Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote.
I dedicate this story to Walter from Southern California.
*
Ruth confesses the sexual affair she had with Jack, Jay's older friend and neighbor.
The final leg and the culmination of a long, tiring trip home from Japan, Jay's taxi drove down his street and neared his house. A quiet street with a lot of mature trees and in a good neighborhood, despite having to contend with his wife's lunacy, he always looked forward to coming home whenever he traveled. At least he'd get to see and catch up with things with his daughter, Kim.
A long flight home with movies he didn't want to watch, people he didn't want to talk to, and magazines he didn't want to read, it was a boring flight. Except for the pretty, Japanese stewardess and some of the attractive female passengers, there wasn't much to do other than ogle the women while imagining them in there bras and panties, topless, and/or naked. Probably not, but he wondered if any of the woman imagined him naked. No doubt, even the women he paid to have sex with him didn't imagine him naked before having sex with him. They just wanted to get it over with so that they could accept his money and go to their next customer. Where men think about sex, women think about money and security. No doubt, if he walked down the aisle fitted with a suit made of money, he'd have women all over him telling him how sexy and how handsome he was.
'They should have naked airlines,' he thought. 'Then again with many of the bad bodies flying in this plane, the last thing he'd want to see is them all naked.'
Forced to fly business class and to sit in seats that have less leg room than first class, feeling cramp and feeling more like cargo than he did a passenger, he was tired and cranky. He wished he was flying first class. With him the president of his company, he'd think that he'd be worth the price of a first class ticket. Now he wondered how much a first class ticket cost over a business class one. Too tired to think about such stupid things, he closed his eyes and slept during most of the flight home.
'Note to self. Remember to ask my secretary how much a first class ticket to Japan is, should he have to return there to sign contracts.'
A challenging week of negotiating with clients through an interpreter, while hoping his messages were received and his meanings were properly interpreted, it had been a difficult trip, especially when having to contend with the language barrier. A telling and seemingly insightful sign in this country meant entirely something else in Japan, especially back then, before the advent of the Internet made the world a smaller and less mysterious place. Then, when trying to play hardball with prices and terms, he ran the risk of insulting his host. He ran the risk of not only ending their negotiations and their open line of communication but also their business. That was the last thing he wanted to do. With all of the traditions so very different between the two countries, it wasn't just the language that he needed to learn but the customs that he needed to master.
Japan was a country so different than his own. With everyone unfamiliar and everything strange, albeit with so very many people seemingly all looking the same, he had a difficult time recognizing one person from another. Seemingly, everyone had black hair, brown eyes, and yellow skin. Seemingly, all the women were the same shape, size, and height. Some Japanese people looked very different, of course, but when trying to recognize and pick out a Japanese man or a Japanese woman in a crowd, it was virtually impossible.
He'd have nightmares of eating bowls of rice and raw fish with chopsticks while kneeling on mats, sitting on giant pillows, and suffering in silence from the pain of his aching back. Why the Japanese don't all have back problems, he'll never understand. Why the Japanese don't have comfortable chairs is another mystery he'd never understand either. Walking on his aching back in their bare feet, no wonder why nearly every Japanese women he's met is a licensed massage therapist in addition to being a prostitute, a hooker, or a call girl.
After being their guest in Tokyo for nine days instead of ten days, cutting his trip a day short, he just wanted to go home. He just wanted to sleep in his own bed. He just wanted to get back to his familiar routine, such as driving his new car, a new Cadillac that he bought just before he left, and returning to the office. Then, later, after he got some much needed rest and adjusted to the phenomena of jet lag, before returning to work, he just wanted to flop in his recliner, flip channels, and not be bothered for a day.
In the nearly 6,000 mile, 15 hour flight home from Japan, he'd think that in this modern age of space travel of 1986, there'd be a faster way to travel from the Far East to the United States. He wished his company had booked him on British Airways new supersonic Concorde SST but the plane didn't fly to Japan. Flying twice the speed of sound, at a flight speed of 1,350 miles an hour, he'd make it home from Japan in less than two hours, a fraction of the time it took to fly cross country in a conventional airliner.
'Wow. Forget about jet lag, I'd have supersonic lag,' he thought while laughing to himself.
Actually, his visit to Japan was not all bad, the lifestyle in Japan was more relaxed than the lifestyle in America. Most times, instead of feeling that he was on a business trip, he felt as if he was on vacation. No matter what language they spoke, the two universal sports that he was invited to watch, baseball, and to play, golf, were the same. His Japanese host was gracious enough to show him a good time. Should his Japanese counterparts ever come to America, he'd be pleased to return the favor and entertaining them.
Unless he was in a meeting with other men speaking a language he didn't understand and giving him looks he didn't appreciate, he was less stressed in Japan than in America. Now that he was leaving, instead of being in a hurry to head home, he wished he could have stayed longer in Japan. He wondered how different it would be to live on an island instead of being landlocked. For the most part, even after we destroyed so much of their country with nuclear bombs, they were a kind, gentle, and friendly people.
In the way he was welcomed in Japan, instead of being welcomed home by his wife, he'd have to put up with her attitude and listen to her usual ration of shit. With her the one more important, she didn't care what he had to go through to earn a dollar to keep her shopping at the mall and to stock her with cigarettes and booze. The highlight of his trip, albeit a distant second to the young women he had sex with, was picking up a kimono for his daughter, Kim. He had fun having young, sexy, Japanese women modeling kimonos for him.
* * * * *
If he'd miss anything about Japan, he'd miss the beautiful, young women. Something they don't do in this country, unless he hired a prostitute to give him fetish sex by washing him, he'd miss young, naked women bathing him. With a bath something he never took at home, always taking showers instead, as if a ritual, bathing in Japan was so much more luxurious, relaxing, and sexually arousing at the same time, especially when surrounded by naked, Japanese women. He'd miss young, naked women massaging him. He'd miss having sex with young, naked women whose seemingly only purpose in life was to sexually please and pleasure him.
Yeah, they were all prostitutes, of course, but they were unlike any prostitutes that he ever met. Instead of having an attitude, using foul language, and rushing him to do what he sexually needed to do, they spoke softly, were gentle, kind, loving, and bowed at lot. There's something about a young, pretty, and naked woman bowing to him that he'd liked. There's something about a young, pretty, and naked woman bowing to him that he'd miss. Moreover, with him not understanding what they said most times, nodding his head and smiling a lot, sex bridged that communication gap once they stripped naked. No matter where he was in the world, sex was the universal language.
American women need to take heed and to take lessons from Japanese women. Japanese women know how to take care of a man. Japanese women appreciate their man going out in the cruel world to earn a living while they stay at home to care for the house and for the children. Not knowing if they still feel that way now but thirty years ago, when he was visiting their country, Japanese women didn't mind being subservient when today's American women want equal rights and equal pay. In hindsight, something we never should have given them, wasn't it enough that men gave women the right to vote?
There should be a college of sexual refinement where American women can go to learn how to sexually take care of a man, especially black divas who think they're all that. There should be a finishing school where women can go to learn how to take proper care of a man's sexual needs and to cater to his every sexual whim. If women took better sexual care of their men, waited on them hand and foot and satisfied their every sexual whimsy, men wouldn't have the need to wander and to have extramarital affairs as much as they do. In the way that Japanese women do, if only women would put their needs, sexual and otherwise, behind what their men needed and wanted, life would be so much better for hard working men. He could only imagine a black diva being interviewed by a newspaper reporter over her balking at being forced to attend such a school.
