Kondo San? Pt. 03

Of course, after such experiences, I had left for Italy full of nostalgia, longing to be in Japan again. But I did not ever think to move there for good. As someone wisely said, tourism is one thing, emigration is another. And this applies to Japan more than to many other places. To integrate in Japan, for a foreigner, is really difficult, from the cultural point of view and even more regarding the job opportunities. And it's not just a question of bows and ideograms: that's the less. Japanese are really very kind with foreigners, especially with Europeans and Americans, but not always with those who want to become "one of them". They think that this, for most of the foreigners, is a too much ambitious program. A wise person would not ever try to do it. And they don't like the unwise persons.

I had some weeks of hard times to catch up with the job, especially with the rhythm of the job. Up to the point that when I reminded those careless, hasteless moments with Masako and Yoko, in that fake but so cozy and relaxing Japanese "house", I hardly believed I had really lived them, and not in a previous life.

So when the dust subsided and I could breath, the first thing I did was to prepare another long break in Tokio. I dropped even a possible career opportunity because it interfered with my plans. Life is made of priorities. On the other hands, I perfectionated my skills about tele-working. And since I had found that my improved skills in Japanese language were apreciated by my clients and my bosses, I had a good rationale for my superego (and my bosses too): I was planning not another long holyday, but a short advanced language course.

A language course is always a good way (and a good rationale) to make a trip, no matter where. A language is a skill, it looks well in a CV, it's good for your culture (and your brain: the more it works, the later it will give you problems), and language courses usually last longer and cost less than any other form of travel. And to know a language doubles you chances to get out with a girl you like. The accommodation can require a bit of sportsman's spirit (a "student's house" is never a Hilton), but getting a bit out of your confort zone is also a healthy move, every now and then. Just a bit, of course. I am not one of those extreme-sports nuts...

This time I would not have travelled alone. There was a guy, the son af an acquaintance of mine. He was a real Japan-lover, more than I. He had graduated with a very good grade, he had asked a trip to Tokio as a prize, and the family had had to accept it, but they would have never let thim go alone.

And quite rightly. He was a nice and educated guy, but Japan is not just around the corner, in any sense. And he had just some basic notions of Japanese language, and some confuse ideas of how Japan should have been (but not necessaryly was).

While I had read "Sayonara", the James Michener's romantic and a bit idealized novel about Japanese women in the 50es, when I was as young as he was now, he had a real culture about "manga", "anime" and everything. But this was not enough to face the real Japan. As it was not enough even "Sayonara"...

So they entrusted me that guy, and I took the task seriously. I talked with him, as a "sempai" can talk to a "kohai", since he liked that kind of terms, or if you prefer, as a veteran who makes it clear to a rookie, "The young British soldier", something alike.

"Speak English, always English, only English, your Japanese is laughable," I told him. "Study it, as well as you can, the more you will learn their language, the more they will respect you, but their culture is not only their language, is more complex. If they ask if you know Japanese, say you know it a bit, now and forever, never boast. You'll never be one of the boys, for them, you are a "gaijin" and so you will always be. Play your role, don't get mad to bow as it takes, you will never learn, and nobody expects it from you. Just bow your head, show respect, they will understand you are a nice guy all the same."

"But if I won't become one of them, how can I find a job there?". So THIS was his plan. Poor boy...

"That's it: you will never find it. Why should they give a job to you, with all the guys they have? To get a place there, you must be MORE skilled than them. And you have even to find someone who understands it, and admits it, even if you are a "gaijin". And the job rules are hell. We are socialist, compared to them. You better just forget it."

"And what if I start my own business?"

"Columbus's egg, ain't it? And what to you want to do? A pizzeria? You come late, they are almost sick and tired, of how many they are. By the way, sushi and tempura are not bad, but don't try the seaweeds, you have to be born for that... And tofu too, is like to eat cardboard, if you don't baster it with something... Asashi beer is quite good too, sake, try it once, if you wish, but I don't advise you. Got it?

When we got to the chapter "girls", I had to burst other bubbles. Sempai must be cruel, sometimes. Geishas were virtually estinct, in their traditional shape, and however they were not at all what he thought: top class escorts who followed traditional time-wasting rules of engagement before to get to bed. To die with AIDS from them was impossible, because sex was out of question, if not with their "danna", if they still existed (but it was hard to explain him what they were: not selfless sponsors, so to say). But to die with boredom...yes it was possible, at least for an uneducated "gaijin". As he was.

"And the...how do they say... soapland?" he asked?

I snorted. He was quite informed, after all... Japanese called them "sopurando", with their peculiar idea of English pronunciation. Once upon a time they called them "turkish bath", but the Turkish embassy had protested for the embarrassing linking. And they had passed to something more apolid. Land of the soap. No ambassador had ever protested for that. And not even the detergent manufacturers' association, coming to think of it...

I interrogated him about them, and he already knew all the above, but there was a thing that he ignored. A detail. But as always is, the devil is in the details.

"Well, yes, they exist. But virtually only for japanese. Someone says that it is so because some bad American servicemen in shore leave made an epic mess in one of them, mistreated the girls, some time ago. Some other people say that's because there is the Yakuza behind that business, and they dont like that the "gaijin" have fun with japanese girls. However, it is almost forbidden zone, for us. There is a few places where "gaijin" can enter, but they say that the girls working there are not so Japanese: Koreans, this kind of things.

"And is it right? I mean, Yakuza and the rest... "

"Right or wrong, I don't know. Words passing by. I have a friend who was there, he speaks japanese better than I. He says it's fine, girls are nice, they wash you, pamper you like a baby, but they are naked as when they came to the world. And if you are handy with the girls, you can make a deal for the rest. And Japanese or Koreans, the girls are dynamite. I did not go there yet."

"And the 'Enjo Kosài"?" he asked. I stared at him.

"What do you know about "Enjo Kosài"?

"well... I know that the translation is more or less "sponsored meeting", or "meeting for a help"... Usually it involves students, or however very young girls..."

"Yeah. An euphemism for 'under aged'", I said, frowning. There is a minimum age limit for this kind of games, in my humble opinion. And however, a real woman in bed is worth two, three teenage chicks. With a woman, sex is a jam session. With a too young girl, besides the moral issues, it's boring like to teach her to play the piano... From the scratch...

"However, It seems something like the old stories about Russian girls meeting strangers to have jeans or stockings, in the late 80es..."

"Prehistory", I shrugged. Those days were gone. Russian girls were always there, beautiful as ever, but rules of engagement were totally changed... "And there are two difference. Then, Russian girls asked for jeans and stockings directly, as a gift, so it seemed a bit less like prostitution. Now, the girls involved in "Enjo Kosài" ask MONEY and THEN go and buy fashion stuffs, famous brands, Gucci, D&G, and not only dress, even hi-tech gadgets, the last I-phone and the like..."

"And the second difference?"

"The second one is that this jazz too is Japanese-only, even more than the other," I said, looking at him with a sorry face. "Russian girls were eager to find strangers, Japanese girls who are in the 'Enjo Kosài' trade don't even look at you, if you are a 'gaijin'. They do not approach anybody directly, as the Russians did. They put insertions in some magazines, or on the Internet, but only in Japanese. Because they look for rich and even mature Japanese, most of the time. And you are neither. And so am I. It's not our turf, at all."

"But then, what can we do? What did you do? Did you picked up?" He was dismayed.

"Oh, well..."

"Oh, got it!" he smiled. "How it happened?"

"Uh, like... I swear, it's been just chance.."

So, in spite of the sacred rule "a gentleman enjoys and keeps mum", I reported him about my intimate adventures in the land of the rising sun. Without giving too much details, of course, but, I showed him my score. At the end, he was looking at me in quite another way. Well, better envied than pitied, right?

"And... Would it be possible to know those girls?"

"Yes... But don't get wrong, no mental wanking, they are not..."

"They are not nuns, that's for sure... Then? Can we meet them?"

"I can try... But don't make me look bad, got the picture? Or else..."

"I got it: it takes style, style... Even for..."

"That's it!"

Of course Masako and Yoko knew that I was coming there, and both were impatient to see me again (well, say "see me"...). When my "kohai" joined the party, I informed Masako by phone, with a bit of embarrassment. I was not sure at all it has been a good idea to share with him our own personal deals, and even less sure the he would have acted properly with her and Yoko. But Masako was not so worried, let alone angered for my indiscretion.

"Is your friend an Italian?" she asked me, very interested.

"Of course," I said.

"Then it's all right. How old is he?"

"Quite younger than me. And virtually a 'doutei', I guess." I said. 'Doutey' was the japanese term for a male who never had a woman. And I was almost sure, although we did not discuss the item, that my "kohai" fell in that cathegory. Not the kind of latin lover, or Casanova, or Don Giovanni whatsoever. Not at all.

"Is he an 'otaku'?" chuckled Masako. She had got the point, spot on. "Otaku" is the japanese "hard", "extreme" version of "nerd". A poor guy with zero social life, up to the point that he doesn't even look for it anymore: hidden in his room, DVD, videogames, 'manga', 'animè' more or less unproper for kids, that king of guy. And my "friend" was more or less the same. A swot, a geek, you name it... An "otaku" with a graduation.

"I'm afraid yes..." I gravely confirmed her thesis. "And he is in love with Japan. This is the journey of his life, for him. And I am his 'sempai' in this journey. I have to take care of him."

"Well, you are a good potential 'sempai', don't worry. You have the right age, and the right mind for it. That's why I like you."

"Only for that?" I ask.

"Don't be kinky, now," she giggled. But her voices had become more "kinky" too. She thought what I was thinking... "long nose, long spear"...

"That is... Don't treat him bad... I beg you to be patient with him..."

"No worry," she giggled again. I had used the formula with which a newcomer introduced himself (herself) to a group. Name and surname, eventualy the job qualification, and then I-beg-you-to-be -patient-with-me... In Japanese, of course... "We will have a good time together!"

"I thought to introduce him to Yoko," I said. "what about that?"

"A good idea. I will tell her about it."

"But thell her too that she is not obliged to do anything. If he misbehaves, if he pushes his hands too far... she can say "no", no doubt, absolutely..."

"No worry. Call me when you arrive."

To say that my joung friend/kohai was 'in love with Japan' was not an exaggeration at all. He loved everything of it. To go to Japan, for him, was like to go to the Mecca for a muslim. And regardless of my sad but true words, he was still enthusiast to go there. He looked around himself on the plane, full of Japanese girls coming back home from Rome, as if he was in something between a temple and a pastry shop. They were mostly nice, even very nice in some cases, but I showed very more self control than him. And it was not so hard, since he showed almost no self control at all.

"Have you ever seen more beautiful girls?" he moaned. I did not look at him.

"I have seen many girls as beautiful as these, and maybe more. Where I was younger than you are."

"And where?"

"Russia," I said. Like a veteran can say the name of a battle. Only the name. Don't ask for more.

And that had beed my baptism of fire...

So when we met with Masako and Yoko, my friend fell in love with Yoko, and I was not surprised at all. She was his platonic ideal of little japanese girl: short black hair, childish face, graceful manners, shyness, and a little body with all it took, just a bit small. She too liked him at first sight, since he showed all his skills of "nice guy". The only ones he had, but the kind of skills the japanese girls love. Quite often, Japanese girls dislike the 'gaijin", because they speak too loud, raised their voices, move the hands more than Japanese are used to do. An attitude the girls found worrisome. But my friend was calm, shy and gentle. And he was looking at her as if he was in love already.

And indeed, he was.

We got the chance of being there in the "sakura week", the time were the cherry blossom season arrived in Tokio. We visited a big park, renown for its cherry trees. It was wonderful, like some HD, almost fluorescent picture. The girlish bowl hair cut of Yoko was wonderful on that background. Especially in profile.

I remembered "The last samurai". Not Tom cruise, and not only that quip of the surrounded warlord who joked about the enemies: "they refuse to surrender!"... The talk of the warlord about the cherry flowers. We see them at the top of their beauty, but in fact they are dying, as all of us. That is, they are dying as flowers, they have almost made their job, then the fruits will come, another deal. But they are wonderful, perfect, all the same. Think about it... How to be mortals and perfect, or at least with your mind at ease, at the same time...

Since my friend was not yet tired of Japanese cuisine after the first days in the refectory of the school, we went in a little Japanese restaurant to eat. Masako and Yoko, laughing a bit, got him not to eat some "too much Japanese" food (something I would have eaten only in case of prolonged war), but the rest was absolutely fine.

Even the lady who managed the restaurant was kind enough to praise my Japanese. I thought she did it for professional courtesy, to please the customer. But Masako and Yoko insisted that my "nihon-go" was the best they ever listened by a "gaijin". Sure they did not know so many "gaijin" (especially Yoko), but, these are things you're always glad to hear...

The only problem between my friend and Yoko was that he spoke a very bad Japanese, and she spoke so-so English. So every now and then they asked me and Masako to translate something. It was a way to chat as any other, anyway. Do you like this, do you dislike that, have you seen this film, have you heard that song... Nothing trascendental, but when you talk with a girl, it's not compulsory to talk about quantum mechanics and the meaning of life (that is, I would avoid it, if I were in your shoes). And however, as someone said, words do not matter, the music matters...

And when the music ended, Yoko spoke a bit in Japanese, low voice, with Masako, and looked smiling to my friend. He had definitely passed the test.

When we got to the love hotel, my friend thought that Yoko would have asked a room for their own, but Yoko wanted to be with Masako, and with me. Even Masako had nothing against it. Before the war, Japanese of both sex, not necessarily relatives, had bath together in the public baths, or in the "onsen", natural warm water springs (HOT water springs, usually) spread throughout the Country. And if the Americans had "suggested" a minor promiscuity, the mood was still more or less the same. We were friends, nothing to hide, so what?

My friend surrendered: his desire to be with Yoko was stronger than his sense of privacy. And Yoko had no such problems: me and Masako had already seen her naked...

Yoko would have loved if we had had the shower all together, but the shower room was too small for four persons, so she an my friend went there first. Very soon whe heard Yoko laugh, yelp and mutter while my friend groped her beneath the showering water. Surely she did not do what she was doing out of sense of duty, to take care of my friend while Masako and me had a good time. The person who chooses to sacrifies himself for the harmony of the group... There is even a word for this role, in Japanese, but I did not get to remember what...

"Undress me," said Masako. "Let's start without them..."

"Don't you want to have a shower, first?" I wondered. I thought it was a dogma, a categorical imperative: first the shower, then the sex. She shook her head, smiling at me.

"'Watashi wa tottemo shitai'... I want it so much..."

She wanted it so much that she asked me to take her, as soon as she was naked, without any foreplay. "Ima siyo", fuck me now. Of course, when she was naked, I had what it took ready to use. And I realized that she really did not need foreplays. She was soft, warm, relaxed, drenched of her mild "kanjuru"...I took her face to face, but after a while, she changed his mind.

"'Kooseii'... 'Bakku siyo'... from behind... please..."

So, when Yoko and my friend came out of the bathroom, Masako were on all four and I stood right behind her. She said a word to Yoko, and Yoko gleefully put herself on all four too, close to her, and asked my friend to take her that way. My friend exitated a bit, but then he nodded and moved. A nice Japanese girl gives herself to you, free of charge, and you think about privacy? Sex, please! We are NOT British!

We fucked them in the same way, at the same moment, with the same rithm. And they liked it very much. They showed it to us the usual ways, whining and wailing and moaning and yelping as poor beaten cubs. Something heart-breaking, if we wouldn't have known that they had asked us for it. In fact, as soon as we got off them, they smiled at us, and started "cleaning" our dicks, knelt, each one facing her winner male. I was satisfied, of course, but my friend was into ecstasy. Yoko had been quite clever, with me, last time, but maybe Masako had given her other lessons. Or maybe she had really a natural talent, besides having a very good teacher for technicalities ("sans tecnique le don n'est rien q'une sale manie": without technics, the talent is only a dirty madness...).

Shortly, not only he was ready to move again well before me., but he simply threw himself over Yoko, and she greeted him with no problems, just with an "oh!" of amused surprise, before to start yelping again under his blows. Any order was gone, but nobody cared too much. We had gone along altogether like a coreography for too long. To go on that way would have been boring...

Masako kept on "cleaning" my dick and playing with it, till I "went" in her mouth, and Yoko greet the "seishi" of my friend in her womb again, with joy. She wispered something to him, and then he hugged her strongly, almost until it hurted her, rolled with her until he had her over himself and kissed her on her mouth, with all the feelings. Regardless of what she was "cleaning" a few minutes before. "That's amore", I thought.