This 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.



Although my head was largely inserted in my own ass all through 2004, I can remember clearly and state that the phone website, TokyoGaijin, and  the website Adult Friend Finder were connecting me with lots of women who were very eager to sow their wild oats.

I had no game what-so-ever at this time either. My life consisted of jogging and shadow boxing in the mornings, going to one of my schools to do as little as possible during the day , and then me dragging my sorry ass to the gym to be beaten up and exhausted after work.  Money was tight and the rice and canned tuna menu reigned supreme with Wednesday night pizza and beer, courtesy of Ayako.

I didn’t have many friends at this time, any friends really, except for the occasional coffee with another ALT after a work function. So, the loneliness coupled with my intense sexual appetite and general boredom meant I’d spend 4 or 5 hours a night reading blogs about BDSM, Japanese pick-up (nobody had ever heard of “The Game”, by Neil Strauss yet, but Japan had a structured and developed pick up community. It’s called “Nanpa”) and hanging out on AFF and TokyoGaijjin, respectively.  I was fascinated with SM, Sado-Masochism, and particularly with Japanese binding and rope work or “Shibari”.

In Japanese, “Shibari” simply means “to tie”. The contemporary meaning of Shibari describes an ancient Japanese artistic form of rope bondage.

I found “Shibari” explained well. Here you go:

The origin of Shibari comes from Hojo-jutsu, the martial art of restraining captives. In Japan from 1400 to 1700, while the local police and Samurai used Hojo-jutsu as a form of imprisonment and torture, the honor of these ancient Samurai warriors required them to treat their prisoners well. So, they used different techniques to tie their prisoners, showing the honor and status of their captured prisoner.

In the late 1800′s and early 1900′s a new form of erotic Hojo-justu evolved, called Kinbaku, the art of erotic bondage. Today, particularly in the west, the art of erotic bondage is typically called Shibari, which is an art of erotic spirituality, not a martial art.


Honor. Erotic spirituality. Samurai.


I just thought it was humiliating as hell for the person being tied up and this turned me on to no end.  Also, the feeling of domination and control one must have when the woman is utterly helpless in front of you, more than normal, seemed incredible.  I couldn’t get enough of this and devoured articles and videos and pictures.

Enter Chiho.

A find on TokyoGaijin, Chiho was 33 years old.  She looked like she was my age.  Her face was cute with a white, straight little smile and very Japanese features elsewhere; small Asian eyes, round smooth cheeks and chin and a somewhat flatter nose; baby-faced.  Her hair was straightened and colored brown and it parted down the middle.

Her body was slamming; Really  nice.  She was perhaps 5’2, naturally tanned; she had full perky breasts, a flat stomach, smooth firm thighs and a thick round ass.  Good God, that ass, I can still clearly remember it. Before we met she and I mailed for a couple of weeks and she dutifully sent me pictures of her, nearly daily, in different sexy panties, on all fours, flaring her lovely thick butt up in the air.  By the time we met the anticipation had risen to a ludicrous level.

In our mails, we had also discussed her ex-bf, some Italian and how huge his cock was.  I loved it.  I wasn’t sure why but whenever it was mentioned I imagined her being filled by it and that made me ravenous.  I was intent on devouring this little woman.

In addition to this it became clear that Chiho was submissive, Masochistic sexually, and was interested in going deeper with that.

Perfect fit? Correct.

Although I had plans to meet Ayako on Christmas Day, I decided to meet Chiho, for the first time, on Christmas eve.  I didn’t fully understand the gravity of this decision then.  In Japan, Christmas eve is the date night to end all other date nights.  It’s the night when the guy is supposed to take the girl on the most romantic date of the year.  The city is bedazzled in ridiculous and inappropriate Christmas “Illumination”. For example one display was “Merry Christmas Circus” complete with a Santa holding a ring of red lights as fire with a brilliant glowing green dragon flying through it, everyone would be out, holding hands and pretending they really liked each other.

On the other hand, Christmas day doesn’t really mean anything.  Most Japanese simply go to work as usual.  So, in my mind I had arranged to meet Ayako on the more important day, Christmas, and the new girl on the evening that didn’t really matter.

Well, it mattered to Chiho.

She showed up at my apartment with a shoulder bag and two big shopping bags from Isetan, an upscale department  store in Shinjuku.  It was about six PM. The plan was for me to cook and we would have dinner and relax, and after that, I would tie her up and do kinky things to her body all night.

Merry Christmas.

Well, she came with everything in tow; all the holiday goodies.  She’d purchased a spectacular cake at Isetan.  We had marinated olives and stuffed peppers and gourmet meatloaf with candied sweet potatoes.  Roast duck with chestnut and ricotta stuffing.  Two bottles of Champagne, the real kind not that Mexican piss, and a decent bottle of red wine, a Shiraz if I remember correctly.

Then, I had Chiho and she was falling in love with me, literally, in front of my eyes and I could see it clearly.  Oh, what tender feelings of domination and control this caused to well up inside of me.  A couple of hours after dinner and most of the bubbly gone, we were kissing and I was slowly groping her breasts and backside, purposefully taking as much time as possible to slowly take her clothes off.  She had dressed well with a tight turtle neck sweater and a dark, tight-fitting, short skirt and dark tights.  Under it all she was wearing a dark red and white matching lace thong panty and bra.  Once I had removed everything else I took several minutes to admire my present and it’s immaculate wrapping job, slowly running my hand over the back of her thigh and ass as she laid on the futon next to me.  I was…amazingly hard, but for some reason, putting off getting to it.

This would become a trend and eventually a kind of addiction for me over the years.  It’s called “pleasure delay.” The premise is simple: draw out and extend the act for as long as possible without reaching the climax.  So, when the climax comes, it’s exponentially stronger.

Sure, this is true, but there is more to it once one enters into the world of SM and bondage.  Pleasure delay is something most submissives get accustomed too and crave.  Being bond or tied or whatever, they have little control over the stimulus they’re receiving and a skilled “Dom” or dominant, will draw this out, taking time to activate and arouse all the right zones, multiple times over if he/she is really good, before getting to it and inducing a mind bending orgasm so intense it can knock the sub unconscious.

I’ve seen it. I’ve done it.  It ain’t pretty either.  The girl starts shaking and gyrating, often begging me to stop insisting she is going to pee all over herself, then either high-pitched grinding squeals or low moaning croaks, or both, can occur and then usually some drool or spit with more gyrating and then the giant moan, exhalation of breath and yeah, sometimes there is some pee, sometimes a discharge of something else and maybe even the occasional queef or fart and it’s over.

You have gained access to the Tower of Coitus, and have read the level 13 ninja scroll of FUCK.

If the Dom is watching the sub’s face, occasionally, you can see her/his eyes roll back in their head and they go limp.  They’ve passed out due to cumming to hard and or flexing the muscles in their neck or holding their breath.

The kind of open little secret which people seem to know but not talk about though, is that while the Dom is domming, putting this sub through the steps and drawing things out to maximize the masochistic helpless of it all, the Dom is actually applying the same punishment to him/her self.  While I’m forcing Chiho or Ayako or Megumi or whoever to endure this long build up to the main meal, I’m also forcing myself to endure it and that’s just self-imposed Masochism.  So, do the math, most Dom’s are also extreme subs under the right conditions.

But those conditions weren’t tonight. And Chiho-chan already had a leather collar fastened around her neck.

I’d gone out and spent some of my fortune, meaning money to pay a mobile phone bill, on a leather collar, a fair amount of hemp rope, some duct tape (red) and a ball gag.  If you aren’t familiar with ball gags, go goggle or it or better yet, try reading a different book because I’m just getting warmed up.


Soon, following instructions I’d found on some video online, she was tied up and well.  The rope started around the upper body encircling her upper arms and going above and below her breasts.  Then a knot was tied in between her breasts pulling the ropes together causing her already full titts to bulge and swell up, her nipples became instantly hard and ultra sensitive.  I played with and teased them as I continued to secure the rope work behind her, binding her arms, behind her back and crossed above the small of her back.  Her forearms and wrists securely tied but not uncomfortably so.

I then turned her around, continually flicking her nipples and quickly, without conversation, pushed the ball gag into her petite little mouth.

“Bite down on it.” I told her.

She did and I pulled the strap tightly in the back of her head which elicited a small moan from her.  Turning her back around to face me, a wave of mind numbing desire flooded over me seeing her cute soft cheeks bulging against the tight leather band of the gag, her mouth slightly agape due to the red ball filling it up, with nothing she could say or do, and her eyes…looking up at me with complete and total embarrassment and surrender.

I was so horny I nearly left the room.  I’d never been that turned on before.

Seeing this incredibly cute woman, so helpless, horny, and submissive was like what I imagine that first shot of heroin is like for junkies; just completely fucking amazing.

I felt like a lion circling a wounder gazelle.  It was my first hit on a crack pipe and I was already hooked.

I spent nearly forty five minutes working her clit, which began to swell a bit, tonguing her and fingering her.  She orgasmed, clearly with an awkward moan, while being fingered hard; three deep.  Later I took the gag off, and set her on her knees and thoroughly enjoyed face fucking her, repeatedly pushing my shaft all the way to let my balls rest on her chin and I would pet her head.  “Good girl. Good girl baby.  Does that taste amazing? Do you love that cock?”

She would just look up at me and blink and barely nod, moaning.

The gag went back on, tightly again and I proceeded to aggressively pound this little woman’s hole.  This was not a tender moment but an athletic event.  Position after position and time was flying by. I’d past the initial climax stage while I was in her mouth and now was in the marathon stage; I could go forever.  I was tall, big and fit and was unloading on this little diminutive creasture and she was absolutely all about it. Her moans were loud and eager and she made eye contact with me whenever the position allowed her to.  I was constantly talking to her “Is this what you like you horny bitch? This?” And she would moan and nod and I’d lightly slap her face.

As the hour mark approached of this combat assault on her vagina I realized I would never cum like this although she had already come again with me ontop.  So, I took a break, poured a glass of wine, and untied her slowly.  I moved to take off the gag, maybe just a slow blowjob I thought, but she stopped me.  She liked it. She liked the tight, constricting and humiliating stimulation of the gag.  After that she couldn’t even look me in the eye having revealed a new layer to her own sexual psychosis.  This really turned the heat up for me, knowing how humiliated she was but how eager too and I pounded her from behind, spanking and grabbing handfuls of her firm tanned ass cheeks, while pulling her long dark brown pony tail hard.  Grunting loudly “Fuck yes make me cum slut.” I went right to the edge and pulled out, violently jacking off and yanking her by her hair back around to face me. I stood up and pushed my dick against her face and squeezed the part just below the head and several streams of hot cum spewed up and down her face. Some of it into her nose and even her hair.  Exhausted I realized I was nearly lifting her off the ground with one hand to do this and I let her go, Chiho collapsing to the tatami floor and me immediately walking out of the room.

I walked, naked, across the apartment, the shit hole, to the front door and opened it. We were the last apartment on an open air cat walk. Freezing cold air rushed in and electrified the sweat on my chest and face and the juice covering my cock, balls and groin. With the breeze I could smell someone making nabe, or Japanese stew, and I could smell our sex.  I don’t recommend this combination, by the way.

After maybe a minute, I’m not sure, I was floating, I closed the door and walked back in grabbing a kitchen towel.

I the room Chiho was just laying there, ballgag still securely in her mouth with her eyes closed.  She didn’t move. I went over, sat down and cleaned her off.  I removed the gag.  For perhaps ten minutes we didn’t speak she just laid her head in my lap.  I then poured her a glass of wine as well, we started chatting and then I opened the present she had gotten for me, a lovely and fairly expensive cappuccino machine, I had gotten her nothing, and explained this away with an excuse about a late delivery and an undependable online vendor. She didn’t seem to care.

We drank the wine and listened to music. She stayed over.

Christmas Morning, Chiho and I had at it again, a more contemporary fashion this time though. She left after a couple of failed tries on the cappuccino machine, finally got one right and we shared it.  I gave her a kiss goodbye, said “Merry Christmas, baby” and spanked her lovely butt as she turned and walked off. I watched her go, really feeling an affection for her. I knew I would be dating her. She was a keeper, I thought to myself.  How was this girl, this woman, not married yet? She lived with her parents and clearly was in search of a partner.  It boggled my mind.

I showered, went for a run, showered again and then made a couple calls to family and changed the sheets on my futon, opened the windows and let some air in.

Ayako came over around four PM and she was carrying all kinds of goodies as well.  Before we did anything, we had sex.  And it was good. Very good. I was took the aggression up a few notches and she seemed to love it.  Pulled her hair a bit more and slapped her ass a bit harder.  She responded by bucking back into me ever harder.

I told her after that how much I cared about her, and I meant it. Ayako was a good girl, also a keeper, and I was happy she was there with me.

After all the eating  and drinking and more sex, about midnight we laid down to sleep.  In the dark, just before I slipped into the dream world, I spontaneously started giggling to myself. I couldn’t control it and it lasted for nearly a minute.  Ayako woke up and asked me if I was okay.

Yeah.  “I’m okay.” I said.

I’m incredible.




Bagel Head Fashion
Bagel Head Fashion

Bagel Heads

Pictures courtesy of Ryoichi “Keroppy” Maeda

This summer VICE magazine was documenting a new trend what they have started calling Bagel Heads.  This new BM sub-culture uses saline drips to make temporary bulges under their skin.

So you’re the man responsible for bringing it to the masses. How does the whole process work?
It’s quite easy – we use medical saline solution and using infusion we pump it into the forehead for about two hours, or until it’s ready.

Two hours! Fucking hell. How long does it last?
Just one night. The body absorbs it over time so by the next morning it just goes back to normal. We enjoy being freaks for the night, ha ha.
Does the skin ever start to sag?
No. Everyone I know who has done it, no matter how many times, their skin has gone back to exactly how it was before.

Now it might be tempting to look at this new trend and say God Damn! Japan is weird but you have to keep in mind the numbers. Look at Tokyo, the greater Tokyo region has over 30 million people all within at most a 2hr train ride. 30 million is about the same population as the entire nation of Canada! I know people in Canada are doing this but they’re spread out over a huge area and can’t hang out with each other and maintain this trend. Where as in Tokyo these people CAN hang out and do. This applies to all the weird sub-groups of Japan especially those that are in Japan’s HUGE urban centers. It’s a numbers game.

This is something I talked about for concerning how there is a perception that Japanese women are obsessed with foreign guys. Back to the Canadian example: If .01% of the population is obsessed with Japanese guys it doesn’t mean much because they’re spread out all over Canada. But in Japan or even in Tokyo .01% of the population is thousands of people which means there are a lot of women hanging out at a small selection of bars that foreigners also hang out … number game man, numbers game.

UPDATE: Sept 2012 National Geographic did a special on the Japanese Bagel Head:

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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.
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,


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.

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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I am done kids.
The gym successfully brought the pain today. It was helped in large part to me deciding that I would be “rambunctious” and post a wager on facebook asking people who thought they could lose the most weight in a month to get ready for the summer/the beach/etc and, obviously I have every intention of winning this bet.

I have a real problem with gambling and thats why, by and large, that (gambling) and recreational drug use are pretty much the only two vices ever created by man-kind that I don’t whole heartedly love. I mean, by this point, it’s universally understood that I love stealing, can consume on a daily basis enough alcohol to kill a hippopotamus, have a habit of binge eating to the point of paralysis and engage in compulsive masturbation triggered by the most unorthodox things, sometimes, I don’t even know why I have a boner- I simply DO. I also have what I would regard in another person as poor hygiene, what can be considered at best an eclectic fashion sense, I’m selfish, rude, I cuss like a sailor, or even worse a Marine, and, according to a Doctor friend of mine, I’m a clinical narcissistic sociopath.  What a catch right?

All that having been said, I dislike Gambling. The big issue is not a moral one because, there is nothing even remotely morally wrong with Gambling (or prostitution), I just lose my shit and flip out if things don’t go my way. I grind my teeth, sweat, curse the world and eventually start dreaming, fantasizing of really exotic ways to mutilate whoever STOLE my money and, for this reason, I don’t Gamble.

This is why it is imperative that I WIN this stupid weight loss wager. If I don’t, I’ll have to go super sonic Jihad and light everyone on fire then karate chop an orphanage full of blind poor kids in the face. Since these are all my friends (not the orphans, but I feel bad for them), I guess that isn’t the best way to do things, so, I must win.

Win win win.

Now today I have nothing important to write about so I am just going to briefly, without frills or back story or excessive nonsense bring to light, to you, the reader, some things that I think we all just need to SAY NO TO.

Robot weddings
I’m not talking about two robots trying to get married or whatever, although I’m certain that before the end of my time comes, that will be an actual legitimate problem and I am waiting terrified, for when that day comes and I have to hear an actual person say “But, Robots have rights too!”. Jesus.
No I’m talking about ROBOT PRIESTS actually wedding two people. Really, seriously, it already happened. And can you guess where??


The home of Rapelay the video game.

Right here in Japan.

The four-foot tall wedding-machine, called the I-Fairy, takes the form of a seated, vaguely feminine humanoid sporting a head adorned with flowers. In spite of being made of metal and plastic, the overall effect is closer to Hello Kitty than The Terminator


Why should we say no to this, aside from it being FUCKING DUMB?
The simple and inevitable progression is as follows:

The year is 2125 and I’m Dead. I died from liver failure or I got shot or hit by a flying bus or I have been eaten by a vengeful unicorn, whatever, I’m dead. My body is in a good ole fashioned pine box and my spirit is hovering over the grave, lots of people will be there to say goodbye, lots of hot hot women who are weeping at the loss of such a strapping Alpha male…anyway….Guns N roses “November Rain” is playing over the sound system, something I have written in a will someplace, seriously, and just as the song is coming to the moment in the live performance they did for the MTV video music awards where Slash walks up on the grand Piano and rips a mega awesome guitar solo, here it comes, rolling across the grass of the Cemetery, R2D2 and right behind him is C3PO to say some words over my eternal resting place because now, these two are ordained ministers.

No thanks.

If any of you let that transpire, I will haunt you so bad, I swear to god, it’ll make “Paranormal Activity” look like well, something un-scary.


Teenage girls touching me
I know I know, initially based on common sense this is clearly a JUST SAY YES situation, but read on for clarification.
In my new school, for whatever reason, there are some girls that are hell bent on touching my body.
Yes, this is as pleasing as it sounds.
However there is a catch or two.
First, I am supposedly a teacher SO, it doesn’t look too good if I’m standing there while some girl puts her hands all over me, or better yet/worse yet, if two girls are doing it. I understand that they are just curious about me because….um….I guess they have never seen a man before? I don’t know. The “They’re just curious” excuse frankly has lost its fire and I sort of think that it’s bullshit. 6 year old kids out in the country side that have literally never seen a non-Japanese before and who are curious about a variety of mundane crap including book cases, watermelons, cats and baking soda, sure, they are “curious”.  17 year old girls living in the heart of Tokyo….hmmm… Their curious all right, but I don’t think their curious in the way those teachers are insinuating.
Anyway, it looks bad so I have to dodge, roll, pivot, block and stay mobile, cant have the girlies rubbing me and the principal walks by.
The next issue is a little more tricky and much more dynamic. When a pretty 17 year old girl in a short skirt with legs that go from here till tomorrow is standing in front of you smiling, positively beaming, staring straight in your eyes and putting her hands on your chest, arms, grabbing your thighs, well….Erections are a very real and serious concern. And, in case you don’t know, slacks for summer suits were not made with any options to assist in hiding a rock hard, raging love pump.


Because prison is something I can actually do without.

Fat Drug dealers in Shinjuku
Keep this one short.
When you are enjoying the sun, sitting at the tables outside near Barneys New York in Shinjuku on an afternoon, maybe a Sunday, and have a German beer to sip and are listening to your ipod and a fat half Japanese half American 48 year old drug dealer sipping a Chuhai that looks like he bought it in 97 and just refills the can with Vodka every morning at 1100 when he wakes up next to another phillipino prostitute comes up and sits next to you, JUST SAY NO.
Do not engage him in conversation.
Do no t give him any contact info, in fact, give him a fake name.
Do not try to just be cool and have a friendly chat because when you tell him your not interested in buying, right at the moment, some Quaaludes from him, he will get really upset.

JUST say NO. Get up, lie, say your late for an STD test and your doctor said things “are pretty serious…yep…pretty bad actually” and then get away.

Thats it for today.

Heed my warnings.
Learn from my mistakes.
Asta La Vista.

Corn Soup Confessions

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You could say that I am a Teacher (Talented English-speaking puppet). It would be more accurate to say however, that I am a part-time Teacher (see above), because, that’s what I am.   So three days a week I wake up pretty damn early in order to A) do the training I need to do in the morning and B) finish said training with enough time to cry about the cold/heat/pain while I take a shower, then stuff a piece of white bread and a can of cold tuna fish into my mouth as I throw clothing on, pack my gym bag and hope I don’t forget one of the many articles I need in order to survive my training (kickboxing) after work. These mornings are generally hectic and this is all taking place in the dark starting at 0400.

I have to be out the door and walking/running/hobbling to the train station by 0615, being late, even by 5 minutes is not an option since the distance I have to travel is so insanely far and the number of conveyances I am forced to take and perfectly time to catch just right are so overly complex, even five minutes late to rub one out before work is not really an option these days. I know, bummer. This can become a problem on a crowded train when an office woman in a tight, attractive skirt is packed into the car with 50 other people and decides to Lego lock her ass directly to my crotch.  That rolling rhythm of the train on the tracks, the warmth, the early morning, the direct contact…it can all lead to…an uncomfortable equation. Anyway, I was at school on Tuesday, shivering, watching snow fall outside as I split my time between grading the last 3rd grade exams, contemplating my existence (thinking about sex and training and movies/books I hate/love) and getting bored, then wandering around the hall in the freezing cold near the vending machines and student shoe lockers mumbling to myself. Third grade junior high schoolers have been studying English for at least 6 years and this is their LAST high school exam.  One question on the test worth five points was:

I think that having a girlfriend is good because I can spend my holidays with someone special.

The student has to change the underlined vocabulary to fit them personally. We have been doing prints like this all year so the format is very familiar to them as is the content of each question.  I was told to make this exam easy because as one teacher (Japanese, full-time, REAL Teacher ie. Talented Japanese speaking puppet) put it to me “They have basically already graduated so if you give them a bad grade on the test, everyone will be mad at you.” Got it. So Yusuke’s answer to the above question is…

I think the having a dog is fun because I can eat my dog with a dog food.

It is… snowing like a bastard outside and somewhere on this mountain within this complex of “education” I can here some gang of adolescence screaming all bloody murder.  I once told a girl, about 6 years ago, after I had  my first Japanese lesson, I had told her “Anata ha totemo Mazui desu”.  I meant to say you are very cute, but I had confused the word for “cute” with the one for “bad/ugly/no good” and had told her “You are very ugly”.  I remember that she didn’t find my new-found Japanese ability too terribly impressive. In the hall way, I stand shivering in the cold because they refuse to close the doors and Japanese schools have no insulation or for that matter heaters in the common areas so I stand there in front of the line of vending machines shivering in my suit jacket with tie and scarf wrapped around my head, plumes of steam from my breath filling the air as I contemplate infinity and whether or not to get a corn soup for 70 yen. I don’t really talk, it talks all by itself. “Corn soup Corn soup we likes it, we likes it, corn soup Mt. Fuji, we had it there. 70 yen. I have 70 yen. TITTIES its cold. Corn soup Corn ok ok ok ok ” Inside the Teacher’s room it’s silent and empty except for me and the snow is just coming down down outside.  The exam in front of me reads:

I want to meet a Girl that is fun and interesting but a hard worker.

Sami, this is a cute and sort of shy girl in one of my 3rd grade classes, she writes:

I want to meet a boy that is cool, tall a muscle and likes me but is angry at me often.

I blink and then stare at the paper cup of corn soup that sits ominously on the desk in front of me. For a moment, I imagine myself balling up Sami’s exam, dipping it in the now cold corn soup and then eating it.  I continue to scowl at the cup of corn soup. The next question on the exam reads:

Do you think Michael Jackson died too early?

Masato writes: “No, because he was very very old. : ( “

Emi writes: “I don’t know but I like his the song “But”.

Raymond writes: “Yes, because he is almost my age.”

When I finally manage to lift the cup of corn soup to my lips and taste it, I decide I would rather pour it all over my head and shit my pants  than drink this, so I set it back on my desk in its rightful place.  The snow looks like it is falling quite heavily and I pray to whoever, begging them to not let this complicate my bus schedule to get back to the “world” and train on time. I walk into the Full time teachers room to turn in the exams I have checked.  In the conference room I see a kid from the first grade junior high-class I teach and I walk in there and ask him “Are you ok?” Students in the conference room are usually there to be interrogated by teachers and forced to write long, detailed confessions about their respective offenses.  The style used at the school is a mirror image of what Japanese police do to suspects to illicit all those false confessions they are so damned proud of.  Hours and hours of isolation and talk and questions.  It reminds me of a lot of my relationships. He looks at me, slouching in his chair, one arm hanging off the back of it, his neck tie loose and disheveled, the parody of an exhausted salary man.  He used to go to an international school so he speaks some English and answers me with “yeah, I’m cool”.  I stare at him for a minute, the stack of exams in my right hand.

He isn’t even looking at me. I am transparent to him.

” So what did you do?”  I ask him, I can see out the windows behind him the snow falling. He looks right at me. “I touched a girl.” The lucky bastard. Now he smiles, and motions toward his crotch “Down there…” now he is smiling and staring straight at me.  I look at him and blink once, twice, three times.  “Ok…uh..” Well done? “…take it easy.” I say and I  quickly leave. At the gym that night, I have to run outside in the freezing rain.

Learn all the Dirty Secrets for Teaching in Japan with Build a killer robot or…? and Adventures in Babysitting: Teaching in Japan.

After living in Japan for a while you start to notice things about Japanese life that seem to defy rationale thought. What’s going on! Why don’t they follow any sort of logic???? To a foreigner’s eyes these things seem alien but most of them have some sort of simple explanation:


Does “Yada” mean “Dozo”?

So you find yourself moving from the couch into the bedroom with a cute little woman you have met a few times and this evening, well….it seems things are really going your way. In the bed room you both fall onto the bed and continue kissing and touching and she’s breathing heavy and so are you and this is all in the script so its good.

It’s all really good.

A shirt comes off. A sock. A belt is fumbled with and removed. Tongues and lips and hands and mounds of flesh and so far this is great because you are on schedule so you’re thinking “phase 2.”
She appreciates the attention you are giving her nipples, this she makes clear so you move into “phase 3.” Your hand moves into position and you are gentle yet confident as you approach the target zone and her breathing is increasing and just as you are moving towards infiltration there it is in a soft voice but clear enough…


So your hand freezes in space but you’re smooth, and your kissing doesn’t miss a beat despite the fact that you are totally bewildered. “What the hell?” you think. “She wanted to come back to MY place.”

Hey, you’re confused…its ok. You are laying there kissing numbly trying to figure out if maybe you ate too much yakiniku and that is the problem, then you feel her soft warm hand grab yours and softly yet unmistakably push your hand toward its original target. She guides you right in there sure as a special forces team laser tagging an Insurgent compound and then proceeds to even assist you in um….”delving deeper than you had originally intended.”

This is the Yada conundrum.

Yada in Japanese basically means “No don’t” or “that’s no good” or something along those lines. So, as you can imagine this is not the phrase you want to hear when you are trying to make that sweet love gravy with your Japanese princess love-of-your-life….or is it???

As I am sure some people will say, this happens in lots of countries. A woman saying “No” or “don’t” when in fact she wants to have sex.  See, here’s the thing,  even trying to explain that in English gives me the chills and I feel well….gross. In the society that I was brought up in when a woman says “No.” That’s it. The games over. You don’t pass go and there is no 200 dollars in colorful play money. You just get ready for a hand job (that you could do yourself, 99% of time more effectively) or a frigid awkward moment or two or even a slap in the face.

“No” means “No” and the one time I heard a guy tell me proudly about an encounter he had with a girl in his dorm and how he had figured “No means yes man, know what I mean? hahaha yeah….” but I didn’t know what he meant and I explained that to him in no uncertain terms with my fist against his teeth. In America when a woman says no or stop that’s it. You stop.

This is the essence of the Yada controversy.

It happens OFTEN with Japanese women. Yada Yaaaada but if you just stop and decide “Oh well I guess not tonight” 9 times out of 10 the girl is sort of…bewildered. I  personally have broken off activity and resigned myself to a night of abstinence only to have the woman with me, 5 minutes later ask, “Whats wrong? You don’t like me? Why don’t you have sex with me?”


I have roamed around the Land of the Rising sun searching for answers. I have had a mixed variety with essentially the same bottom line; Yada Means Yada except for when it doesn’t.  Ah…Japan.

So as one female friend explained it….

Ummmm sou ne….well you know Japanese men like girls to be so cute and weak. Weaker than them. Cute is huge.  This is a very attractive point for Japanese men. They want to feel that the girl is pure and innocent but at the same time they want her to be able to perform all kinds complex skill requiring  sexual acts…like this is in the DNA or something, like eating. It’s stupid. But it is another piece of Japanese culture somehow. Sometimes when a girl says Yada it’s for real, but I think if she is serious for you to stop she will say DAME (NO!) or Yamete (STOP!) or even Kimoi! ( GROSS!) something like that. Maybe Yada has become like some kind of sex talk. But I think you still need to be careful if a girl says it.

Whoa. Thanks for helping…yet not at all.

It seems that in the end the Yada enigma is like so many other things in Japan. It is essential that one be able to gauge the situation and take stalk. Do not be K.Y. (unable to gauge a situation or literally “Unable to read the air”).

Do not miss the reading of the air in this situation or you will either make this woman who is clearly into you feel insufficient or you will get a visit from the cops or maybe if you’re lucky, her Yakuza daddy. Fun, right?

Culture people. It runs deep. I would say though that in my opinion, when a woman says “No” just assume she means it. If you’re wrong and she really likes you she will come looking for it in oh about…T-minus 5 minutes or so. Better safe than sorry…or extremely damaging. Beware of the Yada….it is a tricky little bitch.

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