While we waited for the train, on the platform of the subway station, Masako and Yoko told us that the next weekend we would have not gone to the love hotel. They wanted to show us something in the suburbs of Tokio. Something "cultural", they said. But judging by how they looked at each other, with a wily smile, it should be not so "cultural". Or if it was "cultural", then surely it was not boring.
So we were very curious when we meet them again, in the subway. Each one of us had a small backpack with something to eat and drink, and a light "poncho" in case of rain. They told us that our destination was a place named Kawasaki, and we were going there to see a thing called "Hodare Matsuri Festival". When I asked to Masako, what a kind of festival it was, she chuckled, moved her index finger to call me closer to her and whispered in my ear, in perfect Italian:
"Un festival del cazzo...".
"A festival of the dick?", I asked, looking at her, quite surprised. In Italian language, that phrase means also "a dick (a fuck, a heck, you name it) of a festival"...
"Hmm-hmm!" she nodded, cheerfully. "I swear!"
My friend and me were perplexed, but Masako was not joking at all. We were going to attend a Shinto celebration, dedicated to fertility, in all of its forms, and the core of the matter was exactly a phallic procession. One of the few still existing in Japan (and in the whole so called "developed world", coming to think of it). They were two or three, as far as I learned. One in Kawasaki, another in Nagoya, and another, I don't remember where, exactly. That one was the closest to Tokio. So we had a good occasion to see how it was.
Of course, we were not the only ones to go there, There was a young Japanese couple, just married. They were going there in order to ask a little help for the children to come. She was pretty, very friendly, short chestnut-dyed hair. He was shy, but smiling. And there were some guys and girls, clearly not Japanese. Tourists, from Australia, they said. They got the information by chance, on You Tube. And they wanted to verify.
The atmosphere on the train, and even more on the spot, was everything but gloomy and bigot. There were plenty of sellers, and I have seen something alike at home, close to some country churches, on some holidays. But what was on sale there at Kawasaki would have been quite off-topic in a Catholic context. Gadgets of various kinds with clearly shaped "intimate" positions, and, most of all, candid imitations of the male's belongings, even of respectable dimensions, of various materials, including candies and lollipops, and even some female's belongings, just to accept. Something like an open air sex shop. And the buyers, including many girls, were more than happy to buy them and to start consuming them on the spot, (in the case of lollipops), with lots of "selfies" in the process. I was quite impressed.
The young couple raised the few wooden stairs which led to some kind of a small stage, barely shielded by some kind of white curtain. We were not so close to see what was up above there, but it had to be something religiously significant, since the girl started bowing sometimes and both remained there for a while, maybe to receive some blessing. When they accomplished their duty of good Shinto believers, they came down among us common mortals and joined the party: smiles, candies and selfies for them too, best wishes from Masako and Yoko, and even from us, miscreants, but very interested. All the religions are wrong, and all the prayers etc.
In the meantime, the "real thing" had arrived on the scene. A real real thing. A wooden cylinder, definitely "bigger than life", with conveniently curved and graven tip and "attributes", maybe, yes, just a bit undersized, but there they were, and that was enough. I heard the beautiful voice of a girl saying something humorous, and I had understood well, because many people started laughing. Including Yoko and Masako.
The "thing" was carried by some gentlemen dressed in a traditional costume, but not the classic 'akama', the male version of a kimono: something very shorter, which left uncovered the arms and the legs of the persons.
At a certain point, when the Shinto priests had done their job sprinkling the "thing" with something I did not recognize (water, sakè, who knows), four girls climbed on the poles which supported the "thing" and then sat astray the "thing" itself. Nobody tried to stop them, all the other way, their gesture was very appreciated, especially when the gentlemen started to move "the things" up and down, like a plane in a turbulence. The girls keep riding "the thing", with no sign of fear, happy as children. After a while, the "turbulence" came to an end, and the girls dismounted from the "thing", soon replaced by three other girls and a boy. And the gentlemen started moving "the thing" again.
While the second group took its ride on "the thing", I said some little, very little girls, in beautiful kimonos, looking at the show, with no awkwardness on their faces. They were smiling. I wondered whether they knew what was the buzz, or if they would have had to ask their parents: "Mom, what was that big thing all those girls went on?". Embarrassing question. Or not?
I was still thinking about these educational problems when the girls and the guy dismounted from "the thing" and Masako and Yoko invited us to follow them on "the thing" itself. My friend and I had an instant of hesitation, but the girls went on alone. Yoko saddled up close to the tip of the "thing", Masako just behind her, and other Japanese girls mounted behind them. The tireless gentlemen started their hardest game again, and Yoko and Masako showed what clever cowgirls they could have been if they would have born in the USA. Yoko, especially, so shy, was shouting, laughing and waving her right arm as if she was in a real rodeo. It was a pleasure to look at her, and to shoot her with my smartphone...
When the girls dismounted, they came and hugged us, happy, excited and a bit upset. Other girls, two Japanese and two Europeans, were already mounting on the "thing", but we did not care too much. We were not the only gaijin males accompanied by Japanese girls, and nobody bothered us, while we attended the rest of the ceremony. The ride had positively moved the bowels of Yoko and Masako, especially their sexes. They kept themselves close to us, smiling and sweetly looking in our eyes every now and then. Although they avoided more intimate attitudes in public, it was clear what they wanted to do, just after the end of the rite. Maybe this was the intended, more or less "mystical" purpose of those "rides", or maybe not. But in their case, that was the real effect.
They didn't even want to come back to Tokyo, to go to our "usual" love hotel. They knew there was plenty of those facilities in Kawasaki too, and they found one of the same chain of that one where we had been before. There too, absolute discretion: no matter how many people went to any given room (at least, until they were just four). And there too, there was something like a Japanese room. More exactly, a tea-house room.
We had a shower together (the bathroom was wide enough, there), but the girls were in a hurry to pass to the serious things. They sent us away, dressed in very elegant dark bathrobes which quite resembled the male's dress of ancient Japan (think of a film by Kurosawa, and you get the picture).
After a while, they too came out, dressed in colourful kimonos that they had found in the wardrobe between the bathroom and the wider room. Cure of details. Of course, beneath the kimonos, they had nothing.
They sat astray our loins, Yoko over my friend, and Masako over me, opening their kimonos and showing their bodies. They were smiling, relaxed, very less formal than real geishas could ever be with real customers. And we thanked God that their beautiful skin was not plastered by the white powder the "artists" used in their profession. We started caressing them, from their faces going down. Their small boobs were just waiting for our hands, being already swollen, their tips erected. Masako closed her eyes for a moment, wincing, while I covered her nipples with my palms, moving them like following opposing spirals, then breathed.
"May I impale myself on your dick, my 'daymyo'?", she asked ceremoniously.
"What do you think?", I said.
"I think your 'chinko' is hard, and my 'neko' is wet...", she said, looking down, enhancing her oriental accent.
"And so?" I asked. "what do you have to do in these cases, my concubine?"
She smiled, took my 'chinko' with a hand, raised her butts over me and impaled herself slowly, with a low, long mutter.
"I'm the scabbard of your sword, my lord," she whispered, when my dick was all inside of her.
