Love in Japan

gaijinassbannerThis is a chapter out of my ridiculous memoir I’m writing about my time and misadventures in Tokyo.  The title is called “J-girls.” Reader beware: I’m a horrible person and if you’re just figuring that out you haven’t been paying attention.





Sayuri Gogo was mine and Miho’s boss at our company, Bosmo.

No, I didn’t hook up with Gogo-san.

Although I totally would have.

But I bring her up because she’s the female who most stands out on this particular evening in late April, 2005.  As I mentioned before that Japanese school year begins in April, as does the work year. So, many companies and schools have get togethers and gatherings, usually (always) involving alcohol. Bosmo had organized one such event.

So, at an Izakaya in Takadanobaba I went and gathered with a collection of some of the most inappropriate misfits and dorks I’d ever met.  All of us were working for Bosmo as ALT, Assistant Language Teachers, and all of us new next to nothing about teaching.  What a group of weirdos; Australians, Americans, Canadians, English…and to my horror, I discovered that largely the Americans were the worst of the bunch.

The word had gotten out via Hatch, the Gaylord, and whoever else, that I was serious about kickboxing.  At the long table we were seated at, across from me to my left was a rotund white woman, American, who had heard the rumors. I looked the part, I must say, I had slimmed down to about 96 kilo’s, near 205 pounds, was tall, broad shouldered, tanned and was adorned with some appropriate swagger.  She was medium height, white and probably the same weight as I was and it was primarily focused around her rear and midsection. She had blond hair wearing it up with bangs. She spoke.

“So, you’re the kick boxer guy?” She said as she dipped some fries in ketchup and bit into them.

“I might probably be the kick boxer guy. I’m Eric, nice to meet you.” Nothing wrong with some civility.

“Cool. I do Kung Fu…”

Here we go.

“…I’ve been doing it for like, ten years. We trained so hard. You wouldn’t believe it. Our Sifu used to make us do all these crazy drills and trainings.  Seriously, like, I had to push a nail into a board with my thumb.  We would hit these wood boards over and over to make our hands harder…”

“That’s really inten…”

“…and there were all these black guys in my dojo. Like, all these big black guys and I used to have to train with them all the time and I’d be sweating all over the place and so would they and they’d just stare at me and like…yeah…we trained really hard there. It was awesome.”

Speechless.  Utterly, speechless and I was staring at this person for a few moments before I realized the guy sitting next to me was also staring at her, in a kind of confused horror and I then knew at least one other person here wasn’t completely doomed.  Then she started again.

“I think I’ll try kickboxing. What dojo do you go to? Where is it?”

“Um, it’s actually, rather…far.” I mumbled, picking a beer which might be mine, I didn’t know, and taking a drink from it.  It isn’t mine I then realize.

“Cool. Well, let’s train together for sure.” She said as she jammed several ore fries into her mouth.

And then I said, I had to say because I was compelled but I knew I shouldn’t say but I couldn’t stop myself so then, almost a whisper, barely audible, I had to let it go.

“But, like, I’m not black.”

The guy next to me choked on something and the girls chewing slowed down for a moment, as if everything had gone into slow motion, but then a moment later it picked back up and she said, food visible in the mouth: “But there are black guys at your dojo, right?”

Hand up, GARCON! Whiskey!

Garcon means boy.

I turned to the guy next to me who was looking at me with a gleam in his eye and we were both sharing the same thought and it was: Can we make it out alive?

“I’m Eric.” I said.

“I’m Ben.” He said.

“What the fuck is going on here, Ben?” I said as I looked nervously around the room.

“That’s a good question. Where are you from?” He said, slowly eating a pickle.

“New York. You?”


And that is how I met my best friend, compatriot, co-writer and legal guardian for the next ten or so years, Ben Duĉas.

The night wore on. Miho would smile at me from another table and I’d smile back, only to realize that the  person sitting next to her,  Hatch, thought I was smiling at him and he was beaming back at me and I’d quickly look away, terrified.  Around last call of our two hour nomihodai, all you can drink plan and the grease which keeps Japan moving, a long conversation about Japanese tattoos climaxed with some pasty, skinny-fat white guy standing up and lifting his T-shirt to expose his flabby abdomen which had a large orange tiger head tattooed on it.  It looked like a pancake covered in lava, and somethings one can never un-see.  Ben was staring wide eyed in shock/horror, I was choking back vomit and tears. It was a tense moment.

Ubiquitous karaoke followed.

Miho was chirping away on the mic, some Japanese pop song, and an Aussie named Keith, who I had met the year before, leaned in to talk to me.  Keith, it’s worth mentioning, was a hiking and exercise fanatic.  He was 190 centimeters tall, so nearly 6’5” and heavy set.  He eventually would get fired for hanging his sweaty training wear, he’d cycle to school, in part of the kitchen at one of his schools.  He was baffled on being fired because “What’s the problem, it’s warm in the kitchen it helps my gear dry out.”

He leaned into me now in the Karaoke both and said “We are taking bets on who is going to take home either Gogo-san or Miho.” I gave him a glance.  Taking bets you say?

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Simple, you can put money on who is going to shag one or both of them tonight. They’re both wasted.”

He was giddy as a school boy for this greasy business.

“Who is betting on taking Miho home?” I inquired.

“Um…” He actually had a piece of paper with names scribbled on it. “…Jake, Brian and me.” How he managed to say this with a straight face baffled me, but I knew something Keith didn’t.

“I’ll take all that action.  Miho doesn’t go home with any of you and I’ll give you 3:1 odds.”

He stared at me now, and smiled a little. “Not much confidence in your boys here, is that it?”

“I’m sure you’re all heart breakers, I just think she’s a good girl and will be heading home on her own. That’s all.  You want this action or have you lost your confidence then?” I smiled back and waited.

“Very well. It’s done.” He said and scribbled something on the paper.  “If you don’t mind I have some work to do.” And off he went, first to the two other guys, who looked over at me like I had a fish bowl on my head, and then toward little Miho, who was just finishing her song.

The last hour rolled by. I sang some songs, crooning into the mic, and I made some jokes with Ben who was turning out to be a damned funny guy.  All the while I kept an eye on Miho, who was getting more attention than she’d ever gotten in her life.  The poor fools, little did they know what she could do to them in the sack; suck their life force out and leave them for dead most likely.

But that wasn’t going to be an issue for them tonight.  The only issue would be the money leaving their respective wallets next week when I collected after, shockingly, disappointingly, none of them could get horny, drunk as a skunk Miho to come home with them.

None of them needed to know, of course, that she already had plans to come to my place after the party anyway.  Knowing that I won a few hundred dollars helped mediate the beating Miho gave me in the sack that night too, the alcohol working its endurance magic and me going for hours.

I had scars, marks and bruises for a week and a half.

But at least I won the bet and seeing Keith dejected, flagging down a cab to head to Roppongi with Brian and the plus sized Kung-fu princess in tow, in a desperate attempt to find some ass, anything, sent me to my midnight rendezvous of battle-sex with a smile.



Ecchi (エッチetchi?, pronounced [et.tɕi]) is an often used slang term in the Japanese language for lewd or lascivious conduct.


“So, how many then?”

“Over 300.”

“Really?” I took a sip of my whiskey. “Over a span of…?”

“5 years.  I have it all recorded, on a spread sheet.  You have to record it all.”

“Jesus, that’s alot, man.”

“Japanese girls, man. Sex. They are fuckin’ obsessed with it.”

I have a theory and it is nothing more than a theory.  It’s based on personal experience and on things I have  seen and heard about. I am a fairly observant person and I pick up on the things behind what people are saying.  I think about these hints and clues and I often wonder what they mean.

Returning to my theory, it is as follows:  If we could some how sit down a random selection of foreign men in Japan and then subsequently pump them all full of a suitable amount of Sodium Amytal and then we asked them clearly “During the first 25% of your tenure in Japan, what was your primary motivation for sticking it out?”  The over arching theme, I am guessing, would be simply SEX.

It is everywhere all the time and the concept that nearly HALF the female population has “zero interest in it” is laughably absurd.

Sexless Japan?

Everyone has read the reports and heard the statistics: The Japanese are not having sex and the birthrate is plummeting.  The younger generations are celibate and they have lost interest in intercourse, relationships and sex in general.

Half the country just stopped getting-it-on.

Or did they?


Prostitution is rampant in Japan.  It is simply everywhere.  Street workers, clubs, “Compensated dating”, pro-escorts, “delivery health” (Domi-hoes, anyone?) and etc.  It is incredibly accessible and is a huge business.  The image is different from in other countries as well.  To many Japanese it is viewed almost as some sort of “Necessary Evil”.  Many Japanese women (many, by no means all and I have no stats on this) have said as long as her man keeps it hush-hush a trip to a love hotel with a hooker is preferable to him dating a woman on the side.  In fact, in some families, this money is allotted by the wives (who traditionally manage family expenses) and given out to the husbands monthly; “don’t ask don’t tell” what this extra 25,000 yen is for.

The numbers do not lie either.


As we can see above Japan moves 24 BILLION DOLLARS a year around in prostitution money.  That’s a lot. It’s even more when we take a moment and carefully look at these numbers in context.  The population of Japan, everyone (mommies, kids, grandaddies, angry salary men, your girlfriend etc) is about 127,650,000 people.  That means, based on these numbers, last year everyone one in Japan, everyone, could have spent about 188 dollars on hookers.

China however, although having spent 73 billion on the sex trade has a population of 1,393,783,836 meaning every single person in the country only had about 52 dollars to spend on some ass.

Now, some of you are jumping to conclusions. “But, in China it would be so much cheaper, just like everything else, including human life.”

But would it, really?


In Shanghai an hour with a woman of the night will cost you around 360 USD. Tokyo? 160 USD. What’s more, I know that four blocks from where I am writing this a man can wander into a shop and have inter-course with a woman for less than 100USD; not in an alley full of dirty needles but in a “clean” love hotel. And that is the point:

The population is smaller with an economy allegedly in a recession yet someone, some how is spending nearly DOUBLE what the entire United States does, with a population twice the size and prices twice as high, on sex.  That’s big business and that’s big sex.  That is really a lot of sex with prostitutes, Japan.


Enter the Porno

Shimiken is the Bruce Lee of Japanese pornography.  Details magazine did a piece on him worth reading if you like feeling soiled.

Although the motivations and life style of some guy who makes sex videos does not interest me much, the numbers in the industry matter if anyone is going to spout things such as “The Japanese have lost interest in sex.”

Because, have they, even?


As we see in this KAWAII!!!! infographic, the “average” Japanese consumer spent 157 USD per year on porn.  That is TRIPLE what the average American consumer spends.  Now, a high-class thought experiment:  Are these people buying porno to collect it and let it age aesthetically hoping to slowly appreciate it with snooty friends decades from now? Or, are they buying this material so they can take it home and furiously jack-off to it?

I’m no Noam Chomsky, but I am leaning more toward “furiously jack-off to it”.


The Orgasmic Conclusion

Despite the epidemic of “sexless” marriages and the plunging birthrate the data is clear.  The Japanese have not “lost interest in sex” and they have not become “celibate”.  They have, likely for a combination of nebulous culture reasons, gradually decided to engage in sexual escapades outside of the “conventional” borders of a “romantic relationship.”  This likely goes for men as well as women.

Sex is not broken here, but the traditional Japanese relationship dynamic might be.

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First of all folks, I must say that writing this is taking me back to places in my head that I really don’t want to be taken back to….

 Guest post by DEARHAM-SAMURAI

Back in 2008, I found myself at a bit of a crossroads. I was studying Japanese at a language school and was in the precarious position of deciding whether to place my priorities on studying or finding full-time employment. I was still teaching English (who isn’t?), but my actual working hours were circumscribed by both the visa laws and my actual attendance at my language school, who believe me, took a very dim view of anyone who sunk below the sacred 70 per cent attendance rate.

Of course, I had no qualms when it came to taking ‘left handers’ around the watchful glances of those lovely people at the immigration and I was more than happy to work ‘under the table’. However, the hours I was able to work at my teaching job were far too sporadic to satisfy the company or more importantly, enable me to earn enough to live on. The boss wanted me to work full-time, which I just couldn’t. After all, as a student you’re expected not only to devote yourself entirely to the cause, but also to have sufficient funds to support yourself for the duration of your studies. You also have to prove this requirement, which although isn’t exactly the most perplexing of tasks – fudging a bank balance – in the not too distant aftermath I was effectively reaping what I had sown. I was flat broke.

Obviously, it goes without saying that rent still needed to be paid. Also the bills were escalating and my main meal every day, if I was lucky, was marmalade on toast. And all that before even a drop of ale! In fact the biggest issue of all here, was that my Saturday night drinking fund was non-existent. Oh yes, those were barren times alright. Back home I’d have simply gambled my way out of poverty, but as that particular avenue of pleasure had been cut off to me here in Japan, I had to find other ways to fit square pegs into round holes.

If you can’t speak Japanese well enough, there aren’t many options other than English teaching. There are of course the financial ‘headhunter’ jobs being advertised left right and centre, enticing you in with promises of untold wealth and benefits. It is then you discover that 100 per cent of these easy-to-get jobs have an entire salary based on the dreaded C word – commission. So short of that, the only other option that is frequently seen advertised is McDonald’s. Very feasible in terms of the required language skills but I don’t think any self-respecting Westerner would lower themselves, and I’m certainly no exception. Sure, it might not have the same stigma attached to it in Far East Asia as it does in the West but it’s Maccy D’s! McDuck’s! I’d jump on a plane back home before even contemplating joining Ronald’s mob.

Simply, No.

Simply, No.

It was then that I remembered the girlfriend’s family business – running a hotel. I want to state here that she has long since been an ex girlfriend, and I will refer to her as the ex from now on. (haven’t heard a dickie bird from her since 2009, and long may it stay that way!) For my own intents and purposes this helps to clarify and reiterate the fact that she is indeed an ex. Anyway, this hotel was something she always seemed a bit hesitant to talk about. When the inevitable question about family occupations reared its head, she used to clam up. “Why?”, I thought. “What’s wrong with a hotel?”, I wondered. Nowt, obviously, but when I probed into it a bit more, it transpired that the hotel in question was a ‘love hotel’, and as we all know, in Japan, to talk about such things is considered a faux-pas.

As the ex’s parents owned a hotel, albeit a love hotel, it suddenly dawned upon me that hell, I COULD WORK THERE!! I thought that this could be an easy way into a Japanese job without all the added on bullshit of interviews and robotic hypocritical bowing to people who you’ll inevitably grow to resent. Not to mention having to comply with the Japanese notion of appearance based discrimination – that photograph at the top of a resume for example. And let’s not forget how one usually has to acquire such a photo – sitting in a train station photo booth with their legs on display, for every Tom Dick and Hirosaki to gawp at as they push and shove their way through the heaving masses. Nope, I couldn’t be arsed with any of that. And let’s face it, witnessing the full extent of the intricacies and hanky panky of a love hotel would satisfy even the most reluctant curiosity, yet alone a testosterone fuelled foreigner more or less still fresh off the boat. And, as I had decided, it would all be under the pretext of trying to “further my Japanese language ability, by working in a Japanese only environment”.

The thought of me working in a love hotel amused the ex no end and she wouldn’t even entertain the idea of asking her mother at first. I was adamant though – like a dog with a bone with it. I would constantly harp on about how in order to become proficient in the language, it was essential to be completely exposed to it – warts and all. So she pestered her mother on my behalf. The old devil took some convincing, but after a constant barrage of pleas from her daughter, she finally succumbed to letting me become one of her employees! The good fortune didn’t end there either, as my pay was immediately escalated to \1500 an hour, a full \500 more than any of the current incumbents. A pay rise before even setting foot in the joint! It’s ‘who you know’ in this world. Always has been.

It was the first time I had met the ex girlfriend’s mother, and she hated me from the off – nothing to do with me being a foreigner I hasten to add – probably more down to the fact of her being the proverbial shoulder to cry on in the aftermath of most of the ex girlfriend’s previously failed relationships. To put it quite simply, she was a seemingly overprotective ogre who would sit there imperiously – her eyes peering at me with disdain, piercing right into my soul. I don’t think a “you’re not good enough for my daughter” type demeanour has ever been more evident. Not to me anyway. She might have been the owner but it was the ex’s brother though, who was my superior. Everyone’s superior in fact. As is the case with many young guys, put them in authority far too early, especially presiding over people who have a lot more sleeps to their name than they have, and a bit of an issue will no doubt ensue. He would try and patronise everybody, by sitting there barking out orders in a cold condescending manner. Yup, he was a prick. He was slightly older than me I should add, and even though he was the ex’s brother I pretty much quashed any hopes of ‘bromance’ after about 30 seconds of meeting the douchebag.

There were four other staff on the pay roll.

Watanabe san – a pleasant enough old guy whose shift coincided with mine more than any of the others. Always referred to himself in the third person as some indeed do, but with the added “san” honorific for extra measure!

Goto san – middle-aged chain-smoking redhead, the type of woman who challenges your brain to try and fathom out if she was a catch 30 years previously. To be quite frank, as far as work was concerned she was about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike. Which of course would be quite apt.

Fujisaki san – a stalwart of the entire enterprise. In her seventies, and in her 40th year of cleaning for the hotel! Yep, the daft old bat had spent more than half her life here mopping up semen drenched tissues, when most of her fellow septuagenarian by now were no doubt travelling around clogging up various world heritage hot spots courtesy of their “bubble era” shaped nest eggs.

Semba san – a legend! An avuncular jolly old soul who took the act of ‘skiving’ to epic proportions! The only one who could speak English too. How often was my shift arranged to be on the same night as his? Nowhere near enough for my liking. Funny that.

The hotel itself was located in Koiwa, on the Sobu Line. Koiwa is a shithole, especially by Japanese standards. As for the hotel itself I wasn’t impressed at all. I’d been in a few love hotels as a customer and was used to the odd theme place of course but I was yet to come across (really, no pun intended) that Ferrari shaped bed that I once read about, or indeed anything resembling the inside of a planetarium where one can gaze, no doubt intoxicated, into far flung constellations while they’re hammering away. Maybe as an employee, having behind the scenes access to such an establishment, I might finally stumble upon one. Alas, any thoughts of embellishing one’s amusement were suddenly shot down in flames when I was given the tour. It was as basic as basic gets as far as the rooms were concerned. The only thing distinguishing this love hotel from a business hotel were all the various ornaments, junk and irregular tat that adorned the corridors. Stuffed owls that looked as though they’d been pilfered straight from the halls of Hogwarts, golden spray painted metal cats caked in dust and Samurai swords that would have looked less out of place in Tokyu Hands. Hell, there was even a menacing Siberian Tiger guarding the entrance! So to re-iterate, no, this wasn’t an extravagantly themed fantasy abode. It was more ‘Bed & Breakfast’ in Bognor Regis.

I quickly made a decision that as Koiwa wasn’t exactly known for its local gaikokujin, I absolutely under no circumstances could become known as “that gaijin who cleans in a love hotel”. I had to make sure that if I happened to see any ‘guest’ while meandering around the corridors, I had to be almost in complete disguise. I bought a cheap hat – one that I could quickly pull down over my eyes if the opportunity arose. And as the law of averages dictates, it would indeed arise, and short of donning full-on Ghostbusters get-up, this was as good as I could muster by way of a virtual cloak of anonymity.

Two of the floors had a store room, which were effectively the hubs from which all cleaning operations were dictated. Little lights on a metal panel indicated which rooms were occupied or needed cleaning. Fujisaki san was my trainer, as I was told she was the most efficient. She had better bloody be, after 40 years of it! She should be able to replenish condoms in her sleep! My biggest obstacle actually was understanding any small talk – anticipating whether anything said was an attempt at humour, making sure I showed the appropriate respect and so forth. The actual work didn’t need much explaining as let’s be honest, a chimpanzee could do it.

My main role in this establishment was pretty straightforward. I was to clean the bathroom, stock the amenities and help fold the sheets. As for the bathroom I presume I was given this particular honour due to a unanimous belief amongst the veterans that this would probably be the area least likely to be contaminated by bodily fluids and thus contravene any health and safety issues. Yep, I had to wash the bath, floor and walls with detergent before rinsing it away. Drying it could be a bit of a ball ache mind you, making sure to eradicate every last droplet. Then it was a case of tidying up, replacing the soaps, combs and hair nets and systematically aligning the bottles of shampoo, conditioner and shower gel. A ‘piece of piss’, as we say back in England. Quite therapeutic in fact. Mentally switch off! Think about the weekend’s forthcoming football! Japanese love their baths too. The Western notion of throwing your jeans on and legging it ‘out the door’ after bedding a ten ton munter seems to be lost on the Japanese. Indeed, no matter the caliber of the conquest, more often than not they’ll plump for a leisurely soak as opposed to bolting for the exit. So all in all, the bathroom always needed cleaning – a chore which I could drag out as long as was necessary.

The first task upon entering a recently vacated room was to get the windows open. The smell of sex whacked you full on in the face immediately. I’m embarrassed to admit it but my excitement was actually at its peak at this stage, especially if I’d already seen who the recently checked out occupants were on the CCTV or on reception. “What ‘goodies’ had the amorous couple left behind?”, I wondered, curiosity rocketing. As you can imagine, there’d often be soiled knickers, ripped fishnet stockings, dildos – you name it. I should point out though, not that it needed pointing out, that I was under strict orders never to touch any of this garb for ‘health and safety’ reasons. Cleaning up after the prostitutes was the worst, as not only was the mess at its most abhorrent, it would be accompanied by the pungent odour of that sickly vomit inducing sweet perfume that ladies of the night seem to insist on drowning themselves in. Also whilst standing in there, if you were really lucky, you could sometimes hear the various screams from neighbouring couples. However as the bedroom was for the more experienced employee and not my assigned responsibility, I shuffled towards the bathroom after my initial and one could say “perverted” inspection.

My favourite role was to sort out the amenities and drinks. The endless supply of beers, coffees, pocari sweat and rubber johnnies were available in each of the two main stock rooms. It should come as no surprise that a good proportion of these ended up in my rucksack. Perks of the job, some might say. Goodness knows how much I managed to save on teas and coffees that month. And as for the condoms, it’d be tantamount to a year’s supply! I could justify tea-leafing the johnnies, as I was using them with the ex girlfriend. “Robbing from Peter to pay Peter”, was the way I looked at it.


As mentioned somewhere above, if time permitted I was also required to help change the bed sheets. Remember when your mother used to ask you to help her with this ever so child-friendly household chore? Well, same chore, different end of the spectrum. And it was during one of these chores that provided the best moment of this entire month-long escapade:

One night, around 10pm I was on the late shift with Fujisaki san. As I had just finished helping her fold the sheets, I noticed a small minibus pull up at the traffic lights next to the hotel. We were both right next to the window – an open window. Being 10pm, the hotel was lit up like a Christmas tree, in full view of this minibus. Now obviously you all know the facts at this point, but imagine if you were in that minibus. Here was this young blonde foreigner, with a Japanese old lady, in a love hotel. A young foreigner would surely NOT be working in a love hotel would he??? I doubt it’s ever happened in history. So God only knows what sudden graphic images were manifesting themselves in the minds of these innocent gawpers, but I guarantee that they were putting two and two together, and getting the answer very, very wrong….

One of the most prestigious jobs while working here was sitting on reception. Obviously you don’t have to be Einstein to figure out why. For anyone who is as prone to extreme bouts of bone idleness as yours truly, this was a cushy number indeed. Sitting there, not having to lift a bloody finger! All I had to do was man the switchboard and take the money from the guests. In fact the only time the phone ever rang was when the ex’s mother called in. Oh yeah, and the Yakuza. Yup, quite often actually, there’d be an irate pimp on the other end of the blower demanding that his protegé was showered, covered in perfume and bra and knickers put back on ready for the next client, as it was “TIME UP!” I’d simply put them through…

I’ll be honest, it was pretty interesting at times, me being Johnny Foreigner and having to deal with guests who constantly had to do a ‘double take’ to see who it was who’d just given or taken room keys from them. I didn’t feel the need for any disguise whilst sat perched on reception however, as for all they knew I might well have owned the place! Haha! I am pretty sure the natural authoritarian aura that I (possibly deludedly) presumed I exuded whilst taking their money would cloud any other sudden preconceptions. A gaijin sitting there like he’s ‘King of the castle’ projects a very different image to one being caught on the landing with a mop and bucket. All of it a pretty surreal experience.

Nearly all Japanese love hotels (or at least those that don’t come blessed with automatic room selection systems) have a very small window for the receptionist. This is in order to keep all interactions with the public to a minimum. The windows are situated at around waist height for the guests, so there’s no face-to-face communication. This way, the environment is kept as conducive as possible to any extra-marital activity, a fact further enhanced by a radio channel available in the rooms by the name of “Alibi FM”!! Yeah I’m seriously not making this shit up, ALIBI FM!! This hardly innocuous channel would provide a perfect backdrop to any late night calls back to the wife wouldn’t it? The sound of a busy train station and all its cacophony being one of quite a few examples that might go some way towards adding a certain gloss to the fib!!

Of all the types that came through the doors folks, middle-aged salarymen, waiting for their “derihera” girls were always my favourite. The awkward feeling of shame that they’d exude as they explained that their ‘companion’ would be arriving a little while later always amused me. They certainly weren’t trying to practice their English on me on this occasion! Haha! Without even saying anything it was a chance for me to take the moral high ground – moral being the operative word considering my eye line was level with their belt buckle. Whenever a single bloke checked in, we had to make a note of it. There was a red and green ‘naughts & crosses’ type apparatus for this very purpose. Single customers were to be given a red peg, and under no circumstances were two men allowed to check into the same room. (Two women entering together, on the other hand, was considered perfectly acceptable) Then we’d replace the red peg with a green one, when the girl arrived. Then there were the prostitutes themselves. Always, they had a clearly miserable disposition about them. Who wouldn’t, if they knew what chipolata-endowed bespectacled white shirted specimen lie in wait for them upstairs? On one occasion, one of the working girls came in showing off her cleavage in a Union Jack dress. I didn’t know whether to be completely disgusted or break into a rendition of “God save the Queen”!

The novelty soon wore off and it wasn’t long before working here really started to grate. I was there pretty much every day for a whole month and even though it was piss easy work, I very quickly got fed up of the same rooms, the same smells and the same meaningless chatter. Not to mention all the unnecessary preamble rituals before and after with the ex’s idiotic brother. Skiving with Semba san was fun mind you. We would even watch the TV to stave off the boredom! A guy after my own heart he was. Incidentally, it was Semba san that showed me the enormous stash of porn videos located in the cellar – VHS videos that these days are neither use nor ornament, except for two bored workers that want to kill time. I would also be lying if I said that none of them made their way back to my house either…

Overall I am pleased I had the experience of working here. My English teaching school were eventually able to assign me with more hours and therefore put me back into the gaijin rat race. However working at the love hotel was certainly more interesting than the average job, and it certainly served the purpose of providing me with ample beer tokens along with an inside glimpse into the seedy world of illicit debauchery that goes on, bubbling away just out of the watchful gaze of Joe Public. And to think that there are people who are filling in application forms for the Golden Arches…

...this time...

…this time…

Have your own insane Love Hotel story? I’m betting you do.  Leave it in the comments and you could win and all expense paid trip (paid for by you) to some dump in Tokyo to have drinks with us!  Irresistible!

Oh and If you like this, you might like:

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they Rock
Seagal vs Van Damme Death Penalty Survivor Hardest Endurance


A love hotel is a type of short-stay hotel found around the world operated primarily for the purpose of allowing couples privacy for sexual activities.

Love hotels are everywhere in Japan.  A lot of people continue to live with family well into their thirties and people need a place to get their freak on.  Love Hotels provide such a place and this is not a new story.  However, in my travels on foot around Ikebukuro I have made some interesting discoveries and there are mysteries I am trying to figure out in order to write about them.  Some include the Yakuza, some the Triads, some the Cops, legions of homo-erotic loving female teenagers, some bizarre “ghost” properties and the connections these have with the aforementioned groups.  One thing I have found without a doubt, Ikebukuro is a strange and unique place.  The tour is starting here:


This is about half way down “Heiwai dori” or “Peace Street” just north of the north exit at Ikebukuro station. It’s peaceful in that the street is laid in red brick and I have never seen any of the prostitutes, who lurk in every corner, beating each other up. Peaceful. This might have something to do with the police presence in the Koban at the southern and northern ends of the street.   Aside from a tolerable little bakery, a curry shop and a couple of bars there isn’t much more on this  street except for  “working hotels” and by that I mean hotels the pros take johns to.

Let me explain, being snarky, I had planned to title this “7 great spots to take hookers to in Ikebukuro”.  But due to my uh, journalistic integrity, I could not in all good conscience do this.  Why?  Most pros don’t meet clients in the Love Hotels I will show you on here. You can see them going into and leaving the very bland and often shabby establishments that don’t even offer a “Stay” rate.  It’s always a uniquely Japanese sight to see some hooker bowing to the gentleman she has just finished with and them both exchanging the same language Salary men and Office workers use when finishing a meeting or the work day.

I am not here writing a step by step on finding hookers in Ikebukuro.  You can find info on that here or here.  But I take this route a couple of times a week to and from the gym located on the East side and it’s never a boring walk.  It also ties in well with some other things I will post about in the near future.  Consider this a warm up.

So if you are coming south up Heiwa Dori from Ikebukuro’s north exit take a right onto a smaller black asphalt street where the map indicates.  Walk to the second right and turn again.  This is what you will see.


We can start by taking a look at “Hotel Room.”



Reasonable rates for the young couple.  I doubt much “resting” transpires, however. Nice VIP room.


Little tacky Las Vegas creeping in here but one will not miss “Hotel Casablanca”. Of this I am sure.  Rates? Amenities?


But of course.  Not sure what that blender like object is there for.

Next we have “Xavier’s School for gifted Youngsters…”


“…and people who just want to have sex a lot.”


There are many smaller hotels on the strip but these are the exclamation points visually.  At the end of the strip there is a run down no frills type joint used by the professionals and to the left, the tunnel under the road, which looks like a secondary location for a scene out of IRREVERSIBLE.


I have tipped my hat and bid a good evening to several ladies of the night waiting for someone on my way home from the gym passing along this little street of dreams.

Now, why would someone purposefully take this filthy walk several times a week?  Other than this being the fastest way from door to door, home to gym, once we pass through this alley and turn left going up the steps, the view regularly has me standing and staring again, even after ten years, inspired.


Check back for the tour will continue. And it just gets weirder.

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Pick up Girls using the CARVER Matrix 2

“Don’t focus too much on getting with her, just focus on getting to THE NEXT STEP.” David DeAngelo

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In the first post in this series we applied the CARVER matrix on a strategic level to determine the area you should be operating in if access to the inner female sanctum is something high on your “to-do-list”. When you get serious about PUA, or anything else that really shouldn’t be something anyone “gets serious” about, then you can apply the same principles utilized by the US military and Special forces in their planning procedures.
It is important to first look at things Strategically. Once you have a concept and the broad strokes so to speak, then you break things down tactically. Although this warrants and really deserves its own independent post we haven’t that sort of time because hey, there is porno to watch and gossip to read so to broadly outline the shift from Strategic to tactical look at the following examples. Pretty please….

  • Strategically you think of a broad concept/ Tactically you focus on the day-to-day operations.
  • Strategically you consider the general direction/ Tactically you consider what vehicle you will use.
  • Strategically you wonder how things get connected/ Tactically you organize exactly what needs to be connected.

A very broad yet simple way to say this is that “Strategy looks at the what and why. Tactics look at the how.” The CARVER Matrix can be used when making decisions involving both or involving one but not the other.

So, back to our theoretical mission “Panty Droppage” and its designation “Gamma-2-0-Sierra-Nevada” or colloquially “Get 20-something year old Nooky” we have established our location.  Let us assume, just to speed things up that you have run various venues through the CARVER Matrix and have decided to converge upon “A971”, a fairly hip yet dully crowded business eatery/bar.  You have chosen this bar based on criteria that you defined to fit yourself considering on the type of women you will be targeting: 20 something year old office workers, yes the infamous “OL” (or money grubbers, don’t worry this mission is about subterfuge not your bank balance.)

Appropriately, you have put on a suit and tie. Nothing too dressy but enough to give you an ambiguous look.  You could be a finance guy, a teacher or a drug dealer.  You could work for the embassy or you could live with a host family. You could be homeless. You could live at an internet cafe.  There is no way to tell. The point is that you have worn the proper camouflage. Remember- you do not wear desert cammies in the Jungle.

You have further employed the use of Model based decision-making in order to determine the type of girl. Strategically, you want someone relaxed with possibly very flexible moral boundaries.  Tall would be good but not “tranny” tall and the office lady or OL vibe is really doing it for you.  Another prerequisite is that she be drinking alcohol with a pace often reserved for those dealing with a death in the family, yet not with the all-consuming passion that wraps itself around hard-core, genuine drunks.  You would like the first thing she drinks at your place in the morning to be a cup of coffee, not a left over luke-warm beer or the half-liter of Stoli she puked up the night before.

Just take our word for it on this one….just take our word.

After getting into the “vibe” and having a couple of gin tonics you spot the one.  She’s standing sort-of toward the rear of the bar that is situated in the center of the first floor, the blue glow emanating from the bar flattering, making her facial features that much soft and ultra-feminine.  She is with one friend which works well because you, being prepared and motivated, have brought a trusty wing-man along to help facilitate mission accomplishment.

The approach is simple, straight forward. Move in quickly, do not hesitate and open. You have received one casual look from her when she came in and no form of clear disgust seemed apparent.  Once you’re within speaking range, this is when you move to the tactical application of the CARVER model.

Your potential opening lines have been listed as follows:

  1. What’s your name? (eye contact, slight smile)
  2. Do you want to come to my home with me? (totally serious, sexy eyes)
  3. Sorry I’m late! (said in Japanese “Osokute Gomenne!” playful and smiling)
  4. Cheers! (glass held high “Konpai!”)
  5. God, you have a nice body baby. (looking her up and down, licking the lips….yours not hers…yet)

We are aware that these are not the only “lines” available to you however, for the sake of this post please, follow the script.  Now, let’s run these slick play-boy pros through the ever efficient and de-humanizing CARVER model.

Your opening line C A R V E R TOTAL
Opener #1 7 10 6 8 7 7 45
Opener #2 10 3 9 2 5 3 32
Opener #3 7 8 8 7 8 8 46
Opener #4 8 10 5 8 5 8 44
Opener #5 9 5 8 3 4 7 35

And the winner is….OSOKUTE GOMENE! Sorry I’m Late! with 46 points this line narrowly has passed Whats your name? and Cheers!

The rational is as follows: For overall Criticality this line is rather reserved but decent enough. You have entered the targets sphere of consciousness if you weren’t there already. If delivered properly with the right combination of humor and confidence you have shown them that you are funny, fun, have Japanese language ability and you have left things slightly ambiguous which is very good. While the two “tangos” are giggling about your silly yet effective opening line you can then follow it with Cheers! and then Whats your name?


The “secret” to this line scoring high points is its moderate success in every computational component of the Matrix. Line #2 Do you want to come home with me? scores a perfect ten in Criticality making it Stupendous (yes, Stupendous) because IF this tactic is effective you will be in a taxi in 10 minutes and hopefully engaged in hot perfection love-making within the hour. However Opener #2 does not receive a high score because of very low totals in Accessibility, Vulnerability and Recognizability. It would likely be difficult to access the right combination of insanely good looks, brutal suavity and diabolical amounts of charisma in order to use this tactic. In addition, most women in the bar would not be vulnerable to such a frontal assault and finally, you have never done this before. Never before have you bathed in the sweet sexy glow of mission accomplishment via employment of this tactic. This means the tactic is unfamiliar and strange. Difficult to wield it correctly. Conversely a Cheers! or Sorry I’m Late! is something all of us have said before.

OK. I recommend you read other CARVER posts on the site to further familiarize yourself with the ins and outs of this system which is infinite in its applications and then you can take an entire Saturday afternoon calculating your assault on Japanese women-dom.

While reading this regarding pick up in Japan, if you have never been to Japan and done this please understand there are some cultural differences that apply. Some parts of the script that work well here would result in a horrific “crash and burn” effect in a place like say “Kabul” or “San Francisco”. The actual tactics are flexible and contingent upon your area of operations.


Go back to part 1


Read more about Model Based Decision making VS your Gut and Rush Hour Drunk Girls by Gaijinass.

Pick up Girls using the CARVER Matrix

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“If you want to increase your chances of success with women, create situations that lead to these situations.”
David DeAngelo quote

At some point starting during the end of the Vietnam war, the United States special forces began developing a Target Acquisition system that would later go on to be used in the post 9/11 world as a valuable and hyper effective Risk Assessment tool in the war on terror. This tool is the CARVER matrix.


Recuperability (Return)

The dynamics of this system have allowed numerous governments and agency to pre-empt attacks and identify weaknesses in their own systems. It is helping stop terrorism…

…and that’s just great.


….that is not going to help you get in the panties. So, with that thought in mind, we here at Gaijinass have decided to turn our laser like intellects and the power of the CARVER matrix to the task that matters most to the people likely reading past this sentence.

Model based decision-making such as the CARVER matrix is awesome because it eliminates something that invariably screws decisions up and that’s your emotions. It removes them from the situation. You might think you’re smooth and have all the answers but the reality is that you don’t. In fact, what little information you do have is likely counter productive, your “intuition” or “Spidy sense” as you like to call it didn’t help you with that case of herpes now did it? Your defunct inner compass is why you’re still booty calling  that fat chick you met at the Indian Curry buffet from last Easter…and she STILL smells like curry. And that’s fine because we all agree; Indian curry is awesome.
But it’s time to crawl out of your gutter though and let that little light of yours shine.

Go ahead, Hold it high for all to see.

Now, for the purpose of this simulation, we are going to make a few assumptions to keep things streamlined.

  • You are not 50-cent. You’re not Mystery. Nor are you Orlando Bloom.  Conversely, you’re not Carrot Top either. You are an average or slightly above average looking normal guy. You have average to slightly above average game.
  • You are not a crippled beggar on a skateboard. However, you’re not having your Ferrari shipped over here either. You are financially middle class or near that area.
  • You have an average to well below average wang (except for all writers and contributors to this Blog, in which case “diabolically small” might be more appropriate), that is connected to a ferocious sexual appetite with the destructive consumption ability of “The Nothing” from The Never-ending story. Which, by the way, FUCKING ENDED!

"Never-Ending, my ass."


Location Location Location.

It’s true, this is important. Sure, you can just go wander around the grocery store and if you’re there long enough at some point you will meet a sad “divorcy” buying microwave dinners and you might have a shot at a hand job in a filthy Piggly-Wiggly toilet. But if you’re serious about meeting women that DON’T have a plastic appendage or HAVEN’T ever been penetrated by their “sweet lord Satan” then you need to stop hanging out on the sidewalk in front of that mental hospital waiting for someone that doesn’t wear diapers.

Gaijinass currently runs operations out of Tokyo “WTF” Japan so the locations I am going to name and run through the omniscient CARVER Matrix are places an aspiring gentleman or persuasive scumbag might go to make time with a nubile young J-girl. The following locations are:

Target Rich Locations C A R V E R TOTAL
Roppongi 10 10 9 8 9 9 55
Shibuya 8 9 8 8 8 9 50
Shinjuku 7 9 7 7 7 8 45
Ebisu 6 6 4 4 5 7 32
Ikebukuro 7 8 7 7 7 5 41

Based on the Matrix above (sounds fucking cool right? MATRIX) , Roppongi has been awarded the highest points for location. Let us briefly discuss why this is and the considerations made for each component within the system. And I mean briefly. For a long explanation on each component go here kids.

Roppongi is well-known as a foreign culture center in Tokyo and attracts many ex-pats nightly. This in turns attracts the Japanese women intent on meeting them.  Locations to drink, socialize and drink more abound.  So, for total Criticality, Roppongi received the maximum amount of possible points.    It received the same for Accessibility because you could go any night of the week and there will be women drinking there that will immediately have an interest in you because you are not Japanese.   Recuperability (return) scored slightly lower due to the fact that because it has this magnet like quality of foreign guys you will have competition. Although, a scimitar wielding monkey wearing a dead baby for a hat could get phone numbers, the number of women left to drag home at 4 AM will be limited.  Have no fear though, by comparison, you have a much higher chance of whisking home some drunk skank there than in the other locations.

Vulnerability received fewer points, in fact the same amount as Shibuya because the level of difficulty will likely be the same and the amount of time needed to insure your one night stand will also likely be about equal. However it should be less difficult than for example Ikebukuro where you would have to go to 2 or 3 bars and then all night karaoke forcing her to miss her last train insuring she will vomit in your home toilet before passing out so you can -ahem- “pleasure” her at your drunken convenience. 

Effect was high yet again because just the act of you making your sorry way to Roppongi will drastically increase your chances of mission accomplishment i.e. “Panty Droppage”.   Recognizability got high points because you have to be a fool to not see where you should go to talk to women in Roppongi.  Unlike Ebisu for example, the girls in Roppongi are there to PARTY.  They want to drink, have men buy them drinks and then probably chug some cock. The signs are easily Recognizable.

Again in this case, Model Based decision-making and its results run against many a seasoned J-girl hunters instincts.  Many men here, very driven PUA (pick up artist) avoid Roppongi like the plague but most of these motivations come from emotional responses or personal biases.  If those are fairly well removed its clear Roppongi is the place to go.

Read part 2 here.

If you like this, you might like:

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Gaysians 7 Awesome Heist movies and Why
they Rock
Seagal vs Van Damme Death Penalty Survivor Hardest Endurance

More Crazy Japanese Video Games.

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What is Sexual is what gives a man an erection…If there is no inequality, no violation, no dominance, no force, there is no sexual arousal.

-Catharine MacKinnon

Ah…..RapeLay, how popular art thou…let me count the ways…

A lot of you people have found your way here while searching for the now infamous PC game “Rapelay”.  Shame on you.

Now…I have been trying to find a good copy to download myself for sometime but as of yet, no success. What I have found are some other VERY intriguing (read: FUCKED) games from The land of the Rising sun.

More Crazy Japanese Video Games1
レイプ!レイプ!レイプ! (Rape!Rape!Rape!)
Yes, the title is Rape!Rape!Rape!
Charming…I know.
Normally, I only get to read these words in a Police report, usually alongside one (or more) of my friend’s names. You know who you are!
This game doesn’t have the advanced Machiavellian story line of Rapelay, however reviews seem”good” overall.

Hayashi-Kun (Mr. Hayashi) said…

This game is much more kinky than even much more expensive games.
Essentially, there is no story, but the main character (you) can walk around freely, meet women and, rape them.
Its quite simple.
If you are hoping to improve your real life kinky skills/sex skills by studying this game, it is good for that as well. The CG is very good and you can enjoy watching it.
Finally, although it is just my opinion, I can say that if you are a very pure hearted person, then this game will be hell for you but if you hope to use this to masturbate, I give it 5 stars.

However, another customer didn’t feel so satisfied….

Basically the main character in this game is insane. His heart was broken by a woman, and now he has a lot of anger, so, he rapes women. I really connect with and understand this, because I often feel the same way. Although the Game title “Rape!Rape!Rape!” is really good, I think it would be more appropriate to call this game “Life is meaningless so Rape people.”

More Crazy Japanese Video Games2
“She is an Anal SLAVE~Revenge of Chastity~

I know, I agree: If I played games, I WOULD NEED THIS GAME.  Particularly if I had decided to give up on life.
The message on the left side of the Box says, “I want to suck your ass, then fuck you.”. I’d say that essentially sums up a good Tuesday evening no?

Mr. Asashi had some thoughts about the game…

Well, I really enjoyed it. Although it is a bit cheap, so the story is rather short, the sex scenes are very detailed. I found that I could learn a lot about how to train a woman, like training a dog or a horse, it isn’t so different. I think this game really taught me that if you train your girl, you will have more fun. In my opinion, the price is a reasonable match for what this product delivers.

More Crazy Japanese Video Games3
Mysterious Thief Lolita & you ~
Confinement, Restraint, Torture Play.

First, apparently, the two girls in this game are 18 years old. Allegedly. Look, I am as lost as you are, I assure you. Now if I can JUST find my roommates credit card….

The green message scrolling down the left side of the box says something along the lines of “Omaetachi mitai ni waruiko ha…CHINPO DE OSHIOKI DA!” Let me translate that for you: “You two bitches are such bad girls….IM GONNA PUNISH YOU WITH MY COCK!”  I guess these guys knew my wrestling coach.

Mr. Mazuki from Kanagawa city said….

So, you have to work hard to catch these two 18 year old girls and then, work hard to nail them. The two girls are totally different. One of them is so sweet and obedient, but her sister is a foul mouth piece of slut trash. If you manage to clear all the levels completely, you can get your favorite SM option with the girls. Now, if you are serious about SM, this game might not be for you. However, if you have a Lolita Hobby or complex, you should surely purchase this game!

Now those are the ones that I felt I could actually post a graphic of, without GOD literally ripping open the Heavens, reaching down and turning my crotch into hamburger and black sadness.  I didn’t even put up purchase links (oh wait, I did. Damn those black outs where I wake up and odd, random chores have been accomplished…in blood!) because doing so would give Satan permission to punch me in the dick before he’d send me to my own private hell: Roommates in a closet sized apartment in West Virginia with Channing Tatum.
The following is one, well, I just couldn’t put the photo up, I know I am on my way to hell but there is no reason to buy an express ticket. Anyway this is just the game name and the slogan :

いもうと妊娠2~淫・胎・悶・絶~My Little Sister, Pregnant~PART 2! Phrase:

“Older Brother PLEASE! put it in my Pussy more!”

I really do my best here, I mean, I just posted a charming little entry about Sakura and Hanami and how lovely it all is. However, this, how can I turn my back on THIS!?!?!

Don’t kill the messenger…we have tried to warn you. Sweet Japan, the wonderment never ceases.

If this wasn’t good enough for you, try these:

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