pink tongue slowly traced the outline of first her lower lip, then the upper. I am aware that I have been perhaps a bit more generously endowed than the average Englishman, though until that moment I seldom had reason to give it much thought. Whether my niece was aware of the relative size of my genitalia or not I could not say. However, from the rapt expression on ‘Alex's' face, it certainly appeared that she appreciated what she was looking at. I struggled against the urge to use my hands to cover my embarrassment, determined instead to stand proudly naked before my niece's inquisitive gaze.

To my horror, my testicles began to ride up just a little higher as the heat of her gaze caused the blood to rush to my ever expanding penis. To my further discomfort, the purple tip of its mushroom head began to protrude from the foreskin as my penis swelled, slowly rising up before her very eyes. With the colour, no doubt, rising in my cheeks, I was finally forced to place my hands strategically before my groin, lest the totally extent of my physical endowment become very public knowledge.

With my genitalia covered, Alexandrée's gaze moved back up into my face. Then my niece smiled up at me in a manner which could only be described as flirtatious. Stepping forward, she looked straight up into my eyes, and handed me a small towel. Hardly what I would consider a towel at all, it seemed little more than a cloth one might use for washing. Along with this she offered a small wooden bucket. I glanced inside. The vessel contained bar soap, a comb and a stiff brush. For a moment I gazed uncertainly at the tiny scrap of cloth I held in my hand. Seeing my puzzlement, Alexandrée took my hand and positioned it so that the small scrap of cloth was draped strategically before my pubic area. I could feel the heat as more blood rushed to my face and I realized I was blushing again. At least now I recognized the cloths purpose.

Holding both the towel and the wooden bucket in front of my prominent loins it was now my turn to observe as my niece untied her robe and allowed it to fall, with exaggerated slowness, to puddle around her slender ankles. I watched in fascination as she bent over and picked the robe and the slippers and dropped them one at a time into the basket provided. Once done, she made no move to cover herself, but turned to face me, now totally unclothed.

Our eyes met. Although we did not speak, a great deal of information was exchanged in that one look. An ancient form of nonverbal communication between man and woman. Male and female. Yin and yang - if you will. Alexandrée was my niece; the daughter of my late sister. Even though this young woman was my niece there wasn't a doubt in my mind that she knew exactly what effect her nudity was having on me. As a man.

The very public environment of the bathhouse might have rendered our nakedness entirely innocent. And up to this point, in spite of our obvious attraction for one another, she and I had maintained a discrete distance. If our own will power had lapsed at times, having my brother-in-law, Alexandrée's father, acting as an ever-present chaperone had thus far insured that she and I must keep our distance from one another. But her father was not here with us now, and the forbidden nature of her display, standing totally nude before me, her uncle, a man nearly twenty years her senior, looking directly into my eyes without the slightest hint of modesty or embarrassment, made her exhibitionism enormously erotic for the both of us. Hungrily I allowed my gaze to drift down the length of her lithe young body.

At eighteen, Alexandrée was quite slender. Thinner perhaps and a bit more sinewy than some other Englishmen might consider truly feminine. Like myself, she had little or no body fat. But her fine bone structure and musculature were clearly visible beneath her flawless olive complexion, lending her physique a sleek, feline appearance.

Whatever my contemporaries might think, in my eyes Alexandrée was perfection itself. Her slender form embodied the very ideal of feminine beauty.

In spite of myself I could only lick my lips when I gazed down at her, much as she had done just moments previous. Her breasts, sitting high on her chest, were not large but perfectly formed. Each breast was crested by a luscious aureole the same luscious colour as her full lips; ripe and red and succulent against her warm olive skin. Her nipples stood very erect. Proudly erect under my eager gaze.

‘Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins.'

The biblical poem leapt, unbidden, into my fevered brain.

Try as I might to harness my incestuous thoughts, I could not look away. The

Songs of Solomon

was possibly not the ideal poem to mentally recite if a man hopes to rein in his unbridled lust. Still it was the only poem to come to mind as my hungry eyes devoured my niece's naked form. And the poem seemed completely apropos to the present situation. Her stomach and abdomen were flat and hard. Her nakedness was delicious beyond my imagining. Even the sight of her navel made my mouth water.

‘Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy belly is like an heap of wheat set about with lilies.'

The narrowness of her waist was extenuated by the gentle swell of her slender hips. I was also surprised to discover that her body was almost completely free of body hair, unlike many women of Mediterranean ancestry. The delicious nakedness of her womanhood was only accentuated by a fringe of fine, curly black hair which surrounded the luscious folds of her vulva. The fine curly hair did nothing to conceal her clitoris, somewhat larger than the average. It peeked out from the prominent mound, provocatively, somewhat like a succulent, ripening fruit caught in the very act of bursting its skin. Behind this red, ripe bud, delicate dusky red labia were clearly visible, demurely folded over her as yet untouched vagina like the supple petals of a delicate flower that had yet to bloom.

How my mouth watered. I wanted to taste her there.

Dear God in heaven, give me strength,

I prayed though I have never been a religious man. Give me strength, indeed! I wanted to taste her everywhere! It was by force of will alone that I kept my jaw from dropping open, kept from gaping at her openly. Was she at all fooled by my feigned clinical indifference to her delectable nudity.

After my niece had given me ample opportunity to savour the spectacle of her form, she knelt and picked up her own wooden bucket and towel and, holding a scrap of cloth before her own loins, led me to an area where there were a number of short, three legged stools, perhaps a foot in height. Walking behind her he watched in rapt fascination as the round globes of her pert buttocks swayed tantalizingly with each step. Just above the luscious curves of her rump, two lovely dimples were visible on her lower back.

‘How fair and how pleasant art thou,'

I thought.

‘O love, for delights!'

So rock-hard was my incestuous desire by this time that it would have been possible for me to carry the wooden bucket suspended from my manhood without the aid of my hands.

Alexandrée knelt before me and used her bucket to dip hot water out of one of the steaming pools. Emulating my niece, I followed suit, trying to discretely hide my obvious problem. After pouring a little of the water over one of the stools, she sat upon it and proceeded to scrub her lithe body with the small soapy towel. Once her skin had been thoroughly scrubbed with the stiff brush, she rinsed herself off by pouring the water over her head. My cock twitched as I watched the water shimmer over her naked silken flesh.

Merely watching Alexandrée wash was, in itself, a very erotic experience. I sat somewhat awkwardly on my own stool, attempting to shield my now fully engorged erection from my niece's view as well as the view of the other bathers. I tried not to be seen observing ‘Alex' too closely. Instead I kept her in my peripheral vision while did my best to imitate her actions.

Rising, she dipped more hot water from the bath and she shampooed her long hair, carefully working the lather from the scalp all the way to the ends before rinsing it with the clean water. Since my own hair required no special shampoo beyond the bar soap I skipped this particular exercise. Once rinsed she ran a comb through her tangled mane. When she was certain that all the tangles had been removed, Alexandrée used two long enamelled sticks to pin her damp curls up off her shoulders. That done, she rose once again, walked to the water's edge, and slowly eased herself into the steaming

onsen

.

How grateful I was when I, too, was finally able to lower myself into the steaming bath. Grateful for the obscuring depths of the hot water of the bath that helped to conceal my now rampant erection. I pulled my knees up toward my chest beneath the sparkling clear water, hoping to further aid in camouflaging my swollen manhood from my niece's view.

In my days in London, in the time when I went by quite another name, I had occasion to see a variety of women in various stages of undress in the course of my illustrious career. While I might have, at times, allowed myself to appreciate the beauty of the feminine form, by and large, women's bodies have had little effect on me. Feminine beauty and feminine charms do not move me. But my own niece, oh yes, she moves me.

The sight of her firm, young breasts immersed in the bath, still tantalizingly visible just below the steaming surface of the water continued to cause my mouth to water. Try as I might, I was unable to rein in my overactive imagination. I envisioned myself pulling her into my arms and suckling those luscious red nipples, tasting them, savouring them right there in the midst of all of my fellow bathers, the painted geishas and the bathhouse attendants. My lust for my own niece was beyond all reason. The ultimate forbidden fruit.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, for fear that if I looked upon Alexandrée's nakedness one minute longer, I might spill my seed with no further stimulation than my errant eyes and my overactive brain.

Back in my hotel room now, I must face my very real trepidation. I live in fear what may become of me, what may become of us, if I do not find the strength within myself to break free of this incestuous desire. For the past few weeks, beginning long before the bathhouse incident, I had been finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything. Anything other than my niece. My beautiful, sapphire eyed ‘Alex'. By day she fills my thoughts. By night she fills my dreams...

To quote from the

Songs of Solomon: ‘This thy stature is like to the palm tree, I will take hold of the boughs thereof: now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the fine, and the smell of thy nose like apples; And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak.'

Henrik Sigerson, June 1891