Host/Hostess


7 English Loan Words (that are Secretly Dirty in Japanese)

by Nanya

The English language is a pastiche of words amassed from various countries and cultures over whole eras of history. “Assassin”, “envelope”, “amok”… “pastiche”; without loan words for these concepts, what would we have called them? The rampant use of loan words is no different in Japan, where many foreign words (and people) come to lose their function, purpose and all original meaning.

Some English words in Japan, maintain their literal meaning, but none of their nuance, like in the way that “crazy” 「クレイジー」 only has the meaning of “insane” in Japanese. Some words or phrases take on a completely different meaning from their origins altogether, like “high tension” 「ハイテンション」 meaning “energetic”. But, there are a handful of Japanese-English loan words that, once innocently uttered in their correct English context, can cause misunderstandings of a more perverse nature. Here are 7 examples.

1.      “AV”

For the seasoned perv or general internet low-life (surely no one who reads GJA), the alternative meaning of AV may already be apparent. But, for the less depraved reader, long gone are the days when AV meant Mr. Stringbean Nerdlinger daintily rolling the movie projector into 3rd period Chem lab. AV is no longer synonymous with the business of setting up films, but rather the biznasty shown in them.

Say what?!? 

Though the Japanese acronym AV does relate to movies, it is not “audio-visual” as in English, but rather “adult video”. That gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “AV equipment”, amirite?

“You don’t wanna know where these things have been…”

Japan’s porn industry has had a long history spanning all the way back to things like graphic ukiyo-e woodblock prints, while today it is regarded as the largest producer of pornography in Asia. Soon after the advent of the video tape deck when porno flicks became more readily available to the average consumer, the phrase ‘adult video’ came into existence and made its way to Japan.

This short acronym was probably chosen as a euphemistic name for the product because plain English initials, being neutral and representative of no exact meaning inherently, easily masks the inherent filth associated with calling something “porn” or “adult video” outright. Using (made-up) English words or phrases to mask things that are uncomfortable to talk about outright is a common trend in Japan and is thought to be the only form of communication available to eikaiwa counselors.

“Mr.Kubota-san is CHO energish guy DESU DESU!!!!”

Take AV for a spin in the old search engine. If you were to search for 「AV機器」the Japanese equivalent of AV equipment, you would get speakers, amps and the like, but typing the search terms “Japan” and “AV” in the same search box will result in nothing but tentacle-molested, bukkake-sprayed, school girl cosplay bondage. But then again, I’m guessing you knew as much. In such a search, the only AV Club Nerdlingers you will come across will be the patrons of such sites, not to mention the site developers themselves. I guess not much has changed after all.

In short, think twice before telling your Japanese pen pal that you were in the AV Club in school. Then again, you probably shouldn’t divulge that sparkling gem of your bygone nerd past to anyone anyway. Dork.

2. “Boing-Boing”

Obviously, we’ve sprung in to onomatopoeia territory with this one. The “boing-boing” sound effect is a cartoon staple that the likes of Hanna-Barbera, Looney Tunes, Walt Disney and countless other animators and cartoonists used to build the soundscape of our childhood imaginations. You can thank Japan for molesting your inner child and leaving you feeling appropriately dirty and used.

Say what?!? 

To demonstrate the innocence lost due to the misunderstanding of “boing-boing”, I present a true tale from the annals of gaijindom.

A good friend and, at the time, fellow newcomer to Japan – we’ll call him “Randy” to keep with our theme – was out in a shopping area in Osaka when a mother and her toddler came near. With the giggling child taking a liking to him, Randy’s lack of Japanese fluency left him unable to communicate with the little guy besides in gestures and funny sounds. Nonetheless, the mother was no doubt pleased that her young child had the chance to interact with a foreign person. That is, until Randy saw a manicured bush – again, we have a theme going – in the shape of a sphere and said “boing-boing” to the child while pretending to bounce it like a ball. The mother scooped up her child immediately and stormed off. What happened?

If only Randy had known that of the plethora of onomatopoeia words in Japanese, 「ボインボイン」 (pronounced “boin boin”) can be construed as the sound of bouncing boobs, and is in fact how it is often used in all types of manga and anime, from mainstream to hentai. Poor Randy was unwittingly fondling breasty foliage at that hapless child. I bet people in the vicinity were able to physically hear that mom’s brain switch gears from “lovely international exchange” to ‘save the child and GTFO’ mode. Intentional or not, we here at Gaijinass applaud such gaijin asses and the annals from which they spew.

“Every single page is stuck together and the book is stuck to that carpet.”

3. “Hostess”

Delving into the true nightlife of Japan requires navigating the often crusty back alleys of entertainment districts, complete with their pestering touts, FUBAR salary men, gangsters accompanied by their lackeys and various other stock characters of sleaze. If you enter an establishment in this playground asking for a hostess to seat you, you may find one – just not the type you would’ve expected. Sure, the hostess will be a young, desirable female eager to seat you at a table, but this one will join your party too.

Say what? 

For those interested in the ins and outs of the world of hosts and hostesses (also referred to as “kyabajo”) in Japan, there are plenty of resources around. Check out (http://neojaponisme.com/2009/08/11/kyabajo-japan/) or even (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Happiness_Space:_Tale_of_an_Osaka_Love_Thief) and surely you’ve read GJS’s own pieces on this topic

But, allow me to give just a short summary. Hostess clubs (and host clubs staffed by males) are like a classier “Coyote Ugly”, where instead of bar-top dance routines, the female staff join customers at their private tables to pour drinks and entertain them and pander to their bullshit. In other words, they are like modern-day geishas.

“The bleached hair is a development, but the caked on makeup hasn’t changed at all.”

Though very many types of hostess clubs (or “kyabakura” as they are sometimes called) exist with varying rules of conduct (no touching; formal dates with the girls allowed, etc), hostesses are by no means thought of as sex workers, despite a prevailing and inaccurate belief amongst gaijin that generally aren’t admitted to must hostess clubs. Even so, it would still be quite an insult if you told a Japanese friend that his wife had been a gracious hostess. To be sure, some of the regular usages of ‘host’ and ‘hostess’ are known in Japan, but these words have become so attached to those night-time establishments that uttering them will bring to mind those bleach-haired, perfume-doused party kids well before a Trebek or Sajak type. Though Vanna is not too far off the mark.

4. “Dutch Wife”

In a place like Japan, with its bevy of discreet perversions and alternative sexual preferences, it would be a shame to unknowingly share a name with something vile or dirty. For instance, the name “Gary” sounds very similar to 「下痢」 “geh-ri”, the Japanese word for “diarrhea”. Tough break, for that guy. Also, “panko” a type of bread crumbs exported and used by chefs worldwide, also means “slut” in Japanese slang. Though the alternate meaning of those two are pretty bad, what might be infinitely worse than sharing a name with something sketchy, would be sharing holy matrimony with an unavoidable sex joke. No offense to the great Dutch people, but there wives are the Japanese cum-catchers of yesteryear.

Say what?!? 

“Dutch wife” on these shores means blow up dolls, “real dolls” or any other makeshift female body that a samurai might use for sheathing his Hanzo. The origin here seems to be Dutch-controlled Indonesia where, having to leave their wives back in their homeland, Dutch traders opted to sleep with what is called a “bamboo wife” or 「竹婦人」 in the original Japanese. A “bamboo wife”, was a name for a human-sized length of woven bamboo made in Indonesia which the lonely, newly single Dutch traders would snuggle with in place of their wives. After being made fun of by the “men’s men” of the Tokugawan Era for being nutless simps, these Dutch suckers-for-love were immortalized in Japanese through this derogatory insult. Nearly 150 years later the Japanese are still using this phrase to stick it to the Dutch. Well, mostly just to their wives.

“Anyone willing to stick their gear into a giant Chinese Finger Trap deserves whatever they get.”

5. “H”  

Shorter than even the acronym “AV” above, the letter H may seem ominous here. Being a standard letter of the English alphabet, any of us have a one in twenty-six chance of saying this letter with total ignorance to its Japanese meaning. So, what in the H does H mean?

Say wHat?!? 

Now, despite being a slang word for heroin in English, “H” – pronounced “etchi” -  is the most common word for “sex” in Japanese besides, well, “sex” 「セックス」. But, why “H”?

Think about it, folks – What’s an infamous Japanese word which starts with “H” and relates to sex?

If you guessed “hentai”, give yourself a pat on the back. You might also want to go ahead and erase your browser history while you’re at it, Bubba.

“And for finger-fucking sake, go outside once in a while!”

I can’t imagine a scenario in which you might offend someone by saying “H” at an inopportune moment, but how about the opposite scenario? How about if you missed out on some hot H because you didn’t know what the letter stood for? Japanese or not, a woman is not just going to spell it out for you. Of all the possible misunderstandings on this list, one resulting in missing the chance for some unsolicited poon-sampling seems like the most embarrassing of all.

6. “Snack”

Snacks can cost a pretty penny in Japan. If you don’t watch your p’s and q’s, you can run up quite a tab or, even worse, get caught having an affair as well.

Say what?!? 

Don’t get it twisted: Snacks – the type of food – are also called snacks in Japanese, especially when referring to salty ones, like peanuts and pretzels. However, “snack” is also the term for a common type of watering hole in Japan’s major cities which function as a more low-key version of the hostess clubs mentioned previously. These establishments are run by a madam-like older woman, who makes sure the business runs smoothly and that everyone has a good time by pairing up female staff and lonely male customers. By sharing chats at the bar and singing karaoke altogether, there is a down-home type of atmosphere, complete with the eponymous bowls of snacks offered to customers.

Most of these places have menus with no prices listed, so the final tabs can be decided at will by the house. They also tag on a pretty hefty “seating charge”. This isn’t a code word for “extra services” either; the only wad being blown is when you pay exorbitantly for good ole wholesome companionship. To be fair, some patrons do eventually get to bed the staff, but this all happens outside the snack and according to the staff members prerogative. Being Sugardaddy Longpockets seems to help sway their minds, though.

“Can I interest you in some blue balls?”

Getting to the point, I would just like our readers to be aware that, when looking for a bite to eat in Japan, a “snack” bar is not the best place to grab a Snickers, and certainly not the place to get your hotdog relished. (boom-tish, ay!)

7. “Bitch”

Thanks to the limitless reach (read: stranglehold) that Hollywood has on the planet, our curse words are everywhere. You’d be hard-pressed to find a person in Europe who doesn’t know the words “fuck” , “shit” or even the phrase “Oh my god”. The case is no different in the land of the rising radioactive levels. But, as was the case with our other points on this list, some words that are already inappropriate can become even worse when picked up by the Japanese. Even a word as commonly accepted as “bitch”. Call a woman a bitch in the West and get your face clawed off. Call a woman one in Japan and lose the respect of everyone around you.

Say what?!? 

“Bitch” in Japanese does not actually carry any of the meanings that we English speakers know and love the word for: 1) a female dog 2) a rude, crab-assed woman 3) a verb, meaning to complain or nag (usually incessantly)

“4) Your broseph, when he is being a douchenozzle.”

Here, it has one meaning and one meaning alone, and that is “slutbag”, a word so near yet so far from the original it is severely off-putting. With this new meaning, an offhanded comment about your female boss being a bitch could be seen as borderline sexual harassment. Japanese people, who tend to avoid voicing their complaints aggressively and still show subservience to work superiors, would definitely see calling the boss a dirty tramp as pretty foul slander. Think now, could you even back up such a claim? Would you want to?

How did this fetal mutation of the word bitch become a thing? Most likely rap music – paternity test pending. Don’t forget that it was through the lyrics of rappers like Snoop Dogg and Too $hort that “bitch” became a term of endearment for referring to ladies in the first place. If we consider how hard it is for even most native speakers of English to understand rap lyrics, we can see how the word “bitch” could easily be misconstrued for Japanese hip-hoppers, who have almost no idea what the rappers are saying.

“You’re finna bizzle my wizzle?!”

When it’s all said and done, it aint no thang whether non-English-speaking people can understand the sophisticated intricacies of “Jenny From the Block” or the riveting tapestry of sound that is Silkk Da Shocker’s “Charge it 2 da Game.” However, more than any other word on this list, “bitch” is the one that I cannot bear to have stripped from my lexicon in order to be more P.C. What can I say; a little bitch lives inside of me. And, in my humblest of opinions, any supposed language that is without the full capacity of the usage of  this word, might as well be Elvish, whatever the hell Balky spoke or recordings of penguin orgies spliced and played in reverse.

Conclusion:

Well, what have we gleaned from these rantings? Well, for one, English speakers in Japan, and anywhere abroad really, should watch out for the completely unpredictable clusterfunks that their everyday English can cause. Also, we can see that people of non-English-speaking countries should be careful in the way that they manhandle English before stuffing it in to their language boxes. But, most importantly, I think we can all agree that language is quite the shifty strumpet: She will lay down with anyone, let people have their way with her and is completely unfaithful to whatever men call her their own. Adulterous, incestuous, promiscuous; here’s to “mother tongue” always leaving a bad taste in your mouth.

More of Nanya’s writing and original art can be found at his site ‘PointXPoint’: www.pointxpoint.blogspot.jp

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“If these guys make a move, we have to take them down…and then run.”

Yamato said this to me as I stared at his eyes, or the place his eyes would have been had he not been wearing those sunglasses and I tried to figure out if he was bullshitting me because as always, his ever-present smile was wide open and the festival was completely packed with people.  Women and men, old and young. Office workers and spouses, hookers and thugs.  Hanazono Shrine had done it again and the “Torinoichi” festival was alive.  People flowed through the lanes of stalls and vendors finally arriving at the massive red and gold shrine that sat at the top of the steps like a heart, pumping blood rhythmically through the body.

“Are you serious?” I asked him.  Again searching his mask of a face for some indication of what exactly I had walked into.

“Of course I’m fucking serious.  Look, just be cool, like before, and don’t jump unless I do,” he said as he turned away and walked into the brightly lit pavilion.  The smell of grilled meat, beer and cigarettes engulfed me and as I saw the table we were inevitably going towards, I considered just walking away from this.  I don’t do this anymore.  I don’t know you people anymore and it’s better like that.  I can just walk away and it won’t matter.

Then I nearly laughed out loud realizing the slick bastard still had my phone in his hand. Ten minutes earlier “Hey let me use your phone my battery is dying,” he had said.  He had spotted me in the crowd and I had been genuinly happy to see  him.  I had to admit Yamato looked well.  Very slick dark blue suit, pink collared shirt with the top open and mid length black hair slicked back.  He and I joked and caught up as the people streamed by us in the crowd and stared hard at us, dressed like hit-men out of their respective countries B-movies. So sure, happy to see my former boxing coach, friend and trouble maker so why not- I passed him my phone.

Well played Yamato.

In the tent approaching the table in the next instant I felt my chest expand and my muscles flush with juice as my adrenaline slowly started to build.  Out of the entire group at this table we approached, the three potential problems were clear enough.

The tent we had gone into was one of the many erected on the grounds within the shrine for the festival.  This one in particular was a tent selling beer, shochu, grilled beef and chicken and fried noodles.  About 14 long folding tables were set up inside the tent behind the grills and coolers for drinks and at the farthest table in the back right hand corner were 13 people.  This is the table I followed Yamato to.

We got the attention of  everyone seated immediately.  8 men and 5 women.  Five of the men were older, easily in their sixties with gray or black loose-fitting suits and oddly colorful cashmere scarves around their necks.  Each one of them had salt and pepper hair, tightly slicked back over their heads and to a man they all wore very dark hued Gucci or Prada sunglasses with gold frames.  These men turned to look at us, first Yamato, then me, then back to Yamato, but none of them stood.  They remained seated and slowly sipped their beers and sake while watching us make our way past the other tables and chairs and laughing bodies of people having a celebratory style Friday night.

The three men that did stand up as we neared the table were not older, but younger than both myself and Yamato.  Mid 20′s as far as I could tell.  All three of them slighter in build but with a taught smoothness that reminded me of big cats.  All three of them wore jet-black suits and white shirts with large collars, opened up wide so I could see shiny gold and silver medallions, the slim tightness of athletic collar bones and chest muscles and then, just where the shirts started, the colorful patterns of tattoos that I knew ran off their pecs, to their shoulders and down the arms and backs of these men who had already proven themselves in numerous fist fights, beat downs and likely prison time.  They had already earned the spot here, with the bosses and were trusted to do what needed to be done when the time came and the way they stood to meet us was not one conveying welcome, but was one filled with hostility.

These guys were the reason Yamato had tricked me into walking over here with him.  Kindness can in fact, be a weakness.  Particularly when you deal with men that spend their lives walking the tight rope.

Yamato bowed when we reached the table.  I stood two paces behind him and one pace off to the left so that I could see everyone.  This position also put me within equal distances of all three of the bodyguards.  The one closest to Yamato began to snarl at him before the older man sitting in front of him raised his hand for silence.  He then greeted Yamato, almost warmly,  mumbling in that very distinct way that these men communicate when they are older.  Yamato kept bowing, very deeply, showing his respect for the mans position and they conversed quietly for about a minute.

I stood there, both hands folded in front of me and looked at everyone without looking directly at anyone.  Noted where I was in relation to everyone else.  Asked myself some questions: “Can I jump over the table to hit that guy with this women sitting there? She’s sort of in the way,” and “Can I get this folding chair up in the air without it getting caught on something?” then “If we have to burn the hell out of here, do I go right to the nearest exit or left into the crowd?”

Nobody at the table, including the women all of whom were in their 30′s and pretty, said anything.  Then somehow and rather suddenly, between the two of them, things were settled and Yamato stood up straight to his full height, at least as tall as me so about 6’3 and nearly as broad across in the shoulders, and he looked directly at the younger man who had tried to start a problem with him and suddenly broke into a big smile and jokingly told him in a booming voice “You need to relax son! Here, let me get you a drink!”

The table laughed, except for the three bodyguards, still standing and Yamato raised a hand for a waiter.  At this the young soldier, clearly offended and in possession of some beef with Yamato, tried to push past a folding chair to stand directly in front of us.  I instinctively moved up a pace to be between Yamato’s back and the bodyguard on our left who then slowly reached one hand up to his shirt collar and pulled it open showing off a large tattoo of a bright red Cherry Blossom with a Dragon dancing around it emblazoned on his chest.  He did this and leaned his head back giving me his best menacing, wide-eyed “Fuck OFF I’m connected,” look.

I know this game though, have played it once or twice before and what you learn quick is that the only thing you can’t do, ever, is back down.  That’s what gets a folding chair crashed across your face.  Weakness incites a predators malice.  So I cocked my head to the side slightly then pulled up the sleeve of my black suit jacket enough for him to see the beginnings of the ink on my right forearm.  Then I blinked slowly a few times and shrugged my shoulders….”So What?” being the message.

I have no doubt now that these three young gangsters would have tried very hard to beat the living shit out of Yamato and I had their Boss, two of them actually, not told them to “Sit the fuck down it’s all finished now,” because men like them, living that lifestyle don’t care.  It’s what they do. I know this from before.  That having been said, between Yamato and myself we probably weighed as much as all three of them.  Also, between the two of us we have over a hundred fights in the ring, I have been in and out of that over the years, the ring and the cage, and Yamato was at one point a Light-Heavy weight boxing Champion who I know from experience has very fast hands and hits like a freight train. Aside from that, both of us had done these types of dances before.  It’s not something I want in my life now, but to some degree at least, once you’ve been there, you can’t forget what you know.

The math in my head said they couldn’t have been armed with anything beyond a small knife, a gun would be out of the question here with all the police and people, and there were loads of easily improvised weapons at the ready on all sides.  Shit, I can give a man a concussion with a magazine if that’s what I happen to have. It would be embarrassing to get your teeth knocked out with a rolled up edition of “Elle”.

Finally, Yamato and I weren’t playing king of the mountain I knew now; he had to squash a beef with this old guy and only needed things to be cool long enough for him to have his say.  He tricked my overly kind-to-friends-ass into backing him up hoping my presence would keep things copacetic by throwing everyone off-balance; massive white guy, dressed like he is going to a funeral with the black suit, white collared shirt and black tie, black wrist watch and a few silver rings. If it went south, we would cause enough damage to give ourselves a few seconds and then be gone into the waves of people.

What’s more is that he knows me, and knows about me and has seen some things.  He knew that I wouldn’t go with him if he asked plainly because I don’t do that anymore, but he knew if he got me there, I would know what to do, when to do it and when to go wheels up and flee if necessary.

By the time I meandered back to my friends across the shrine at another stall, maybe ten minutes had gone by but my hands were shaking heavily from the adrenaline dumping out of my system and I did the mental math realizing how bad that could have been.  A few beers down the hatch (courtesy of Yosomono who was lining them up) and the atmosphere of the festival and all was good.

Until he called me back. “What the hell? Get your friends and come drink with us! Yeah bring everyone and don’t forget the blond girl.”

I can tell you this much, when you drink with these people, no matter what you drink, eat, order or do; nobody expects you to pay.  They don’t even bother asking.

Later on, after many beers, loads of sake and a train of gangsters, hostesses, pimps, boxers and even a monk had come and gone Yamato pulled me aside and in his fashion, still wearing the sunglasses and smiling, slightly hunched over vaguely resembling a Japanese gangstered out John Wayne he said by way of thanks, his arm around my shoulders, “OK.  Tonight was lucky.  I got the drinks next time…but that was fun though right?”

Fun?  No.  Memorable? Oh yes.

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Japan’s sex industry is so ingrained into Japanese society that its everywhere. When you take all the different pieces: adult videos, hostess clubs, soap lands, and straight-up brothels they make up the 2nd biggest component of the Japanese economy.  Sex literally runs this country. It’s not only direct connection to sex businesses but there spin off industries like suppliers to the love hotels, or fake business centers that the porn star‘s mother or boyfriend can call so that it appears that the porn star has a normal job. One of these spin off industries are the Host Clubs.

The documentary The Great Happiness Space follows a day in the life of the Hosts that work at Rakkyo Café one of the most popular Host clubs in Osaka. If you don’t know anything about the Host scene the movie is a great intro into the industry but there is nothing new if you’ve learned anything about those strange men that stand on every corner. The men provide emotional support for women who pay huge amounts of money (up to $10,000 on a party night) to get lavished with attention. But as talked about in the movie ordinary women by and large don’t use host clubs. Most of the Host Club customers are in the sex industry and use the men to heal after a night laying on their backs servicing Osaka’s salary men.

There some great insight into the mind of these women when the camera turns on them and they talk about their work. One of them says something like, “we meet men, drink, and then ask if they want to go somewhere alone, we help [Japanese men] forget how shitty their lives are.”

That right there shows how ingrained the industry is in Japan, that these women feel that way and that a whole other industry, the Host Clubs, have sprung up to help these girls mend after being dumped on (in Japan that probably happens literally) by their male customers. One of the hosts in fact talks about how the women don’t actually want sex, as sex is their work. Those that do want sex just want to conquer you and then move on. So you can never accept money for sex as that will mean that the girls won’t come to your club anymore.

LeTigre

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“She Works Hard for the Money”

Guest post by “Le Tigre”

Because the fact of the matter is, I didn’t just get off the fuckin’ boat.

I have been an English teacher at an Eikaiwa (english conversation school…vomit).
I have been a bartender at a foreign ‘ladies’ bar.
I have been a hostess at clubs ranging from ‘nice,’ to places were I felt like I was actually hired to be a hooker.
I am a professional kickboxer, seriously.
I am an ALT (Assistant Language Teacher) at a public elementary school.

I have lived in….
Okazaki, Aichi for 2 months
Ginza, Tokyo for 3 months
Fuda, Chofu for 2 months (living with my coach’s friend)
Ikebukuro, Tokyo for 1 month (living with Hannah Hypnotic)
Asagaya, Tokyo for 4 months
Saginomiya, Tokyo for 3 months
and currently Shin-Nakano, Tokyo for 2 months…so far.

With men…
I have lost a boyfriend from back home after 1.5 months of being in Japan, lets not talk about this.
Hosts
I have slept with a host (These are Host types).
I have slept with a young, Japanese guy(19yo)…possibly taking his virginity.
I have had a pure sexual lust for a man over the last year. But it’s someone who I can never have, and have accepted that never going there with him is for the best.
I have been on a really awful date with a Japanese guy who got wasted after buying drinks he didn’t have money for and made me pay. Then, he followed that class act up by asking me the same stupid questions over and over and over in rapidly deteriorating slurred speech.

Let’s explore some of these experiences….

Hostess clubs.

August 2009 was when I first actually work in a real hostess club. I was introduced to the manager by a girl I had met a couple of times. This girl was from Spain, and a bit crazy. She had to have been at least 6′ tall, had dyed her hair that bright, fake looking red color, had color contacts, a lip ring and always wore corsets, thigh-highs, and knee-high boots. She was always nice to me, but I could never stand to talk to her for long periods of time, as our conversations always would go something like this…

Me ‘Hey, how’s it going?’

Her ‘ OH MY GOD! I need to get fucked!!! I am supposed to meet this one guy after work, but I don’t know if he’s going to show up…he’s kind of like an ikemen, oh my god he’s so fucking hot! I met him one night at…blah, blah, blah.’ (this sometimes continued on for a lengthy period of time.)

Me ‘Oh, sounds fun. How’s school?’

Her ‘What? Oh, it’s ok…OH MY FUCKING GOD!! You won’t believe this guy that I fucked 2 days ago…blah, blah, blah.’

Anyhow, she worked at a hostess club in Ikebukuro owned by some Nigerians. I know, a hostess club in Ikebukuro owned by some Nigerians, the ultimate location to climb that corporate ladder and secure a bright future, right?

I was living in Ikebukuro at the time and was completely fucked for money as I hadn’t had a job in 2-3 months, so I gave it a try.

My first day…
The owners were seemingly nice, and the other girls were being friendly. Okay, so far so good.
One thing I noticed right away was the stripper pole in the middle of the room and the black lights that lit the room. I soon found out that yes, there was a stripper, but no we (the hostesses) were not expected to take our clothes off. Phew.
There was one stripper a night, who usually performed once or twice depending on how busy it was. All together there were 3 strippers, all Japanese girls. There were about 8-10 hostesses that were all foreigners. It was mostly Philippino women, with the whacky Spanish girl, a French girl, a Brazilian woman….and me. The club had a ‘no touching’ policy, but it was considered a cheap, lower-class club, so many of the customers would ignore that policy and try to grab the girls. I saw most of the girls get grabbed/groped quite a bit. But I was pretty good at dodging and blocking their quick hands while laughing it off. Plus, I usually made it a point to mention to every customer that I was a professional kickboxer. Sometimes it seemed to ward off potential attacks. Cop a feel, lose some teeth.  It was an unspoken agreement between the customers and I.

The paycheck was once every 2 weeks. However, your first month there you had to wait until your 4th week to get paid. So I had made it 3.5 weeks, we were getting paid in literally 3 or 4 days…when the club got closed down. They had apparently not paid the rent in quite some time. There was a big fiasco regarding whether they were going to pay us or not.
One of the owners knew how broke I was and suggested that I work for his friend’s club in Shinjuku. They paid ¥12,000/night ($120) in cash. Not having the option of getting a better job and having to wait another month to get paid, I decided to check it out.

This is worst place I have ever worked….

There was still no concrete answer on whether I was going to get the ¥50,000 ($500) they owed me, so I went to work at the other club. (I never did get that money.)
This place was in the middle of Kabuki Chou, an area known for its high population of Yakuza and sex clubs, not so much for its pristine parks and Virgins. It was on level B1 of some random building. The place was real small, probably only able to hold about 10-15 customers at a time. It was even darker, with even more black lights than the last club. There were 2-3 tv’s posted on the walls, all usually playing a dvd of those 90s style, rap/porn videos. There were about 6 girls, the main girl was from Ethiopia, a French girl who was black, the old Brazilian woman from the last club, and a couple other older, less attractive women that I can’t remember. Helluva line up.
I worked there for 3 days.

Day 1
I’m told to dress sexy. I’m the only young, white girl there, and get requested right off the bat. The customer a young’er’ Indian guy who was visiting Tokyo. He orders some drinks for us and we start talking. After a few minutes he asked me how much the handjob was going to cost.

…come again….?

I didn’t say anything for a moment as I tried getting my thoughts together. I finally managed to blurt out that it was my first day and I wasn’t aware this was part of my job description. Thankfully, he was a descent guy and apologized for making me uncomfortable and said that the owner had told him I would give him this ‘service.’
I apologized and asked if he wanted to speak to another girl. So I called over the Ethiopian girl, told her the situation, and she confirmed that no, we don’t ‘usually’ do that.
He left.
After that, I sat on the couch thinking about the situation I was in. I thought about getting up and leaving right then. Then I realized….I don’t even have enough money for the train ticket home. So I stayed.
The rest of the night was slow and uneventful. Then, I got paid.

Day 2

I went back, only thinking about the money at the end of the night. The second night started off pretty normal. Then I was sat a table with a Japanese man and the Ethiopian girl. He bought us drinks, and apparently that means that he could now grope us. First he turned to me and asked in that sickening, drunk Japanese way,

‘Can-Iee-toucha-u?’

I smiled, shrunk back and politely explained I don’t feel comfortable with that. The Ethiopian girl injected her self into things at this point and told him that he could touch her. Then I witnessed something that will probably be burned into my memory for a long time…He aggressively and hurriedly slid his hand right down the top of her dress. He rubbed her breasts in big, circular motions while she just sat there smiling and drinking. I was just sitting there watching, with a feeling of not really being there at all. It seemed like forever, but he finally left.

I was still living with my friend Hannah at the time and had mentioned the name of the club to her, it had no meaning to her at first. But I was sitting on the couch later that night, waiting and hoping there would be no more customers, when I got a text message from her. It urgently read something like, ”GET OUT of there! I told the name of the bar to my friend, and she used to work there and said it’s the place where customers get mad if you don’t let them touch you and will hit you!”

I sighed heavily and thought to myself, ‘This can’t be happening.’

And yet, I decided to stay. I had already made it through most of the night and I knew there would be money soon. However, since this night had been ‘slow’ they only paid us half, and said the rest would come tomorrow.
Which leads me to my last day….

Day 3

By this time I knew I would not be continuing this job much longer. I know, who would have guessed it? I knew that it would only be a matter of time before I got a customer who wouldn’t take ‘No’ for an answer. And in this situation I was scared to think of what would happen.
Two things happened during this night that were the final deal breakers. First, we had a Japanese man come in. He sat with the Ethiopian and the Brazilian. I didn’t have a customer so I was able to witness them being heavily groped as the drinks kept flowing. He became really drunk and for god only knows why, the Ethiopian chick started rubbing in between his legs. He got excited and of course, in clear sight for me, he wipped out his cock. It wasn’t like he pulled it out a little, he fully unzipped and slightly pulled down his pants and presented his already hard cock….laughing and trying to get them to touch it more. I then drifted back to that not really being there feeling. I was at that moment being traumatized and I KNEW it. A bizarre and sickening feeling. God knows when the Ethiopian girl or the burnt out Brazilian woman first felt this way.

Finally they got his pants on and he left.

I had a customer that night, but he was an American on a business trip and just wanted to speak English to someone. I was not really sure how true that was, but thankfully he never tried anything funny.
Next, another Japanese man came in. He got the Ethiopian girl and now the French girl. Again, the drinks were flowing, the groping was hardcore, and he was getting wasted out of his mind, he was having trouble getting the rim of the glass to his mouth. This time, the Ethiopian girl took advantage of the situation, grabbing his wallet out of his pants and ‘buying’ them more bottles of wine. He ran out of money and the owner and the girls got him to go to his ATM to get more money. Not sure what happened when they were out, but when they all came back something had made the guy mad, and they had a conversation in the front hallway for 20 minutes. I didn’t understand what was being said, as it was all in Japanese. But apparently they were trying to make him happy.

Then…
I happened to look over…
To my left was a single stall bathroom. The door was open, I could see the owner and the customer standing in the bathroom together, the customer’s back was facing me. I wasn’t sure why they were in the bathroom together for a while…until I saw the Ethiopian girl stand up in front of him. She was facing me and I saw her wipe her mouth off with the back of her hand, a neutral, bored look on her face, nothing at all in her eyes.

Holy shit…is that what I think…did that just happen?

At this point I felt sick to my stomach and a bit light headed. The Japanese customer was now happy as ever and he left all smiles.
The owner walked past me, and must have noticed that I was sitting stiffly on the couch looking pale, and asked if I was okay while he chuckled a bit. I forced a smile and said I was fine.
Soon after, I made my way into the bathroom, everything moved in semi slow motion as I took in the scene, the moist and humid smell of piss and bodies, the alcohol, lingering vomit and I turned to look in the mirror, my reflection somebody else, someone I didn’t know. When I looked down to turn on the water in order to wash my hands my whole body froze in place. There was cum shot across the front edge of the sink. I blinked a few times, turned around and walked back to my sofa. I got the rest of my money that night and never went back.

The last hostess club I worked at.

After the place in Kabuki-cho I had already started working as an ALT part-time. So I was able to eventually move back into a private apartment in Asagaya. However, money was still really tight since it was just a part-time job. So I decided to give hostessing one last chance, as I knew that if you got into a nice, expensive club the circumstances were much better. So I got a job at a club in Ginza, and it was nice. The customers were mostly businessmen and the ‘no touching’ policy was actually followed for the most part.
There isn’t anything too exciting about this club, so I’ll keep it short.
This was the last club I worked at for a few reasons..
First, I realized I was walking around absolutely hating and despising any Japanese man who I saw, especially salarymen. Working in those conditions and seeing what I was seeing, even at the more upscale clubs, I couldn’t help this.
Second, I obviously don’t enjoy being talked down to like I’m some idiot and sex-object by a complete asshole, egocentric men.
Third, and the reason I got fired from this last place, I just can’t pretend that I am in love with, or want to have sex with these men. Which, even though you aren’t expected to have sex, is what this kind of job is really all about.
The illusion that young, beautiful women want old, ugly men.

I am now a full-time English teacher and I am training for a kickboxing fight in September. And even though I have a hard time with certain teachers I work with, or troubling classes, after writing this and remembering my experiences, I realize the job I have now is the-fucking-shit compared to being a hostess.

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