Oayama (pt. 01)

Every month or so I go on the first Sunday morning train from Ako, in south-west Hyogo in Japan, and head home to where I lived in Okayama. It's about an hour and a half west on the regular train. Usually, I was with my mate Dean from Florida, he and I worked together at a vocational English school in Okayama.

We met a guy once who told us about a reggae joint in Ako, a bar that's a magnet for foreigners living in regional Japan - an oasis of native English-speaking gaijin having colloquial conversations and partying all night. It was one of the few places in the west where you could meet and dance with other foreigners.

After finishing our Saturday evening shift at the Language School, Dean and I would go to Ako on one of the late trains out of Okayama Station, getting in around midnight. We would drink and carry on until the bar shut near five in the morning, then we would wait dog-tired in the freezing cold or summer heat for the first train home, praying we didn't sleep through our stop.

Fun, right?

I'm Lucas, by the way. An Australian. I came to Japan to work on a fixed-term contract in a High School after getting my teaching degree, and I wasn't ready to leave Japan when it finished. At twenty-seven, I was happy to drift a few years. I gave myself until thirty to work out what path would stick.

My teaching job was from 2pm to 10pm six days a week, Monday to Saturday, hence Dean and my occasional jaunt to Ako late on a Saturday night.

The language company I worked for had a strict teaching program with its own textbooks and a rote-learning style that is very Japanese. So on Saturday mornings, I used my apartment in Okayama to teach private English lessons for some tax-free side cash and to relax and enjoy teaching the language. The students I had were bright and sparkly; rather than lessons, it was more like having friends come over for a chat. And when people try to talk in a different language, they open up on topics that might be off-limits to mild acquaintances in their home culture. I got some great gossip and learned more about my students than their friends might know. I liked my Saturday mornings, I looked forward to them.

I had my sessions set up in order of age. Forty-five minutes each, with a fifteen-minute break between. Of course, that break was almost always absorbed by overrun, but it's okay, it makes the students feel they got a little more value than they paid for.

At 9am I taught a brother and sister who are in primary school. At ten was a pair of two nerdy high school girls about to graduate. At eleven I had a gorgeous college student who lived in the next building and at midday, I had three nurses that were in my classes at the company, too. I had time for a quick ramen after that before running off to work. Usually, the nurses ate with me, and sometimes they paid.

The primary school kids' mother was Sachiko, one of the three ladies in my midday class, so I had more chances to speak with her than the other two nurses. Both of those others were quite shy. Sachiko is an outgoing, sexy yummy-mummy. Single, I'd been told. It's a rarity outside the metropolises of Japan to see a divorcee, though I never pried into why Sachiko and her husband separated. She wore stylish dresses to my weekday classes, and on Saturdays wore daisy-duke denims with a t-shirt. I had a serious boner for that woman. Just the smell of her set me off. So it was only natural that I got my hopes up when she maneuvered to get me alone at lunch one Saturday and began prying.

"Do you have a girlfriend, Sensei?" she asked directly. I laughed. It was such a Japanese thing to do, ask a direct question like that when using English.

"Lucas. Not Sensei. We're not in class," I evaded.

"Do you?" Sachiko persisted.

"No," I said simply, not explaining myself.

"Ah? You so handsome, Sensei. You should have."

"Lucas."

"Lucas," Sachiko repeated. "You should have a girlfriend."

I looked Sachiko up and down. I'd not slept with someone who'd had children already. It would be a new experience for me.

"You don't have a boyfriend?" I asked back.

Sachiko laughed out loud. "Me? Ohh, I am married, Sensei! I don't need a boyfriend!"

"What?"

"I am married," Sachiko repeated.

"But... the girls said... you got divorced."

Sachiko laughed. "Many years ago. I re-marry last year."

"Last year?"

"Hmm. You know, Japan is not easy to be only mother. Better to be married."

"Oh." I was entirely confused. If Sachiko wasn't looking for a boyfriend, why was she prying?

"But Yuki-chan is single," Sachiko said, the penny dropping.

"Yuki?" Yuki was the quietest of the three in our class. She was pretty but extremely shy.

"Ha!" Sachiko laughed. "You think I need a boyfriend?"

I blushed red.

"Well...," I stammered. "I didn't know..."

"Yuki is very pretty, don't you think?"

I had to take a moment to digest it all. Sachiko was trying to hook me up with Yuki?

"How old is she?" I asked, the first question in my head.

"She is twenty-two. Perfect, don't you think? Not an old soldier like me."

"Hey," I grinned. "I always thought you were hot."

"Don't say such things. You should think about Yuki. Such a beautiful young lady. Do you like Japanese girls?"

"Of course," I laughed. "But..."

"But? What's your but?"

I forced myself not to laugh at that sentence.

"Japanese girls... around here... if they are... if they are nice looking girls... like Yuki... they're a bit... conservative."

"Conservative?"

"How to say? Not very..."

"Not very what?"

"Not very sexy."

"Oh, you think so?" Sachiko said, curious.

"No one I've seen. Girls I went on dates, it was... conservative. No sex."

"Hmm? You are the sex type?"

I laughed at that.

"What's that mean, what's the sex type?" I grinned.

"You want girls for sex?'

"Not just that!" I defended. "I'm not going to only have sex with them, but yeah... if I have a girlfriend, I want to undress her. I don't think I'd be very good dating a girl who didn't take her pants off."

"Sex every date?"

"Oh god, what a question! Yeah, if I could."

"Hmmm," Sachiko nodded.

"That's not Yuki, right?" I said. "She's not... that's not her... thing, right? I don't think there is any point in pushing me to her, it will just cause her stress."

"Mmmm. Interesting. You are the sex type. I have learned something new about you."

"Are not all guys the sex type?" I said, laughing at the ridiculousness of the conversation.

"No, in this part of Japan, many men would like their fiancé to be very simple, and not very knowledgeable. Still, I think Yuki can try."

I laughed again. This had become a strange lunch.

"Try?"

"Yuki should try sex. She is old enough now."

"Good luck with that," I said, grinning. Sachiko didn't pick up on my sarcasm.

I next saw Sachiko on Saturday morning as she dropped her kids for lessons. Sachiko wanted to pull me into the kitchen to talk so I set the kids a writing and drawing task.

"What?"

"Yuki-chan."

"Yes?" I said warily.

"She will try."

I looked at Sachiko and blinked. I'd half-forgotten our conversation from the week before.

"She'll try?"

"I told her if she wants to get a foreigner like you as her boyfriend, she will need to give sex every date. She agreed she will try."

I wanted to laugh out loud but worried it would disrespect what had possibly been a big life decision for Yuki.

"She'll try?" I said again, dumbly.

"Yes, she agreed."

Oddly, I got immediately hard at the thought of shy little Yuki coughing herself up so... contractually.

"Has she done it before?"

"Of course not!" Sachiko scolded me. "She is not a sex type."

"So why has she agreed?"

"I told her," Saturn shrugged. "At her age, she should try."

"So... she'll have sex because you told her to?"

"Hai," Sachiko nodded, then smiled. "I am a good matchmaker."

Sachiko explained that Yuki still lived at home, and it wouldn't be wise to let her parents know she had a date, especially with a gaijin. So the following weekend Sachiko would help explain to her family that we are going to have an English-speaking outing on Sunday, the day after our class.

"Then Yuki can come here freely," she explained.

"Come here, to my apartment?"

"It's better than a hotel, don't you think?"

"She will come here for sex?" I clarified, stunned at what was happening. "When she's here... I can undress her?"

"It's what you want, right? And if she does well, you can have a good girlfriend," Sachiko beamed, happy with herself.

"You're her pimp!" I laughed.

"What is pimp?"

"Don't worry, I better go teach your kids."

When the three of them were at my house for the midday class, the atmosphere was the weirdest I'd experienced. Difficult to describe, even to myself. Sachiko kept grinning at successfully match-making Yuki. Yuki wouldn't look at me, blushing red each time I glanced her way. The other nurse, Yumi, was clueless to the secret undertone, and so carried on as normal. Weird, weird, strange. I have to say I looked at Yuki in a brand-new light. She was pretty. Her body was slight but now I looked properly, she was indeed entirely fuckable. With long, soft sweeping hair, if you looked at her face properly, Yuki was beautiful. She had the cutest little ass and feminine shoulders. Her breasts bumped out of her t-shirt, not large, but not small. Her shyness, especially now we both knew what would happen to her the following weekend, was erotic. I passed through the lesson in a haze.

Sachiko manufactured it for Yuki and me coccyx to go to lunch together, those two having 'urgent appointments'. Luckily there wasn't much time before I had to go to work, I was shaking I was so anxious.

"So...," I confirmed. "Next Sunday morning... an extra class, right?"

Yuki blushed red, nodding.

"Just you and me?" I clarified. I needed to be sure there was no mistake.

Yuki was bright crimson as she nodded, eventually smiling at the strange situation.

"What time should I arrive?"

"Ummm... how long can you stay?" I asked.

"How long do you... want me?"

"If you come in the morning, can you stay until the afternoon?"

Yuki nodded.

"Come over at nine?" I suggested.

Again Yuki nodded, shivering and nervous.

"Should I bring... pajamas... or anything for the bed?"

"No," I said, taking a deep breath. "In bed, you won't need to bring anything, you'll be... undressed. Naked. Will you be fine with that? Wearing nothing, having nothing on?"

"In bed, I will take my clothes all off?"

"Yes."

"I will feel embarrassed," Yuki admitted.

"Only at the beginning," I tried to ease her anxiety. "After your body has been used, you'll be more comfortable."

"Okay," Yuki nodded apprehensively. "I will try."

It was such an awkward conversation. We bowed slightly when we left, politely saying goodbye and see you next week.

Wow.

I was meant to go down to the Ako reggae bar the following weekend with Dean, but I had to ring and cancel. I didn't want to tell him why, it was too early to tell if Yuki and I would get past our awkwardly arranged first date. The rest of the week I had plenty of classes to keep me busy. Sachiko turned up on Wednesday evening in my company class, but there was no chance to talk about anything private. On Thursday evening Yuki skipped my class, which I put down to nerves about the weekend - until Sachiko brought her kids Saturday morning.

"I'm so sorry. Yuki needs to change back one week. Can you do the following Sunday?" she asked.

I was more disappointed than I thought I might be.

"Why?"

"Her period. It came early. We think it's because she is anxious. It's better you wait one week so she will be clean for you."

"Of course," I said, relieved the problem was only that.

The lesson with the nurses at midday was no less edgy than the week before, and it seemed Yumi was now clued into the 'arrangement'. They left Yuki and me together for lunch again, despite my urging that we all go together.

"I'm so sorry for the delay," Yuki said when we were sitting alone. "I hope you forgive me."

"Of course," I said, trying to make her feel better. "It's just nature."

"I promise it's unexpected," Yuki tried to assure me.

"It's okay."

"I will take my clothes off for you next week, I promise. I will be clean for you to use."

"It's okay," I smiled. "Thanks. It's nice of you. But... can I look?"

"I don't understand," Yuki said.

We were sitting next to each other at the ramen bar, over in the corner.

"Undo the buttons on your shirt."

"Here?"

I nodded.

"Now?" Yuki asked, shocked.

"Yeah, the top three."

I kept look-out as Yuki's trembling fingers did as asked, loosening the top three buttons. Looking to see we wouldn't get caught, I pushed my hand down her front, into her bra, and gripped her bare breast. I squeezed and massaged and pressured her nipple with my finger webbing. Poor Yuki was shaking from the experience.

"Decent breast," I whispered. "Feels seriously nice. We'll have some fun, for sure."

Yuki blushed crimson as one of the staff looked over and gave a thumbs-up as I had a long, tight grip before pulling my hand out.

"Next week will be nice," I said happily. Yuki nodded politely, looking terrified by what she had agreed to.

Being suddenly free the next day, I ran to Dean at work to see if we could still do the run to Ako. Too late. He'd committed to go with his girlfriend's dad to golf.

"But next weekend I can," he said. "We better do it before they close for the renovation."

"Shit. Next weekend..."

"What?"

"Stuff on."

So I made the decision to go by myself. Someone I knew must be there.

Or not.

There was a big crowd, which for a small bar was about thirty-five people. I'd seen some of them, but not so much that I knew their names. At least I knew the barman and the DJ well, so I wasn't completely a fish out of water.

Getting there at midnight meant catching up on how drunk all the other customers were. By two, I'd managed to get into full swing, talking with a bunch of Kiwis, defending rugby with them against the grid-iron-loving Americans. I connected with some of the girls, too, particularly on what constitutes 'reggae' at the reggae bar. My simple suggestion was that a reggae bar shouldn't just dress itself up reggae, it should play reggae music. Fundamentally their argument was 'who cares'. The DJ played Beyoncé as they requested and I was defeated.

"You just wiggle your cute ass, and the guy does what you say," I complained to the group of them.

"Pfft," was the reply.

At the bar, I ordered a rum in a private attempt to legitimize the reggae bar, and one of the girls came up to order, too.

"Shouldn't you have dreadlocks?" she asked me, waiting for the one barman to finish other orders.

"Huh?"

"According to you, only proper reggae dudes should hang out in a reggae bar. It's not just aesthetics, right, what did you say?"

"You know, you look a lot like Sabrina Carpenter."

"Who's that?" the girl laughed.

"What is that accent?" I asked, ignoring her question.

"Irish."

"No way! You look completely American. I thought Irish were all red hair and freckles?"

"That's Scottish," I was rebuked, "A completely different country across the sea."

"There's a country called Scottish?" I ribbed.

"And I suppose you're an Aussie," she said, accentuating 'Aussie' as if it was an accusation.

"Yep. From the bush to Okayama."

"The bush?" the girl laughed, "The bush? Does that mean from birth?"

"What?" I grinned. "What are you talking about?"

"The bush," she giggled. "Your mother's bush. From your mother's bush to Okayama!"

I didn't know what to say. I just grinned at her laughing at her own joke.

"The countryside. I'm from the countryside," I explained gracefully, then added, "And I'll have you know, my mother shaves."

The girl exploded in laughter. For any sober person watching the conversation, it would have been cheesy and crass. But for us two, we were at the perfect moment of drunkenness where the lightest touch of a feather caused fits of laughter. Her friends had to come and get their own drinks, tired of waiting. Effortlessly the Irish girl who looked American and I talked on. We teased and joked and charmed each other.

"What's your name?" it occurred to me to ask.

"I'm not telling you that!" she replied indignantly.

"Why not?" I laughed at her.

"I'm not here to pick up boys," she said defiantly. "I'm here for a good night out."

"Well, give me your number. I'll call you and pick you up later?" I said as a resolution to the problem.

"Hmmm. Not sure about that!"

"Why not?" I smiled, keeping my mood bright and positive.

"I don't know if I like you yet! I only just met you at this bar," she said, tapping on it.

"Ah!" I said. "I have the solution to that problem."

"Oh, you do?" the girl smiled.

"Yes. We sleep together."

She burst out laughing.

"We sleep together?"

"Yes. If we sleep together, you'll like me afterward," I said confidently. Is there a song that says that?

She couldn't stop giggling.

"You want me to sleep with you?"

"Uh-huh. It will help."

"Now? Tonight?"

"Sure. You'll like me much better afterward, I guarantee it. Then you'll be happy to give me your number."

"If I sleep with you, I'll like you better?" the girl repeated, still giggling.

"Yes," I said.

She looked at me with an interesting admiration for my daring, then repeated, "If I have sex with you, I'll like you afterward? Like you're some magician in bed?"

"If we sleep together, you will like me enough afterward to give me that number," I repeated.

"You're crazy!" she laughed.

"It's true. You'll see."

"Okay," she grinned and shook her head in disbelief at herself, "Then I better go get my things."

"Go on. Then we can go," I said, giving my best impression of confidence.

Her friends were too busy dancing to notice the girl getting her bag and cardigan. I had a tab to quickly settle, the barman winking at me, having sensed what was going down.

Outside the crisp cold air was sobering, but at three-thirty in the morning there was nowhere to go other than back into the bar or to bed. The girl put her cardigan over her singlet, but her bare legs in cargo shorts made her shiver.

"There are hotels between here and the station," I said, offering my arm. The girl took it and we walked in silence. The cheap banter of the bar ceased, and the seriousness of what we were doing had set in.

"I don't have one-night stands," she told me, not glumly, but with a need for me to know.

"Except for this one," I clarified.

"Yes," she said, "So you better do a good job."

"That's the promise," I smiled. "After we've slept together, you'll like me much better."

"Oh god," the girl laughed nervously. "I can't believe I'm going to take my pants off for a stranger. I've never even been to a love hotel before. This is a strange night."

At such a late hour we didn't fuss over which hotel or which room. We pressed the button under the lit-up picture of a warm-looking room and followed the flashing lights to the door. Once inside, the girl noticed the price meter above the exit to the room.

"Oh my god, it's like a taxi."

"Come. Put your bag down. Come stand here," I told her, dragging her to the foot of the round bed, facing it.

I had a plan. When I said girls like me more after I sleep with them, there was an element of truth to it. I had a pattern of fucking a girl the first time that worked. In the simplest form, it was to give the briefest taste of full cock penetration from moment one. Straight in, with only just enough foreplay to get the girl wet. Then after she's over the shock of having cock deep in her pussy so quickly, I pull out and go through the intimate foreplay routine. I turn it all backward, the girl is not quite sure what's going on. The tiniest taste of cock, followed by non-penetrative intimacy. I find that if a couple starts with foreplay there's always an anxiety of when to make the move to put cock in cunt. Too early, too late, who starts it. The way I do it, the cock comes so early that the 'foreplay' afterward becomes relaxed and enjoyable.