Chapter 1: Off to a Rocky Start
Japan fascinated me before I ever went there ten years ago. And not because of the strong attraction I've long had for Asian women - I love their black hair, seductively-sculptured eyes, skin just the right color, not too dark and not too light. I'm turned on by their slender, graceful bodies, their perky, delicate breasts.
No, it was Japanese trains that first brought me across the Pacific. Videos of those Shinkansen bullet trains, sleek, multi-colored regional expresses, bustling city commuter trains packed with humanity. Joining a tour group eased by concerns about unreadable ideographs and unintelligible announcements.
So three years ago, when an international rail conference scheduled in Tokyo, honoring the first fifty years of Japanese high-speed rail, caught my attention, I signed up and booked my flights.
Of course, I was going to spend more than the four days of the conference in Japan. The thirteen hour flight over and the stress of adjusting to being on the opposite side of the planet meant that two weeks was the minimum stay I would consider, and three weeks would be even better.
And the women...how would I best get to know one or two? I searched for "sex in Japan" and found a dizzying array of possibilities. I was learning that "Japan has a system for everything". In fact, Japan has one of the most complex and dazzling array of options for male-female (and I suppose gay) encounters of any place on the planet. Not surprisingly, the widest array is available in the largest metro area on the planet: Tokyo.
Japan is funny, in a way: prostitution is strictly illegal, yet they have more choices of recreational sex for hire than just about anywhere. How is that? Well, "prostitution" is sex in return for money. OK...isn't that true everywhere? Ah, but what's the legal definition of sex? Penetration of the penis into the vagina. That's illegal when purchased with money, but everything else goes! And if there is consentual penetration, it's legal between adults as long as money is not exchanged for the purpose. It's OK if money is exchanged for other purposes, say, between a man and a woman who happen to like each other and who happen to have sex.
I'll let you search the Internet yourself for the many options, from clubs where drinking and flirting together is the limit, through "soapland" houses, all the way to escort services. I was intreagued by the Galaxy Club.
The Galaxy Club: Women sign up, are interviewed, photographed, measured, and videoed. Most importantly, they self-classify according to what they want to do on a date. A. Dinner only. B. Dinner and maybe intimacy after two or three dates. C. Dinner and, if the chemistry is right, intimacy on the first date. D. Open and willing. E. Marriage-minded.
Men, to join the club, must be interviewed, vetted, and pay an annual membership fee equivalent to several hundred dollars. They are instructed that each date should be accomapnied by a "thank-you" gift equivalent to $50-100. If she consents to "intimacy", the going rate is whispered informally. (I had to ask, and it turned out to be the equivalent of $500.)
Galaxy Club is a match-making service for women who want to connect with sugar-daddies, and men who want to connect with sugar-babies. Oops. I should say, Gentlemen who want to connect with sugar-babies. That's important, because Galaxy is supposed to provide a safe opportunity for women to get to hook up with men who (a) won't hurt them, and (b) have the means to help them fulfill their dreams financially...and sexually.
So I emailed to express my interest in joining. I wasn't able to schedule an appointment until two weeks later, while I traveled around Japan on those fast, colorful trains. When I came back to Tokyo a few days before the conference, I went to the rendezvous - a coffee shop in Ebisu station - to meet a club representative who would interview me and show me "the ropes". My interviewer turned out to be a wonderfully cheerful, bird-like little woman who spoke English quite well. She asked me a lot of questions very politely, and explained the procedures equally politely.
After an hour or so, we went to a different coffee shop, not in the station, and talked more. Everywhere, my interviewer was recognized. She was quite slender and clearly no longer in her twenties, but she was so bouncy and friendly I owuld have been happy to date her and keep bouncing with her. I asked where I could get condoms, and she thanked me for thinking of the safety of the girls. She wasn't sure I could get condoms large enough for me in Japan, and I protested that I was really very average-size. She insisted: to Japanese girls, I would be quite large - and please be gentle. She made it clear to me that if a woman said "no", it meant "NO". This reassured me that I wouldn't be exploiting women who were in the sex trade against their will.
So I paid the membership fee by electronic transfer and was given access to the online database of female club members. I was encouraged to see that each girl, in addition to 5-6 photos, measurements, and video, had an occupation listed. Many were college students; others were secretaries, sales people, beauticians... A few caught my eye as shop owners or medical professionals - dental hygienists, therapists, nurses, counselors. These were clearly not professional sex workers. I wasn't so sure of the ones whose job was listed as "service" or "hospitality"...
Wow! It was really exciting to look through the listings at all those cute girls, each one trying to get my attention, hoping to have a date with me. Once I learned a few simple techniques, the database allowed me to find girls who spoke some English (Basic, Conversational, or Advanced) and were "Open and willing", or at least willing to try out our mutual "chemistry". I still have tons of fun looking through the listing, since girl sign up frequently, and - for one reason or another - drop out pretty frequently also.
I arranged dates with two girls and paid the fees ($200 or $300 depending on how classy the club thinks the girls are). The first one was Miu, for Friday night after the conference, and the second was Manami, for Saturday afternoon.
Don't get me wrong: the conference was really interesting. But the days were long, and not all the speakers were scintillating, so I sometimes found myself nodding off. When that happened, I soon developed a technique to ward off sleep: I would call to mind the photos of Miu, my Friday night date. She was clearly Asian, but had big, soft, black eyes and unusually large breasts for an Asian woman. When I though of myself drowning in those eyes, or pillowing my head on those luscious boobs, my hormones would surge, my cock would stiffen, and I would spring wide awake. I couldn't wait for Miu and Friday night.
I was staying in a pretty nice hotel, though the room was small by North American standards. At the appointed time on Friday evening, I went down to the lobby to meet Miu. I had bought a vase of flowers (which I left in the room) and a card with one of those cute Japanese kitties and something sweet written inside. I thought, "Miu has the name of a cat's mew, so I'll make a play on her name!".
Friday evening, at the appointed time, I put on a sport coat and went down to the lobby to meet Miu. I was desperately hoping she'd agree to come to the hotel room and fuck, but I remembered that "no" means "NO", and I was quite nervous. I'd never done anything like this before - faithfully married, expect for one affair involving a girl who relentlessly pursued me with kisses and enticements, until I finally let her fuck me.
When I got down to the lobby, I naturally looked for someone obviously waiting for a tryst. Nobody. Finally I saw her, sitting with her back to the entrance, fiddling with her smartphone. "Miu? I'm Owen..." "Yeah," she said. I had decided to confess my nervousness. "This is my first time dating someone like this, and I'm kind of nervous..." "Oh," she said, "well, I hate old men. They want to fuck you, but they can't get hard enough." I was 69, so she was clearly dissing me. My heart - and my cock - sank.
"Well, ahhhh, would you like to go to dinner? There's a nice restaurant on the top floor of the hotel...?"
"Ok. That's what I came for." Good English. Terrible attitude. We went up in the elevator, with me trying desperately to think of something - anything - to say, that would change the mood, the attitude. Nothing came out.
